milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Amy is tired. It's Christmas in Ambergeldar, and there's ever so much to do, and Susan is crawling into all sorts of places that it would never, ever have occurred to Amy that a 10-month old would even want to crawl, let alone actually crawl.

So she came in this even for a little peace and quiet and a nap. All of which she's had, in the House, and now she has stopped for tea and ginger cookies before she goes back.

She'd probably happily share either or both, and company would be just lovely.

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"Hello," Jilly says, a little uncertain about interrupting the other woman's reverie. "I met you once before. I'm Jilly. I was wondering if you'd mind sharing your tea?"

"Not in the slightest," says Amy. "It's why I always ask for extra cups. Please, sit," she says, with a vague gesture to various chairs. "I'll share the cookies, too.

"It's nice to see you again, Jilly. How does the evening find you?"

"That's very kind," Jilly says, pouring herself a cup of tea and taking a cookie. "The evening finds me well, if a bit confused. I found this...thing a few days ago, and I'm still trying to figure out what it is."

She taps the package that sits next to her. It's about a foot high and seven inches wide, tube shaped and a little awkward.

Amy leans forward slightly and looks.

"You haven't any idea? Did you get it here or at home?"

"At home," she says, unwrapping it. The mica and quartz veins glitter in the light from the universe's ending, and the remnants of very faint designs can be made out if one looks hard enough. "In the Tombs, which is this wrecked part of the city that was supposed to be a swanky resort, but was abandoned. It's home to squatters and transients, mostly."

Amy leans even closer.

"It's lovely," she says. "Do you think it was meant for something more than just decoration?"

"I've no idea," Jilly says, frowning slightly. "I mean, I might, just a bit, but...it seems so strange. My friend Christy writes about faerie - urban myths, he calls them. And one thing he talks about are the skookin, which is a Scottish word that means furtive and sullen. For some reason, I think it might belong to them."

"I see," says Amy.

"Do you know what you'll do with it?"

Jilly shakes her head. "I'm taking it to my friend, Professor Dapple. He knows all about this kind of stuff, and I hope he'll help. If he can't..."

She trails off, touches the drum's side lightly. "In Christy's story, the man who found the skookin treasure didn't return it. He died. Gruesomely."

"Professors tend to be very helpful with magic things. I'd suggest you show it to Professor Lyon here, but I do believe he's still away."

Amy nods, a little. If you accept fairy gifts as fact (and, having several, she does), you also accept fairy curses as fact.

Once you start accepting the idea of fairy (and Faerie) in general, it's hard to dismiss gifts and curses out of hands. Jilly's close, but not quite there yet.

"And Professor Dapple is particularly helpful. He's the one who taught me about consensual reality, back when I was in college, and it's sort of helped me see a lot of things I think other people never do."

"About what?" Amy asks, puzzled.

Jilly is getting used to explaining this.

"It's the idea that things exist because we want them to exist. We see what we expect to see, for the most part, what our society tells us is real. For most people, that does not include magic, fairies, or skookin."

She smiles slightly. "I see things no one else seems to see, though, so I sort of keep an open mind."

"Most of my godmothers are fairies. I'm trying to imagine Godmama Crustacea's reaction to being told she's not real. I don't think she'd appreciate it in the least, really," says Amy, thoughtfully.

"And what do you see that others don't?"

"No, I don't think it's something anyone would like to hear," Jilly says, amused. "In fact, when I doubted Goon's existence, he pinched me. Hard. Goon is the professor's housekeeper, and Professor Dapple swears he's some sort of goblin."

Jilly sighs. "It's nothing definitive, of course, nothing I can photograph or document. It's just...sometimes I see things from the corner of my eye, and when I look straight on, they're gone. I try to sketch them, though."

She pulls out her sketchbook, flips through it. "These. The bikes. I saw them fly one night, and yet...bikes can't fly."

Amy laughs. "I shall have to remember pinching as an option, if anyone ever tells me I'm not real."

She looks at the drawings, curiously.

"I can't say that I've ever seen a creature like that at all, but I can't quite imagine how one would fly."

"It was very effective," Jilly says, smiling ruefully. "It hurt."

"They're transportation. You ride them, like this."

She sketches a person riding a bike, then says, "They're not supposed to fly. But they did, and my friend Zinc...he said they just wanted to be free. That he was setting them free."

She's quiet for a long moment. "He died, setting them free."

Amy reaches across the table and covers one of Jilly's hands with one of her for a second.

"I'm sorry, my dear."

Jilly smiles slightly. "Thank you. Zinc was...a street kid. Messed up. Most people saw him as kind of a waste, but he was really sweet, you know? Just a nice kid. It wasn't right."

"It's never right, like that. And it's quite possible for most people to see someone inaccurately."

"Far too easy, I'm afraid."

Jilly sighs, then half-smiles. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so dark, really. How are you?"

"It happens sometimes," says Amy, with a slight shrug. "And when it does, it helps, I find, to talk about it.

"But I'm well. Tired, but it's Christmas at home, and my daughter is off and crawling which requires a great deal of chasing after her."

Jilly laughs. "Yeah, the holidays are hard enough when you're just dealing with yourself and your friends. I can't imagine what it must be like to add a very active child to the mix."

Tea and ginger cookies, and company?

Amy seems to be rather expecting him- so Wellard would be loath to disappoint her.

"Good evening, Amy."

"Henry," she says, perfectly delighted to see him. "Good evening. Will you join me? How are you?"

Wellard smiles a bit wryly, taking his seat across from Amy.

"Well enough, all things considering." He shrugs a bit, and sets about busying himself fixing a cup of tea.

The fact that there's an extra sugar bowl on the table should indicate that, if not expecting him, she was at least hoping to catch him.

"All what things, and considering them how?" Amy asks, with an arch of an eyebrow.

Wellard blinks, and gives her a sheepish smile- before a long sigh and a shrug.

"Things happening on another world, where one of my friends lives. There's a war going on there, against the Dark, and he and his family are... sort of rather caught up in it. He asked me to help, but I wasn't here when he came looking for me, and..." Wellard bites his lip.

"I probabl won't ever see him again, now."

Amy looks at him.

"The Dark, again," she says, quietly, not really a question, but not quite a statement.

"Where has your friend gone, that you shan't see him again?"

"Apparently and unfortunately, its in other worlds as well." Wryly, with a roll of his eyes. "They do not know of the Riders there, but seem to have their own roster of servants- who are also quite good at being charming, I've been told."

A frown, and he toys with his tea cup. "... Finn was chosen for some sort of destiny, and it happened. The Longest Road. He isn't dead, but... it is doubtful that he'll return." Quietly.

"Finn," she says, even more quietly. "A remarkable young man.

"I am sorry, Henry. Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't know." Quietly, and he manages a faint smile for Amy. "I will let you know?"

"Do," she says, gently but firmly.

"And how else are things for you?"

"Rather getting impatient waiting for decent weather to start back on repairs and building." He smiles faintly.

"We just have top work to finish on the Pearl, then I can get back to working on my own ship."

Amy is not entirely clear what "top work" is, but the "just" makes it sound like "stuff you do near the end that leads to completion," so she nods.

"Shouldn't be too much longer, should it? I mean, it's December at home, but it should almost be spring here.

"I think."

Wellard blinks, thinking. "Technically the first day, I believe? Or close to it. So you're about 3 months before us- well, at least when it comes to months. Who knows about years- time is certainly odd here." He shakes his head.

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