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unforthWell, I now have internet in the new apartment. And there is much rejoicing. If only I had a TV, life would be fine and dandy. ;)
The move went okay. Nothing destroyed or even particularly damaged; after a drawn out battle the doors of the building were defeated (two removed from their hinges) and my couches successfully stormed the ramparts or something; and at this point I've got most things unpacked - pretty much everything that I need - save for the impossibility of unloading almost 3000 books into two low bookcases. I'm short on furniture - as I expected, my old table is too big for the space, and so I need a small dining table, something to hold entertainment type stuff, a kitchen island with counter space, and, obviously, a whole lot of bookcases, but other than that things are more or less set at this point. I've been sick the whole time, and this has made the entire procedure considerably less pleasant even then it is normally, but at least I've got most of my stuff organized.
I think there's more I oughta write, but the extent to which I just don't feel like it right now is slightly monumental; I'll post the Monday writing segment a little later. :)
At the rate I'm going posting this, versus the rate I'm going writing it, there's going to be problems very soon. ;)
Chapter 3: Peace and Quiet
I felt like I was doing something wrong if I explored too terribly far, but I decided that I could safely explore most of the first floor under the pretence of looking for the bathroom. As long as no one asked and actually showed me where the bathroom was. And even then, I realized, I was safe; I could simply lock myself in the bathroom and not come out until it was time to leave. Whenever that might be. If anyone asked, I could say I was sick, but I’d be better soon. It would be fine. Indeed, after a moment or two of wandering hallways, I decided that this was a good plan, and began looking for the bathroom in truth.
I didn’t find it. Instead, the very next room I thrust my head in to was the most remarkable kitchen I had ever seen. It was huge, first of all. One entire alcove of it was dedicated to counters, stove tops, and all that. Two huge sinks sat beneath an equally large window. Hung on one wall was a large white board with a list of names – I recognized two of them – one was Dino, and the other was the name Kaye, which I had heard Armand/Dino (for, unsure which he was, his name was now an amalgam of both in my mind) say earlier. Beneath the board and its list of unfamiliar names was a dining room table which could easily sit a dozen, and there were even more chairs than that scattered around the room, yet this didn’t make it seem overly crowded. The delicious smell of some sort of thick soup (which was bubbling in a huge cauldron on the stove), fresh bread, and something which I thought might be chocolate chip cookies filled the room. It was, in truth, one of the warmest and most welcoming rooms I had ever seen. And it was empty. With a feeling of bliss, I leaned my sword against the wall and curled myself up into a ball perched on one of the dining table chairs, wrapping my arms around my legs and setting my chin on my knees. I sat, enjoying the silence, enjoying the smells, wrapped in the sense of wonder that now seemed to imbue everything. It was much easier to appreciate that there was anything wonderful when I wasn’t busy being petrified that someone might try to eat me, order my execution, or who-knew-what-else.
I had a full 5 minutes of peace before someone else came into the kitchen. I was so surprised – and embarrassed to be found there – that I tried to jump up, but my arms didn’t let go of my legs in time, and instead I kind of listed to one side, windmilling an arm to catch my balance, before settling into the chair in a more normal position, eyes downcast, face red.
The intruder – or, more properly, since I was the actual intruder, the rightful occupant of the room – was a lovely woman. She was very short, and her dark brown, curly hair was short too. Her eyes glowed with warmth and love, her smile welcomed everyone, and she, like me, had rosy cheeks and a double set of eyebrows. And even as petrified of everything new as I was, I couldn’t help but feel more comfortable when her eyes fell on me, couldn’t help but relax a bit when she smiled.
“And what have we here?” she asked cheerfully. “I thought I knew ever boggan in town, but I see I must have missed one! Oh, but you must be Kathryn! Just chryslized? I’m Kaye, and I’m the mistress of Willowgrove – this is Willowgrove.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Well, just make yourself at home! I can find a room for you, if you need a place to stay.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “No, please, that’s not necessary, my mom and dad will be really freaked out if I don’t come home tonight.”
“Oh, forgive my mistake,” she replied apologetically, “many newly-chryslized fae don’t have anywhere to go.”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t know things like that happened,” I felt wretched. How insensitive of me. She simply smiled and shook her head. She looked like she wanted to say something, and, sure enough, she offered me a cookie a moment later, but I had the feeling that wasn’t what had been on her mind. I accepted gratefully; I hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was now after 6 at night. “Wow! This is amazing!” It was the tastiest cookie I had ever eaten.
“Why thank you,” she replied with what sounded like true modesty. “Secret boggan recipe, don’t you know.”
She offered me the basket of cookies, and I took another. The content feeling the kitchen had brought me lingered and grew, and after moments of silence during which she checked on her cooking and baking, I felt comfortable enough to ask the first of the questions on my mind. “So I’m a boggan?” I asked hesitantly.
“They didn’t even tell you that much?” she sounded shocked. “Oh, but what were those boys up to! When I get my hands on Dino…” She slapped her spoon across her hand suggestively, though there was no supposing whatsoever that she might actually hit anyone with it.
“I don’t think it was Dino,” I said hesitantly, “I think it was Armand. Whatever that means. I don’t understand any of this!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” replied Kaye sympathetically. “It’s very confusing even when it’s handled normally, and this is far from normal. All these people around…” I nodded. It was like she was reading my mind.
“You don’t need to apologize,” I added hastily. “I mean, you didn’t have any way of knowing I was coming, and no one had any way of knowing that I would…would….chrysalize…today,” that sounded true. “Did they?” I tacked on, less sure of myself.
“There is no predicting it, no. And yes, yes you are a boggan. Just like me. And we’re pretty much the only to boggan’s in the entire city of Muses.”
“Muses?”
“In the Autumn world, it’s Bloomington,” she supplied, “but in the Dreaming it’s Muses, the city of the Muses.”
“And so that man –the b-Baron - is the leader of the city of Muses?”
Kaye’s face hardened abruptly into a much stiffer, displeased expression. “Yes,” she said in clipped tones. A moment later, though, she was all smiles again, and I wondered if I’d imagined it. “I’m sure you have a million questions, and I’d be happy to answer them all, but I haven’t time right now, I’m afraid, I have to make dinner for that lot outside. You’re welcome to stay, though, and I can help you in whatever way I can afterwards.”
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t stay as long as dinner, my parents would be upset, but I really, really appreciate the offer. Anyway, I only really have on question.”
“Oh?” she asked, stirring the stew. It smelled so good that I began thinking of excuses for staying before I could stop myself.
“May I go see the forge?”
She laughed. “I have no problem with it, but it’s not exactly my permission to give. You’ll have to ask Dino.”
“Oh,” I was confused. “He said – or Armand said, I have no idea – that I should ask you.”
“Go ahead and ask both of us, but I can’t imagine he’ll say no.”
I wanted to, very badly, but I hesitated. Asking would mean going out in to that crowd again – now nearly 20 people! – and I couldn’t face it. Kaye, though, simply smiled. “He’s on the porch,” she supplied, “reading.”
“Thank you!” I exclaimed happily. “Thank you so much,” I added more solemnly, “for everything. And I’m sorry that I was kind of rude. And that I came in to your kitchen without permission. And thank you for the cookies, they were really good, and for permission to go to the forge, and for offering to help with my questions, and for dinner. I’m sorry I can’t stay…” I was blushing, and I finally trailed off. She was just looking at me, one eyebrow (or, I should say, one pair of eyebrows) quirked.
“We’ll have to work on that,” she said softly; I didn’t think I was supposed to hear. “Go on,” she said more loudly, “You’re very welcome and you have nothing to apologize for!”
Tongue tripping over more of the same, I headed out of the room, almost forgetting to snag my sword as I went. There was a door directly from the kitchen to the porch in question, and I gratefully went out in to the lovely, balmy, early June weather. It was still perfectly light out, and the air smelled fresh and clean. I would have stopped to enjoy it, but after all the stress, all I wanted was to be in the forge. A winged cat fluttered by my head and through the open door in to the kitchen.
A ways down the porch, on one of the many chairs scattered along the porches whole length, sat Dino. I could tell he was Dino, or so I thought, by the clothes and the body language. I realized that really, once I got used to it, it might not be so terribly confusing after all. He was reading a book intensely, except that every once and a while he ripped a page out and ate it instead of reading it. I cleared my throat, but he didn’t notice, and though I was loath to interrupt, I finally said, timidly, “um…”
He didn’t look up.
“Excuse me?” I asked, a little more loudly.
He still didn’t look up.
“Uh, are you Dino?” I managed in a fairly normal tone of voice. I was quite certain he was, but I felt silly saying ‘excuse me’ again. I moved a bit closer.
He glanced up, did a double take, and snapped the book shut on his finger, hopped up, and dropped the book. Leaning to pick it up, his glasses slipped, and somehow he ended up juggling book, glasses, and this quite a handful, as he straightened up. “Um, sorry,” he apologized. “I’m Dino. I should have…should have introduced myself earlier. I remembered where I read about two chrysalises so close together,” he continued without a pause, “it was in this book. There’s actually been an entire study of it done by the nocker Palusion Feltfaxer. If two potential fae – that is to say, two who contain the essence of what is it to be a fae but who are as yet unawakened to their true nature,” his voice had taken on a lecturing quality. I listened, curious despite myself. His awkwardness put me at ease and helped me listen in a way that all of Sergei’s kind confidence had been unable to do. “If two – or more, the number is insiginificant, no, indeed, the more it is the more the effect is magnified – such unawakened beings are in close proximity, and one under goes the change, study shows that it increases exponentially the chances that the effect will cascade, with the end result that, if the chain is carried far enough, it might potentially – theoretically, of course, such a supposition is untestable – be possible to awaken all potential fae in the universe. Of course, according to Feltfaxer’s data, in order for this to be possible, in order for the effect to multiply sufficiently, then all of the potential fae in the universe would have to be occupying the exact same point in space-time, which is to say a singularity, and since this is quite impossible, since if that were to happen it would, be necessity, mean that the world had ended – I can only conclude that Feltfaxer is either a complete moron or utterly incompetent. Since this part of his theory is clearly complete tripe, I never considered that his evidence for the cascade of a small number of fae beings, ie in this instance two, might bear even a glance, but it appears I might have been wrong.” He paused, thoughtfully. I nodded, though he had lost me right after talking about how more “unawakened whatevers” might amplify the effect. “No, statistically speaking, it is far more likely that this is merely a coincidence brought on by the fact that Muses is the crossroads of fate. You understand, this necessarily skews chance in the area?” he sounded like it was not really a question. I wondered what he would say if I said that I didn’t understand, but I didn’t have the courage to find out. Instead I just nodded again, and he nodded in reply. “Right, that explains everything.” He nodded firmly, and his glasses fell off. He caught them and dropped his book. I leaned down and picked it up for him as he put his glasses back on. “Was there something I could help you with?” he asked as I passed him his book.
I floundered for a moment. I had been so busy concentrating on trying to understand what the heck he was talking about that for a moment I’d completely forgotten what I was doing there. “The forge,” I exclaimed, more loudly than I meant to, in the moment that I remembered. He looked startled; his glasses started to slip again and I feared the whole process was about to repeat a third time, but he caught them and adjusted them, book undropped. “Um,” I dropped my voice back to my normal mumble. “Ms. Kaye said that I could look at the forge, if you said that I could.”
“Oh,” he replied vaguely. “Yes, of course. You said that you made that sword, right?” he added. I nodded. “May I look at it while you are in the forge?”
“Of course,” I replied. I passed it to him, and he took it, looking slightly surprised at its weight, though he supported the weapon easily. “And thank you, thank you very much.” I turned and started to walk, then stopped. I turned back to him, and my face was very red. “Um, where is it?”
“Around the corner,” he supplied, managing to juggle the sword – which, given that he was only about half a foot taller than me, was only about 6 inches shorter than he was – and the book with much more alacrity than he had managed just the book, “you’ll see a white barn with a bunch of chimneys, it’s in there, mind the door.”
“What does the door do?” I asked, stupidly.
“It only opens if you mind it. Politely.”
“Oh. Thank you for warning me,” I was still very red. I wished I had a clue how I was supposed to mind a door, politely, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Instead, I headed around the building, and there, sure enough, was the barn in question.
Large and whitewashed, the barn looked very…barn-like. Very ordinary. Blushing to myself, I wondered what on earth I had thought it would look like. A barn was a barn, after all. Or wasn’t it? A barn where I had to mind the door wasn’t a barn at all, and I wasn’t even looking for a barn, I was looking for a forge. Then again, my forge was in a garage, and I knew that all of it was absurd to be wondering about and I’d not have gotten so thoroughly frazzled if not for everything else that had happened that day. It felt like multiple lifetimes ago that I had left for school in the morning. For all I knew, it had been.
I entered the barn, after carefully asking the door politely if it minded my going in. It didn’t answer, but the door opened, so I have no idea if asking worked or if it was just an ordinary door.
I had thought the kitchen had represented a sanctuary, but it had nothing on the barn. A craftsman, I’ve found, once they have a certain amount of experience, usually will lay out their workspace much like any other craftsman of a similar type. There will be small differences related to personal preference, but beyond that it rarely takes very long to grow familiar with a new space. That was how I know that whoever had laid out this forge – Dino? – knew at least a bit about what they were doing. The space had the neat simplicity of a used workshop. The forge occupied the left-hand corner of the barn as I came in; the other sections were devoted to other crafts, with work tables and tools of many different kinds, storage bins for materials, everything well organized and carefully maintained. I was sad to see that the fire was banked at the moment, but I still poked around the entire forge area, seeing what there was to see. This proved interesting, for in addition to all of the normal supplies I would have expected to find, there were also some truly esoteric things that I wasn’t certain actually existed. I was having trouble figuring out which things were “real” and which things were part of the “dream,” but some of the samples of metal here were surely nothing that had ever existed outside of a fairy tale. I spent a particularly long time examining what I was pretty sure just might possibly be mythril. I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to use this forge regularly, though somehow I thought there was little chance of that, though I couldn’t have explained that feeling.
I was startled out of my exploration by the ringing of a phone. My phone. My eyes flew to my wrist watch; it was after 7! I was going to be in so much trouble! I grabbed the phone from my pocket, and sure enough, it was my parents – probably mom. I answered. “Y…yes?”
“Your father just got home, Kathryn,” my mom said pointedly without preamble.
I nodded, though of course she couldn’t see, and said, “I…I lost track of the time, I’m sorry.”
“You have work to do, young lady, and you should never have stayed at school so late. I’m frankly astonished that you would be so selfish to Mr. Brown, making him stay there with you; to your father, making him come out to get you again; and to me for making me hold of dinner on your account. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am,” I whispered, truly. “I’m sorry, I lost track of the time.” If only she could have known how truly ashamed I was, knowing that I was lying by omission, desperate to point out that I hadn’t actually inconvenienced Mr. Brown at all. I knew, though, that I could never, ever tell her the truth about what happened today. Just thinking about what she would say, how she would react, how angry she would become with me, was enough to petrify me.
“Your father will come and get you this minute,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
“That’s okay,” I said in a hurry. What was I going to do?? “My friend Petros is with me, and I was going to ask him for a ride. Or, I mean, I lost track of the time, but he’s here, and if I ask him, he’ll give me a lift. I think. Somehow.” I hadn’t meant to include the last word. Petros did have a car, and he could drive, but of course his car was someplace other than here.
There was a pause, and then finally she said, “fine. But I want you in the door by 8 PM. And I’m not delaying dinner on your account.” And with a click, she hung up the phone.
“Ok,” I whispered in to the dead receiver, and put the phone away. The sense of peace that the forge had given me had shattered, and now all I felt was terrible. I’d inconvenienced my parents, I was very late, and I wasn’t at all sure how I would have enough time to do my homework and do the forgework I needed to get done. And I was going to have to go back in to the house and be in the room with all those people if I was going to ask for Petros’ help.
It took me a full 5 minutes to work up my nerves, and when I finally did, I spun ‘round, and there was Dino with my sword. He looked surprised at my movement. “Here,” he said, thrusting the sword towards me in a vaguely dangerous fashion. “This is very good work,” he added, and he did sound as if he meant it.
“Uh…thanks,” I muttered back. My initiative was shattered. Gathering up the pieces, I said as bravely as I could, “Um, I have to go,” and I pushed past him and hurried towards the house.
Petros was sitting with a group of others regaling them a story about how he and his band had had to beat the hell out of their audience once. I’d heard the story before. The audience, the people listening to his story, not the people who his band had beaten up, included the man with hairy legs, 5 of the big mouthed scary people (including Diezel and Thangobrind), the tiger man Dante, and several others – seemed utterly intrigued. I cowered just out of range of being bothered (or so I hoped) until Petros finished and the group was roaring with laughter at the conclusion, and then I darted through and tugged at Petros’ shirt.
He turned to me. “I have to go home,” I said quickly, not meeting his eyes. “Can you help me? Please?” I wished I sounded less desperate, but I couldn’t help it.
“Yeah,” he said, surprisingly gently, “yeah, I’m sure I can come up with something. Go wait outside.” I nodded and left as quickly as I had come.
Less than 5 minutes later, Petros came out with a set of car keys twirling round one of his fingers. “Easy as pie,” he said, “I just have to bring it back later tonight. Let’s get you home.”
The move went okay. Nothing destroyed or even particularly damaged; after a drawn out battle the doors of the building were defeated (two removed from their hinges) and my couches successfully stormed the ramparts or something; and at this point I've got most things unpacked - pretty much everything that I need - save for the impossibility of unloading almost 3000 books into two low bookcases. I'm short on furniture - as I expected, my old table is too big for the space, and so I need a small dining table, something to hold entertainment type stuff, a kitchen island with counter space, and, obviously, a whole lot of bookcases, but other than that things are more or less set at this point. I've been sick the whole time, and this has made the entire procedure considerably less pleasant even then it is normally, but at least I've got most of my stuff organized.
I think there's more I oughta write, but the extent to which I just don't feel like it right now is slightly monumental; I'll post the Monday writing segment a little later. :)
At the rate I'm going posting this, versus the rate I'm going writing it, there's going to be problems very soon. ;)
Chapter 3: Peace and Quiet
I felt like I was doing something wrong if I explored too terribly far, but I decided that I could safely explore most of the first floor under the pretence of looking for the bathroom. As long as no one asked and actually showed me where the bathroom was. And even then, I realized, I was safe; I could simply lock myself in the bathroom and not come out until it was time to leave. Whenever that might be. If anyone asked, I could say I was sick, but I’d be better soon. It would be fine. Indeed, after a moment or two of wandering hallways, I decided that this was a good plan, and began looking for the bathroom in truth.
I didn’t find it. Instead, the very next room I thrust my head in to was the most remarkable kitchen I had ever seen. It was huge, first of all. One entire alcove of it was dedicated to counters, stove tops, and all that. Two huge sinks sat beneath an equally large window. Hung on one wall was a large white board with a list of names – I recognized two of them – one was Dino, and the other was the name Kaye, which I had heard Armand/Dino (for, unsure which he was, his name was now an amalgam of both in my mind) say earlier. Beneath the board and its list of unfamiliar names was a dining room table which could easily sit a dozen, and there were even more chairs than that scattered around the room, yet this didn’t make it seem overly crowded. The delicious smell of some sort of thick soup (which was bubbling in a huge cauldron on the stove), fresh bread, and something which I thought might be chocolate chip cookies filled the room. It was, in truth, one of the warmest and most welcoming rooms I had ever seen. And it was empty. With a feeling of bliss, I leaned my sword against the wall and curled myself up into a ball perched on one of the dining table chairs, wrapping my arms around my legs and setting my chin on my knees. I sat, enjoying the silence, enjoying the smells, wrapped in the sense of wonder that now seemed to imbue everything. It was much easier to appreciate that there was anything wonderful when I wasn’t busy being petrified that someone might try to eat me, order my execution, or who-knew-what-else.
I had a full 5 minutes of peace before someone else came into the kitchen. I was so surprised – and embarrassed to be found there – that I tried to jump up, but my arms didn’t let go of my legs in time, and instead I kind of listed to one side, windmilling an arm to catch my balance, before settling into the chair in a more normal position, eyes downcast, face red.
The intruder – or, more properly, since I was the actual intruder, the rightful occupant of the room – was a lovely woman. She was very short, and her dark brown, curly hair was short too. Her eyes glowed with warmth and love, her smile welcomed everyone, and she, like me, had rosy cheeks and a double set of eyebrows. And even as petrified of everything new as I was, I couldn’t help but feel more comfortable when her eyes fell on me, couldn’t help but relax a bit when she smiled.
“And what have we here?” she asked cheerfully. “I thought I knew ever boggan in town, but I see I must have missed one! Oh, but you must be Kathryn! Just chryslized? I’m Kaye, and I’m the mistress of Willowgrove – this is Willowgrove.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Well, just make yourself at home! I can find a room for you, if you need a place to stay.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “No, please, that’s not necessary, my mom and dad will be really freaked out if I don’t come home tonight.”
“Oh, forgive my mistake,” she replied apologetically, “many newly-chryslized fae don’t have anywhere to go.”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t know things like that happened,” I felt wretched. How insensitive of me. She simply smiled and shook her head. She looked like she wanted to say something, and, sure enough, she offered me a cookie a moment later, but I had the feeling that wasn’t what had been on her mind. I accepted gratefully; I hadn’t eaten since lunch and it was now after 6 at night. “Wow! This is amazing!” It was the tastiest cookie I had ever eaten.
“Why thank you,” she replied with what sounded like true modesty. “Secret boggan recipe, don’t you know.”
She offered me the basket of cookies, and I took another. The content feeling the kitchen had brought me lingered and grew, and after moments of silence during which she checked on her cooking and baking, I felt comfortable enough to ask the first of the questions on my mind. “So I’m a boggan?” I asked hesitantly.
“They didn’t even tell you that much?” she sounded shocked. “Oh, but what were those boys up to! When I get my hands on Dino…” She slapped her spoon across her hand suggestively, though there was no supposing whatsoever that she might actually hit anyone with it.
“I don’t think it was Dino,” I said hesitantly, “I think it was Armand. Whatever that means. I don’t understand any of this!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” replied Kaye sympathetically. “It’s very confusing even when it’s handled normally, and this is far from normal. All these people around…” I nodded. It was like she was reading my mind.
“You don’t need to apologize,” I added hastily. “I mean, you didn’t have any way of knowing I was coming, and no one had any way of knowing that I would…would….chrysalize…today,” that sounded true. “Did they?” I tacked on, less sure of myself.
“There is no predicting it, no. And yes, yes you are a boggan. Just like me. And we’re pretty much the only to boggan’s in the entire city of Muses.”
“Muses?”
“In the Autumn world, it’s Bloomington,” she supplied, “but in the Dreaming it’s Muses, the city of the Muses.”
“And so that man –the b-Baron - is the leader of the city of Muses?”
Kaye’s face hardened abruptly into a much stiffer, displeased expression. “Yes,” she said in clipped tones. A moment later, though, she was all smiles again, and I wondered if I’d imagined it. “I’m sure you have a million questions, and I’d be happy to answer them all, but I haven’t time right now, I’m afraid, I have to make dinner for that lot outside. You’re welcome to stay, though, and I can help you in whatever way I can afterwards.”
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t stay as long as dinner, my parents would be upset, but I really, really appreciate the offer. Anyway, I only really have on question.”
“Oh?” she asked, stirring the stew. It smelled so good that I began thinking of excuses for staying before I could stop myself.
“May I go see the forge?”
She laughed. “I have no problem with it, but it’s not exactly my permission to give. You’ll have to ask Dino.”
“Oh,” I was confused. “He said – or Armand said, I have no idea – that I should ask you.”
“Go ahead and ask both of us, but I can’t imagine he’ll say no.”
I wanted to, very badly, but I hesitated. Asking would mean going out in to that crowd again – now nearly 20 people! – and I couldn’t face it. Kaye, though, simply smiled. “He’s on the porch,” she supplied, “reading.”
“Thank you!” I exclaimed happily. “Thank you so much,” I added more solemnly, “for everything. And I’m sorry that I was kind of rude. And that I came in to your kitchen without permission. And thank you for the cookies, they were really good, and for permission to go to the forge, and for offering to help with my questions, and for dinner. I’m sorry I can’t stay…” I was blushing, and I finally trailed off. She was just looking at me, one eyebrow (or, I should say, one pair of eyebrows) quirked.
“We’ll have to work on that,” she said softly; I didn’t think I was supposed to hear. “Go on,” she said more loudly, “You’re very welcome and you have nothing to apologize for!”
Tongue tripping over more of the same, I headed out of the room, almost forgetting to snag my sword as I went. There was a door directly from the kitchen to the porch in question, and I gratefully went out in to the lovely, balmy, early June weather. It was still perfectly light out, and the air smelled fresh and clean. I would have stopped to enjoy it, but after all the stress, all I wanted was to be in the forge. A winged cat fluttered by my head and through the open door in to the kitchen.
A ways down the porch, on one of the many chairs scattered along the porches whole length, sat Dino. I could tell he was Dino, or so I thought, by the clothes and the body language. I realized that really, once I got used to it, it might not be so terribly confusing after all. He was reading a book intensely, except that every once and a while he ripped a page out and ate it instead of reading it. I cleared my throat, but he didn’t notice, and though I was loath to interrupt, I finally said, timidly, “um…”
He didn’t look up.
“Excuse me?” I asked, a little more loudly.
He still didn’t look up.
“Uh, are you Dino?” I managed in a fairly normal tone of voice. I was quite certain he was, but I felt silly saying ‘excuse me’ again. I moved a bit closer.
He glanced up, did a double take, and snapped the book shut on his finger, hopped up, and dropped the book. Leaning to pick it up, his glasses slipped, and somehow he ended up juggling book, glasses, and this quite a handful, as he straightened up. “Um, sorry,” he apologized. “I’m Dino. I should have…should have introduced myself earlier. I remembered where I read about two chrysalises so close together,” he continued without a pause, “it was in this book. There’s actually been an entire study of it done by the nocker Palusion Feltfaxer. If two potential fae – that is to say, two who contain the essence of what is it to be a fae but who are as yet unawakened to their true nature,” his voice had taken on a lecturing quality. I listened, curious despite myself. His awkwardness put me at ease and helped me listen in a way that all of Sergei’s kind confidence had been unable to do. “If two – or more, the number is insiginificant, no, indeed, the more it is the more the effect is magnified – such unawakened beings are in close proximity, and one under goes the change, study shows that it increases exponentially the chances that the effect will cascade, with the end result that, if the chain is carried far enough, it might potentially – theoretically, of course, such a supposition is untestable – be possible to awaken all potential fae in the universe. Of course, according to Feltfaxer’s data, in order for this to be possible, in order for the effect to multiply sufficiently, then all of the potential fae in the universe would have to be occupying the exact same point in space-time, which is to say a singularity, and since this is quite impossible, since if that were to happen it would, be necessity, mean that the world had ended – I can only conclude that Feltfaxer is either a complete moron or utterly incompetent. Since this part of his theory is clearly complete tripe, I never considered that his evidence for the cascade of a small number of fae beings, ie in this instance two, might bear even a glance, but it appears I might have been wrong.” He paused, thoughtfully. I nodded, though he had lost me right after talking about how more “unawakened whatevers” might amplify the effect. “No, statistically speaking, it is far more likely that this is merely a coincidence brought on by the fact that Muses is the crossroads of fate. You understand, this necessarily skews chance in the area?” he sounded like it was not really a question. I wondered what he would say if I said that I didn’t understand, but I didn’t have the courage to find out. Instead I just nodded again, and he nodded in reply. “Right, that explains everything.” He nodded firmly, and his glasses fell off. He caught them and dropped his book. I leaned down and picked it up for him as he put his glasses back on. “Was there something I could help you with?” he asked as I passed him his book.
I floundered for a moment. I had been so busy concentrating on trying to understand what the heck he was talking about that for a moment I’d completely forgotten what I was doing there. “The forge,” I exclaimed, more loudly than I meant to, in the moment that I remembered. He looked startled; his glasses started to slip again and I feared the whole process was about to repeat a third time, but he caught them and adjusted them, book undropped. “Um,” I dropped my voice back to my normal mumble. “Ms. Kaye said that I could look at the forge, if you said that I could.”
“Oh,” he replied vaguely. “Yes, of course. You said that you made that sword, right?” he added. I nodded. “May I look at it while you are in the forge?”
“Of course,” I replied. I passed it to him, and he took it, looking slightly surprised at its weight, though he supported the weapon easily. “And thank you, thank you very much.” I turned and started to walk, then stopped. I turned back to him, and my face was very red. “Um, where is it?”
“Around the corner,” he supplied, managing to juggle the sword – which, given that he was only about half a foot taller than me, was only about 6 inches shorter than he was – and the book with much more alacrity than he had managed just the book, “you’ll see a white barn with a bunch of chimneys, it’s in there, mind the door.”
“What does the door do?” I asked, stupidly.
“It only opens if you mind it. Politely.”
“Oh. Thank you for warning me,” I was still very red. I wished I had a clue how I was supposed to mind a door, politely, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Instead, I headed around the building, and there, sure enough, was the barn in question.
Large and whitewashed, the barn looked very…barn-like. Very ordinary. Blushing to myself, I wondered what on earth I had thought it would look like. A barn was a barn, after all. Or wasn’t it? A barn where I had to mind the door wasn’t a barn at all, and I wasn’t even looking for a barn, I was looking for a forge. Then again, my forge was in a garage, and I knew that all of it was absurd to be wondering about and I’d not have gotten so thoroughly frazzled if not for everything else that had happened that day. It felt like multiple lifetimes ago that I had left for school in the morning. For all I knew, it had been.
I entered the barn, after carefully asking the door politely if it minded my going in. It didn’t answer, but the door opened, so I have no idea if asking worked or if it was just an ordinary door.
I had thought the kitchen had represented a sanctuary, but it had nothing on the barn. A craftsman, I’ve found, once they have a certain amount of experience, usually will lay out their workspace much like any other craftsman of a similar type. There will be small differences related to personal preference, but beyond that it rarely takes very long to grow familiar with a new space. That was how I know that whoever had laid out this forge – Dino? – knew at least a bit about what they were doing. The space had the neat simplicity of a used workshop. The forge occupied the left-hand corner of the barn as I came in; the other sections were devoted to other crafts, with work tables and tools of many different kinds, storage bins for materials, everything well organized and carefully maintained. I was sad to see that the fire was banked at the moment, but I still poked around the entire forge area, seeing what there was to see. This proved interesting, for in addition to all of the normal supplies I would have expected to find, there were also some truly esoteric things that I wasn’t certain actually existed. I was having trouble figuring out which things were “real” and which things were part of the “dream,” but some of the samples of metal here were surely nothing that had ever existed outside of a fairy tale. I spent a particularly long time examining what I was pretty sure just might possibly be mythril. I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be to use this forge regularly, though somehow I thought there was little chance of that, though I couldn’t have explained that feeling.
I was startled out of my exploration by the ringing of a phone. My phone. My eyes flew to my wrist watch; it was after 7! I was going to be in so much trouble! I grabbed the phone from my pocket, and sure enough, it was my parents – probably mom. I answered. “Y…yes?”
“Your father just got home, Kathryn,” my mom said pointedly without preamble.
I nodded, though of course she couldn’t see, and said, “I…I lost track of the time, I’m sorry.”
“You have work to do, young lady, and you should never have stayed at school so late. I’m frankly astonished that you would be so selfish to Mr. Brown, making him stay there with you; to your father, making him come out to get you again; and to me for making me hold of dinner on your account. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am,” I whispered, truly. “I’m sorry, I lost track of the time.” If only she could have known how truly ashamed I was, knowing that I was lying by omission, desperate to point out that I hadn’t actually inconvenienced Mr. Brown at all. I knew, though, that I could never, ever tell her the truth about what happened today. Just thinking about what she would say, how she would react, how angry she would become with me, was enough to petrify me.
“Your father will come and get you this minute,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
“That’s okay,” I said in a hurry. What was I going to do?? “My friend Petros is with me, and I was going to ask him for a ride. Or, I mean, I lost track of the time, but he’s here, and if I ask him, he’ll give me a lift. I think. Somehow.” I hadn’t meant to include the last word. Petros did have a car, and he could drive, but of course his car was someplace other than here.
There was a pause, and then finally she said, “fine. But I want you in the door by 8 PM. And I’m not delaying dinner on your account.” And with a click, she hung up the phone.
“Ok,” I whispered in to the dead receiver, and put the phone away. The sense of peace that the forge had given me had shattered, and now all I felt was terrible. I’d inconvenienced my parents, I was very late, and I wasn’t at all sure how I would have enough time to do my homework and do the forgework I needed to get done. And I was going to have to go back in to the house and be in the room with all those people if I was going to ask for Petros’ help.
It took me a full 5 minutes to work up my nerves, and when I finally did, I spun ‘round, and there was Dino with my sword. He looked surprised at my movement. “Here,” he said, thrusting the sword towards me in a vaguely dangerous fashion. “This is very good work,” he added, and he did sound as if he meant it.
“Uh…thanks,” I muttered back. My initiative was shattered. Gathering up the pieces, I said as bravely as I could, “Um, I have to go,” and I pushed past him and hurried towards the house.
Petros was sitting with a group of others regaling them a story about how he and his band had had to beat the hell out of their audience once. I’d heard the story before. The audience, the people listening to his story, not the people who his band had beaten up, included the man with hairy legs, 5 of the big mouthed scary people (including Diezel and Thangobrind), the tiger man Dante, and several others – seemed utterly intrigued. I cowered just out of range of being bothered (or so I hoped) until Petros finished and the group was roaring with laughter at the conclusion, and then I darted through and tugged at Petros’ shirt.
He turned to me. “I have to go home,” I said quickly, not meeting his eyes. “Can you help me? Please?” I wished I sounded less desperate, but I couldn’t help it.
“Yeah,” he said, surprisingly gently, “yeah, I’m sure I can come up with something. Go wait outside.” I nodded and left as quickly as I had come.
Less than 5 minutes later, Petros came out with a set of car keys twirling round one of his fingers. “Easy as pie,” he said, “I just have to bring it back later tonight. Let’s get you home.”
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no subject
Date: 2008-01-08 03:42 pm (UTC)Do you have a phone yet?
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Date: 2008-01-08 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-08 05:38 pm (UTC)It sucks to be doing that while sick, but hopefully you're getting better soon?
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Date: 2008-01-13 02:50 am (UTC)