When every day is the same, it is rare to awaken and imagine it would be any different. Enoch, who was the eldest of Ms. Peregrine's wards, did not expect anything different when he awoke that morning; there was no change as he slipped on his overalls, and nothing particularly out of the ordinary when he ate his breakfast in relative quiet. He retreated back into the darkness of his basement, the overwhelming smell of home-mixed formaldehyde welcoming to his desensitized nose. He collected a few jars from the kitchen, cleaning the containers and prepping them for the day when they would hold something of greater value to him than canned peaches. Not that he secretly minded the process of emptying them, but he still begrudgingly accepted them each time he came sniffing around the scullery for any old glass jars, each time grumpily accepting them from Emma's questioning glare, before heading to his basement to enjoy his delicacy in private.

His room-just adjacent from his pseudo laboratory-was nearly barren; a simple wardrobe containing his few clothes and possessions, along with a few larger glass vessels atop it, an old warped mattress on an even older metal frame, and a rickety bedside table that was covered in a small cloth where his homunculi rested. It was all very bland, the walls dank and grey, his bed made and neat but drab, and the wood of his wardrobe pale and weathered. Looking in one would think it was abandoned, or the occupant underprivileged, but it was just the way Enoch liked it. Come noon he sighed, pausing in his labor to look over his handiwork. His newest homunculus, a small swollen looking thing with two arms and no legs-was in need of more clay. He stood decidedly, sweeping his cap onto his head and several of his men including his newest recruit into his largest pocket, before finally grabbing his usual basin and heading out into the bright light. He escaped out the back door, avoiding the gaze of the other children and scoffing when he interrupted Fiona and Hugh's tryst, the couple breaking apart with Hugh's shout of "Enoch!" He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, turning on his heel and squinting from the sun overhead.

He trudged towards the cairn tunnel, where he always found the most workable clay, and today he knew would be no different. He didn't care as the mud squelched around his boots and coated his already dirty overalls, his thin frame stooping to gather some of the necessary mud into his dish. The small path that led to the cairn was muddy with tracks, thought it had technically been over a year since the last rain. With a huff, he quickly plucked several of his men as they fell from his pocket, sinking into the mud up to their waists and waving their small arms frantically. He thought nothing of it when he turned away from the tunnel, unaware as he annoyedly tried stuffing his men back into his front pocket, nearly swearing when they refused to stay put. He dropped his pot with a hiss and sank down into the mud on all fours, hurriedly saving his men as they sunk. He was just digging out the last of them when he felt his hand slice when he happened upon a sharp rock just out of sight. He froze when he heard a soft echo, the near silent spattering of footsteps alerting him that he was not alone. He turned his head slowly, heart pounding and too aware that he had come completely alone-wincing at his own mistake. He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to see if a wight would emerge from the darkness, cursing himself for his moment of cowardice. He wished Abe was still around. Or even Victor. It was not a second later when a collected and sharp voice rang out into the clearing;

"Enoch O'Connor, you better not be planning on tracking mud all through the scullery again!" He grimaced at the scolding and quickly stood, trying and failing miserably to sweep the mud from his forearms. The Old Bird stepped out from the tunnel slowly; an open parasol in hand even through the day had quickly turned cloudy and negated the use against the sun, and they both knew it would not rain. Enoch narrowed his eyes as a shadow became visible behind the children's caretaker, a small pale arm wrapped delicately around Miss Peregrine's. His face twisted into a scowl until Miss Peregrine berated him again.

"Polite persons do not stare Mr. O'Conner, unless perhaps you would be willing to escort our young Eleanor home?" His lips tightened but he nodded, somewhat struggling as he pulled himself from out of the giant mud pile and onto the path. Miss Peregrine gave a curt nod before continuing on, obviously hurried despite her deliberately calm walk. Enoch glared at her quickly disappearing figure before turning back to the young girl in front of him. She was small in stature and form, though too mature, he discreetly noticed, to be a child. In his time, she would have been old enough to begin courting he imagined, though looking her over now he doubted she had ever had any suitors. She was pale as he was, if not more so, and her dark tangled hair only added to her overall look of sickliness. It stood wild and broken around her head, like a dark halo, though still not frazzled enough to compete with Fiona's mane. He noticed a few leaves tangled in the strands, the dirt that smeared her face and slight hands. Her clothes were none the better; she could have been wearing a flour sack for all it mattered, dirty as it was; and her dark tights were picked and filthy, as well as the worn, over-sized coat wrapped around her. Her only distinguishing feature were her eyes; dark but doe-like, and had they not been filled with fatigue and underlined with sleep deprivation, he was sure they could have passed for comely.

"You're filthy" he scorned, realizing that like him she too had been studying him.

"So are you," she replied shyly, her voice dry. He opened his mouth to retort when suddenly her hand reached out, too close and he jumped away with a hiss. "I like your little men." She muttered softly, quickly retracting the extended hand. He sniffed, stretching his entire five foot four inches to stand over her and turning on his heel. He began quickly making his way back home, eager to get away from this girl and finish his newest creation. He had some mouse hearts he had opened in the basement and he needed to get back before they lost their freshness. He didn't bother slowing down as she struggled to keep up with his quick stride, the loud crunching of the rock on the path echoing quickly behind him. He stopped only for a moment, wiping off as much muck as he could in the grass before marching through the back door and making a beeline for the stairs, aware that the new girl was still following him. Without missing a beat he slammed the door shut behind him, effectively cutting her out of his basement and workshop. With a sigh he replaced his cap on the table and retrieved his pot, not caring as his men slowly climbed out of his overalls, resting next to the nearly formed body of their comrade.

He hated new people.

~O~

Sooo, what did you think? I recently reread Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children and fell back in love with it again-sigh-and completely remembered the crush I had on Enoch~ [andMillardbutwewon'ttalkaboutthat]

Anywho, it's been nearly a year since I've written anything so please leave me some feedback my fellow Peculiars~ ;)

I'd like to say thank you to Thargelion for being my beta reader, whom without these chapters would not be nearly as good!