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The people of the present had strange traditions. One of which, it seemed, was creating a sweet baked bread, spreading a sweet whipped topping on it, and then setting small wax sticks into it and lighting those sticks on fire. At that point, they sang a ritualistic song and presented the individual with material possessions that the individual did or didn’t ask for.
This was explained to Aurora when she’d gotten curious about a celebration in an eating establishment. Professor Sycamore had kindly explained that the multitudes of children did not all belong to the same parent, nor was it a cultural holiday, but rather that one of the children was celebrating a ‘birth day.’
“Why?”
“Because now that boy is one year older as of today.”
“And it’s only his birth day?”
“In the party, it seems.”
What a mystifying tradition. Upon further query, everyone seems to have a birth day.
“June 20th,” responds Professor Layton, “It falls just after the end of the academic year, which is nice if I have plans to go anywhere.”
“December 23rd.” Professor Sycamore answers quickly, “But I don’t celebrate it very much anymore. Birthdays tend to be celebrated more by the youth.”
“April 2nd! We might end up celebrating my birthday here depending on how long the trip goes.” Emmy then changes the subject when Aurora asks about what she typically does for her birth day.
“My birthday’s on July 14th. When’s yours?” When Luke poses the question, Aurora tilts her head.
“I don’t have a birth day.”
The boy seems more shocked than is warranted, “What? How do you not have a birthday?”
“I don’t recall the Azran overseeing such traditions.”
Professor Sycamore perks up from where he’s reading on the couch. Usually that means he was listening but wasn’t saying anything, and now he has something to share. “Professor?” Luke turns as well.
“There’s records and indications of Azran solstice celebrations and commemoration of aging in rulers, but traditional ‘birthdays’ as we know them didn’t become commonplace until this or the last century.” The professor adjusts his glasses.
“So… Aurora really doesn’t have a birthday?” Luke just seems sad now, so she pats his back.
“Everyone has a date on which they were born, but it does seem like Aurora doesn’t celebrate for it.”
“But that’s not fair!” His cheeks puff out, and he turns back to Aurora, “I’m gonna give you a birthday.”
“What?”
“Everyone deserves to celebrate their birthday! It’s no fair that you don’t get one just ‘cause you were born forever ago. And besides, you’re here now, which means you get a birthday!”
The boy grabs her hands, and Aurora feels a bit apprehensive. “Is that something you can do? What makes a birth day?”
“I don’t see why we can’t celebrate for you.” Sycamore drawls from the couch. “Technically, then, we could pose your birthday as the date on which you were extracted from the ice and therefore ‘born.’”
“But if we do that, then there’s no party because that was weeks ago.”
Aurora tunes the other two out as they discuss the logistics of giving her a birth day.
There were many people in many places, surely far outnumbering the number of days in a year. How did one determine the day where they were born? Did a false birth day count in the face of a real day where she came into being? Would then she have two birth days? Three, counting whenever they celebrated it? Was she allowed to be born multiple times?
“Um…” That was one of her new favorite words. Polite, unsure, and a lead-in to another conversation.
Professor Sycamore cuts off Luke’s argument to focus his attention on Aurora, “Yes?”
“Who’s birth day am I taking?” The professor pauses, face twitching in the way it does when he doesn’t understand what she means. Aurora rephrased, “Which date is my birth day, and does it belong to someone else?”
“Oh, people have the same birthday all the time! It’s not like you having a birthday means someone else doesn’t.” Luke clarifies.
It makes sense. “How do I know when my birth day is?”
“That’s usually- well, your mom and dad…” Luke frowns, then starts again. “Your parents usually tell you, because when you’re a baby you don’t remember anything. It’s their job to remember and tell you when you were born.”
“Why does it matter when someone has a birth day? What’s the purpose?”
The conversation devolves from there into more conceptual things. The professor explains why keeping records and calculating data of all the people in an area is important, and how birth days are one way to keep people distinguished.
“For example, say your name is Rose.”
Aurora frowns. “My name isn’t Rose. Why would I lie?”
“Yes, but for this purpose your name is Rose, and Luke’s name is also Rose.”
Her frown deepens. “His name is Luke.”
“Yes, well-” Sycamore takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. “How about this? Forget that. There are two people named Lily. How do you tell them apart?” The professor holds both his hands up with his index finger extended, as if he’s naming his fingers. Do these people attribute names to their limbs as well?
“One is your left finger and one is your right.” Aurora answers, and the professor is beginning to look exasperated.
“Pretend that they’re people, Aurora. This is Lily,” He lifts his left hand. “And this is Lily,” then, he lifts his right. “Beyond physical characteristics, there are more ways that they differ.”
The girl is stumped. The professor had explained that everyone has different fingerprints that make them unique earlier, and from this angle she can spy a silvery scar on the inside of one of his knuckles. That’s a difference between his fingers, but if she can’t use physical characteristics there’s not much to tell the two fingers apart beyond which hand they’re on. Does that count as a physical characteristic?
Luke steps in to mention that they probably have different last names, and the professor seems relieved. “Yes, yes! They have different last names if they’re unrelated. Or- related people can have different last names, but that might get complicated for now. Let’s say they’re related, though. They both have the same last name. How do you tell them apart?”
The boy seems to figure it out quickly, but bites his tongue so as to not spoil it for Aurora. “Think of it like a puzzle! Here,” he presses a coin into her hand. “A hint coin if you can’t get it. But think of it like this. Two people have the exact same name. How do you tell them apart if you can’t see them?”
Sycamore mumbles something about having said the exact same thing.
“Um…”
At that moment, the other professor walks into the common room so Luke calls him over. He sits beside his apprentice and tips his hat to Professor Sycamore and Aurora.
“Aurora, would you like some help?”
“Please.”
So Professor Sycamore proposes the same riddle to the man with the top hat. Two people with identical names in the same family.
“One is an ancestor of the other. The difference would be their date of birth, unless the answer you’re looking for is that of geographical location.”
It was the answer that Professor Sycamore was looking for, apparently,, and Aurora is subject to another lecture on naming conventions and how some people make a tradition of naming their child after themself or their parent. She’s introduced to juniors and seniors and numbers described as being related to Rome, which she learns is a place in Italy. Where and what ‘Italy’ is something Aurora hasn’t figured out.
There’s always so much for her to learn. Despite her eagerness to learn about everything she finds odd about the human society of the present, it’s a tad overwhelming. More than anything, she feels like a newborn deer stumbling about.
The next day, the group has to stop travelling to get more fuel for the giant ship.
They also were taking some time to grab some things for a party. Aurora’s party, to be specific, since Luke insisted that she be thrown one despite her lack of birth day.
“We’ll throw you a birthday party next year too, but this one will just be really late.” He assured as if she’d be terribly upset at a lack of celebration for her existence.
So Aurora tagged around with Professor Layton and Emmy as they shopped around one of the local stores.
“Do you eat these?” She asks as the professor procures some small wax sticks, and he shakes his head.
“No. Wax isn’t good for the digestive system, so please don’t attempt to eat the candles.”
“Why are they going on the cake if you can’t eat them?”
“Typically, the candles are placed on top of a cake, lit, and then the birthday boy or girl will blow them out and make a wish. The candles are removed before eating.” The emissary refrains from asking why someone would light a candle specifically to blow it out again. It seemed counterintuitive.
“I’m not sure we have a million candles.” Emmy seems to be looking at different candles. These are meant to be cuter, designed as palm-sized numbers.
“Why do you need a million?”
“Some people like to put a person’s age in candles. We don’t really know how old you are.”
Wisely, Aurora notes, “I don’t think this store has a million candles, nor would we have a cake big enough for it.”
Emmy seems to be about to say something, but she huffs a laugh instead. “Yeah. That’s right. So what do we do instead?”
Professor Layton adds, “The candles don’t necessarily need to correlate with age. Every family’s birthday traditions vary, and thus there’s no wrong way to celebrate.”
“Fair enough.” Emmy shrugs and then shows Aurora the candles with associated scents. In addition to light, apparently some candles served the purpose of making a room smell good when lit. “Oh, look at this one. What the hell does ‘sunlight dream’ even smell like?” Emmy sniffs at it as the professor gently chides her for her language. Then, she hums and holds it out to Aurora.
“That’s…” the girl pulls away, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think I like that one. It’s very strong.”
“Ha! Yeah, it is. Professor, can I show Aurora all the candles? It’s like feeding a baby lemons.”
The professor smiles, looking a bit bemused. “I’m not sure that feeding lemons to infants is an activity that most people enjoy,” Emmy waves him off, and he shakes his head before continuing, “I don’t have an issue with you showing her the candles. I’ll come to collect you if I’ve finished shopping before the two of you are done.”
According to Emmy, the store that they’re in doubles as a ‘tourist trap,’ which doesn’t mean that they put tourists in traps, but rather that they sell a bunch of merchandise related to the city or region. Apparently, this makes travelers want it more as a souvenir. The candles aren’t a part of the trap, but there’s quite a few with weird names that Emmy asks her to smell. ‘Time and again’ and ‘starlight twist’ were her favorites of the bunch, but there was a whole display of candles. By the time that Professor Layton came back around with a full basket of items, Aurora felt rather like she couldn’t smell anything at all.
Then Emmy took her to a different store after they checked out. This one was a boutique much like the one they went to in London.
“We’ve got to get you a cute outfit for your birthday. It’s absolutely mandatory.” Emmy seems serious enough as she pokes around at outfits of all different colors and fabrics. Aurora stands behind and questions whenever the woman rejects an outfit after deliberation.
The clothes seem fine when she tries them on. They’re clothing like any other clothing, designed to cover a person or express their individuality. Aurora doesn’t particularly mind being dressed up by Emmy, though she feels a bit like a doll.
“No, this dress is too short for the style it’s going for.” “Hm, I think the sleeves would be a bit too tight on your arms.” “The craftsmanship on this one is just terrible, actually. Aurora, look at this. Look at this hemline, do you see the stitching? That’s shit. Don’t buy it if it looks like this.”
Emmy tends to use more profanity when the other adults aren’t around to scold her for it.
“Alright, I think this one is perfect.” Emmy turns Aurora around to face the mirror, holding a dress on a hanger up to the girl’s chest and using her other hand to gesture. “See, the blue of the dress compliments your eyes, and if we layer a white sweater and some stockings underneath that’ll create a sort of visual harmony because it’ll be white then blue then white again. Plus, if we added a belt it would break up the center.”
Aurora doesn’t really understand, but she nods along anyway.
After being ushered to try it on, however, her thoughts on the matter change a bit. The dress is short, falling above her knees and swishing about when she moves in a way that her original dress did not. The sweater underneath her dress is tight around her wrists and the stockings itch a little bit. They’re made with a different fabric than the other two, which Emmy had already established was a ‘fashion no-no.’
The woman in yellow seems pleased though, and helps her affix a black belt around her waist.
“Emmy?”
“Mhm?”
“I don’t… know if I like this. I’m sorry.” It was very kind of her to pick the outfit out, but Aurora thinks that even her typical outfit these days is far from her comfort zone.
“Oh!” Emmy stops for a second, and Aurora looks at the floor.
“I’m sorry.” She fidgets with the pendant around her wrist, twisting the bail. “I know it’s probably very fashionable for the people of this era, but…”
“But it’s not you.” The woman sighs and lays her hands on Aurora’s shoulders. “Hey, that’s alright! This is your special day, so it’s all up to you what you wear. Just pick whatever you think looks and feels nice, hm?”
“Thank you.” She doesn’t look up, still a tad upset. Aurora doesn’t want to make a fuss about something as little as clothing. “I’m not sure what I’d like in here, though.”
“That’s fine. What don’t you like about what you’re wearing now? If we figure out what you don’t like, we can find something you won’t mind instead.”
So Aurora divulges her issues with the skirt of the dress and the sleeves and the stockings and that the belt shifted awkwardly on her waist because it was a bit too large. Eventually, they land on a completely different outfit. A long, flowing black skirt with a light blue cardigan and a regular white shirt underneath. The weight of the fabric almost matched her traditional dress, something that Aurora hadn’t realized that she missed.
It was nice of the professors and the others to let her have other clothing so as to fit in with other girls in the modern day, but the emissary would rather wear what she’s used to.
The airship smells rather nice when they return, a scent that Aurora can recognize as baking.
“You can’t come in here yet!” Luke comes to bar entry to the kitchen and dining area as the emissary attempts to get in. “We’re still setting things up, so go do something else for a second.”
Acquiescing, Aurora sits by her lonesome on the violet couch until Keats joins her.
“Hi, kitty.” She pets the top of his head, and he meows back. “Do you have a birth day? I wonder if people celebrate for you too…”
If it was traditional to celebrate birth days, perhaps they’d also celebrate for their furry companions as well. “The professor said that some animals are taken in later in life, so maybe they don’t know what day you were born. Did they give you a birth day, then, because they don’t know yours?”
The cat doesn’t say anything, obviously, and just rubs his head into her palm with a rumbling purr.
“I wonder if your mother knows when you were born. I wonder if she ever told you, and if it’s not the same as the one that people gave you.” Then again, in Keats’ circumstance there was a way to rectify the discordant information. “Do cats even celebrate birth days like people? I don’t even know if you care at all, Keats…”
Keats just meows.
“Are ye having a good birthday, lassie?” Aurora squeaks and turns, not having heard the butler arrive behind her. “My apologies. I dinnae mean ta scare ye.”
“I suppose, yes.”
“Ye seem rather blue.” He shifts to her side rather than behind her, and Keats hops over her lap to stand upon the arm of the couch and receive pets from the old man.
Aurora brings her hands to her face, “I do?” Blue wasn’t typically a color that her skin was, no? She looks down at her hands, finding no difference to their typical peachy hue. Perhaps it was bluer than normal? Or maybe he was referring to her new sweater, was Aurora meant to take it as a compliment and thank him?
“Ah, I dinnae mean ‘at literally. Feelin’ blue is more akin tae bein’ sad.”
Oh.
“I don’t think I’m sad.” She’s not particularly happy, either. Is she meant to be? Aurora almost asks, before she remembers that celebrations are happy by nature and that she should, in fact, be acting more happy. “Sorry! I am very grateful for the effort that everyone has put in on my behalf to introduce me to this tradition.” Her gaze had been fixed on Keats, watching Raymond’s age-spotted hand scratch under the kitty’s chin, but she lifts it to try and get a read on the butler’s face instead. Aurora always had more trouble reading him than her other companions. “I’m very happy.”
“If ye’re sure.”
Perhaps a subtle change of subject was in order. “When’s your birth day, Mr. Raymond?”
He smiles, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Tomorrow.”
“What?” Aurora sits up straighter in surprise, “Your birth day is tomorrow? Does anyone else know?”
“I don’ believe so.”
Distress blooms in her chest, curling around her ribcage and squeezing. The butler deserved the celebration and fanfare far more than her! He was actually of this modern time where birth days are important, and yet no one knew to throw a party for him! “Mr. Raymond, you should tell everyone else so we can celebrate tomorrow as well! Emmy will want to take you shopping for a birth day dress!”
The butler chuckles in amusement, “Sorry, young miss, but I’m no’ plannin’ on tellin’ anyone.”
“Why not? Birth days are important to your culture, aren’t they?”
“Well, no’ necessarily.” Raymond takes a seat next to her, and the feline plops in his lap. “Everyone’s different in thir personal feelin’s o’events like ‘at.”
“Professor Layton did mention that variation exists in the manner of which your people celebrate…”
“Aye. An’ some people don’ celebrate at all. Some don’ like thir birthdays, or just’re too busy tae ‘ave a big party. I jus’ don’ want all ‘at fuss over me, an’ I think ye understand ‘at, aye?”
“Aye,” the emissary responds quietly. “I’ve never had a birth day before, and I know that Luke and Emmy and the others are trying to be nice by making it a big deal, but I think it’s a little too much.” She reaches down to pet Keats again, and his whiskers tickle her hand.
“Would ye like me tae tell ‘em ta tone it down?”
“I don’t know… it seems impolite. They already went through all the work of preparing this for me, and Luke is very excited.”
“How ‘bout this? Ye and I’ll have a wee secret b’tween us.” Raymond leans in conspiratorially, and she looks back up to meet his gaze. “Th’party’s fer me. Only ye and th’master know ‘bout ma birthday, so ye’re jus’ th’face o’ ta party fer tae others. D’ye mind ‘at?”
“I’m the face?”
“Here it means they think th’party’s fer you, but we’re actually celebratin’ ma birthday. Do ye feel less bad ‘bout ‘at?”
The emissary mulls the idea silently for a moment. The butler was asking if she would take his place and have the party thrown for her instead of himself. Between them, Raymond seemed to not like being paid attention to more, and this way there’d still be a party. He would get the cake and the singing but be out of the spotlight, fulfilling the idea of the birthday without any of the recognition.
“What about the candles and the wishing? If I’m going to blow it out, you won’t get your wish.”
“I’ve got decades o’wishing under ma belt, lassie. Ye can have this one fer me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“Am I allowed to wish that whatever wish you make will come true?”
Raymond whispers, “Ye may, but there’s an important rule ‘bout wishing.” He presses a finger to his lips, “If ye tell anyone what ye wished fer, it winnae come true.”
“Alright.” Aurora whispers back, and right as she’s about to ask him about the logistics of wish-making, Luke calls to the pair from the door that the emissary can join them.
“Well miss, it looks like it’s ‘bout time.” The older man gently pushes the cat from his lap so he can stand, and then he offers the girl a hand. “What d’ye say we get in there, aye?”
She takes the offered hand and brushes off some of Keats’ fur that had ended up on her skirt. “Alright…”
Raymond squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back.
“Happy birthday, Aurora.”
“And happy birth day to you too, Mr. Raymond!”