milliways_bar | Happy Hour

"Yes. Brushing up after meeting epic Norse goddesses," she adds with a somewhat bleary (and still genuine) smile in return.

Although, one will have to overlook the way that she drops suddenly into a stool to watch the conjuring up of her drink (magic - real magic - is still a novelty for her) with a slightly slack jaw and widened eyes.

The time to ask the obvious is now:

"Wizard?" A pause, taking a sip. The idea of the alcohol is present, but not overtly strong in her coffee. It's perfection. "Thank you very much."

"Ah, I was wondering if you'd run across one here. It's entirely plausible."

His own eyes sparkle at her obvious interest in his drink-making technique.

"You're entirely welcome. And yes, you're right in one. Howl Pendragon at your service. Whatever you do, don't tell my wife I'm here. She'll likely have my head for it." His smile is utterly brilliant at that one.

Of course, he wouldn't have left unless everyone at home was sleeping. The single most important luxury of this place is that when he gets back home, it will still be the precise moment at which he left. Whatever he does in the meantime simply can't be argued as actually leaving.

"Brilliant. You're the third true magic-user I've met here."

Another sip.

"It was about last week when I took a very educational field trip with Skaði. I cam back with ideas. Which, as one knows, are very dangerous things to have percolating in the mind. Oh, Alba DeTamble. It's nice to meet you, and I promise that I won't say a word."

She grins.

"I had to send my younger selves away before any of them wondered what I was up to--" she shakes her head "--because I can't ruin the timneline like that."

Edited 2010-10-19 02:20 (UTC)

Honestly, he has very little idea what she's talking about but he's running on so little sleep himself that he simply nods in acknowledgment. Some sort of time-traveler, if she's talking about ruining a timeline, he supposes, and of all the troubles he's had, being in two places at once has never been one of them.

No, he's more than enough trouble only being in one place at a time.

"Hello, Alba DeTamble. Personally, I'm all in favor of ideas. The more the merrier, and the more convoluted, the better. Some of my favorite trouble in life has come from one idea too many. I highly recommend them."

He will never tell anybody to stop thinking creatively. It would be the death of them all, and he has absolutely no intention of dying. He promised Sophie he wouldn't, right after she threatened to kill him.

She laughs quietly, "Trust me. It's all just such a tumble in my brain right now I don't even think it can get any more complicated than it is right now. I don't think it's going to stop, either."

Briefly, wondering herself if she told him that she was a time-traveler.

It doesn't matter at this point, she's going to continue on the assumption that she has -- even if she can't recall.

His gesture to Milliways at large is broad and encompassing. "My dear girl, nothing can get any more complicated than this."

It defies reason, and any problems or specific worries he might have from home pale in the face of the universe ending and being reborn, or at least that's his opinion. Everything else straightens itself out in the laundry.

That isn't to say that there aren't discrete and unique differences between them all. "Sometimes, however, it pays to let the words and thoughts out. Sometimes, someone new can have a rather untested perspective on one's complications. I'm game, if you want to try me."

At the very least, the world's best barmen listen. That in itself can be a wonderful thing.

She lowers her cup to the bartop, clasps her hands around it for the warmth, and takes about thirty seconds to decide on where (or when) she should really begin.

She starts in the middle.

". . .You never feel smaller than when you do here, sitting on a stool at the bar at the end of the universe. Of all universes. I forget to make that plural. I mean, really, for something that's mostly water with some carbon thrown in there to make it pretty and alive, I feel pretty small knowing there's more out there, and bigger.

And it really should be seen. Problem is, time isn't exactly on my side. It stops for everyone else. For me, it keeps going. I miss out on days in my world. My intention is to make that stop as soon as possible. I need to find a way to get a hold on this thing I have. Disorder, as it's genetic. Quirk, not a qift.

It's always been interesting. . . but it can be improved upon."

Fairly skilled at putting the pieces of a puzzle together, he listens, analyzes, thinks, pours himself a pint of hard cider, sips it, sets the glass down, and nods.

Then he shakes his head.

"I followed you part of the way, but I do believe there are others for whom time moves along as well. I'm under the impression, however, that you've got something they don't have. What kind of genetic... disorder, you call it?"

One man's silver is another man's gold, or so goes conventional wisdom. And he is a wizard, and if one asks Sophie on a good day she'll tell them he's the best wizard in all Ingary -- with only slight reservation -- and if it's a problem he can't solve, he's got access to the best and most brilliant magical minds in his land.

Of course, he's getting a bit ahead of things, but he does like a good challenge. At least it will give him something to mull over on those nights when Morgan refuses to settle for love, money, or the world's most impressive magic tricks.

Blame that fervent brightness (one would call it determination, perhaps) in her eyes on her sleeplessness.

"CDP. I am a chrono-displaced person.

Which can essentially be reduced down to this: a genetic disorder that predisposes me toward episodes of uncontrolled time-travel. Anywhen and anywhere. My father had it worse than I did -- I've managed to control most of it.

Most isn't good enough anymore."

"Oh, dear."

He's never heard of a chrono-displaced person before, although he's been geographically displaced and since one can only go on personal experience, he has to assume it's at least as jarring as that and probably a great deal more so.

"When you say anywhen, does that mean you're anywhen or that the time around you is anywhen?"

One of those things is infinitely more compelling than the other, so far as he's concerned. Now he's simply fascinated.

"I leave my when and where -- for another when and where. Sometimes it's in my past or future. Sometimes it's in my parent's past or future. Sometimes it's in the past or future of nowhere that I've ever been until that moment.

When I try, I go to the elsewhere and elsewhen that I choose to."

That's even more marvelous than he'd expected; a true smile lights his face. "How wonderful. Wonderful. You've been to your past and to your future and to the past and future of others. I can see how controlling it would be of paramount importance."

One wouldn't, for instance, care to show up at his own funeral as an infant or toddler. Then again, one wouldn't care to show up at his own funeral at all, as far as he's concerned, and he'd do well not to even mention it to her.

"What's the oddest combination of places and ages you've been, if you don't mind my asking?"

Now Alba's gone and done it: the gears are turning, and he's bound and determined to solve this problem if he can. That's a big if, however: he's good, but he's far from perfect. Just ask Sophie.

"Milliways -- is the oddest.

I was there at twenty speaking to someone," she says as she tilts her head toward the fireplace, "while watching myself at nine draw a carrion flower that I had seen for a few minutes when I tried to travel to a Sumatran rainforest in order to see one in person. All the while, I was upstairs in the library at the age I am now, bus looking up various books on the Norse pantheon."

Now that's a lot of Alba all at once. Still, he nods with what comprehension he can muster.

"The closest I can get to that in my own experience is to tell you that when I met my wife, she was an old woman. But that was nothing genetic, although age catches up with all of us sooner or later so the argument for genetics could be put forth if one so desired."

Personally, he's always thought age was more a state of mind than anything else, and had Sophie not felt like an old woman already, the curse might have stood a chance of rebounding and hitting the Witch of the Waste squarely instead. But it wasn't to be, and all philosophy aside, she was quite old. He even had to mend her heart more than once.

"But she aged down quite nicely once the curse was lifted."

"That sounds like a terribly romantic, if long, story."

She can't help grinning.

"Oh, yes." On any given day he would be more than happy to hold forth and tell her every detail, so long as it isn't a lurid one. "And some day I'll bore you with it. But at the moment, I'm interested in hearing more about what you can do." After all, a curse is simply a curse. But to be born with such an ability is nearly impossible to fathom.

"If you don't mind, when was the first time this happened?"

"--I was four, maybe.

Or six.

I sort of popped up one day at home and started to play outside with my older self. Dad brought me in to Mom, fed me lunch, and at the mention of ice cream I vanished.

Which was unfortunate because I was having a lot of fun."

"Heavens. Before the ice cream? How tragic." Honestly, he can't really imagining playing with his older self; he'd have been terribly unfair and taken all kinds of advantage of the situation. "But it wasn't a surprise to your parents to suddenly have two of you?"

What an extraordinary turn of events.

"They must be remarkable people."

"She is.

And he was.

And it was a surprise -- but not an unexpected one. They knew the gene would carry over. It was pretty much a space-time fluke to begin with. There were difficulties. . ."

"Difficulties of what sort?" Never one to shy away from asking questions -- it's the best way to find answers, after all -- he keeps going. "If you'd rather I didn't ask, just say so and I'll let you have a much more peaceful one-eighth Morgan's Mountain."

But this is a puzzle, and those are things he lives to solve. In his own special way; that goes without saying. He always does manage to find the answer... eventually.

"Even from the womb . . . the baby time-travels.

It took them years worth of trying before me."

That sounds so strange to her own ears. Shaking her head, "We're not teribly long-lived, I guess." She pauses for a moment, taking a sip from the mentioned coffee, and sighs a little in relief. "So. I don't know if there are more chrono-displaced persons, or, if I'm the anomaly."

Well, she's made it this far... but her statement does beg the question.

"You've seen yourself older than you are now?" If curiosity hadn't got the better of him, it's a question so indelicate even he wouldn't be asking it. He's powerfully motivated, however. If he's going to solve this riddle or even get close to understanding it, there are things he needs to know.

She chews on the inside of her cheek.

"I haven't seen myself after twenty-five. I don't know why, and I haven't left any notes for myself. It may be because I didn't want to influence my future -- or, not."

There's a pause before he speaks, because there are times when thoughts need to be gathered and herded before letting them loose on an unsuspecting public.

This is one of those times.

"You strike me as a very intelligent young lady. If you're thinking now about influencing your future, then your future self must have a memory of the thought and is acting accordingly."

At least that's his hope.

"You wouldn't mind, would you, if I conversed with some of my fellow wizards at home to see if they've ever heard of such a... genetic quirk?"

"Not at all."

She chuckles, hearing genetic quirk spoken by someone else is amusing in a kind of way, and she stifles any further behind her mug. It makes the thought of or not less dire -- changing it to something worth being optimistic about.

"Feel free to share. I would like to hear what a few others have to say on it. . . get a second, or third, or even fourth opinion on it. It can't hurt any. Thank you for being interested enough."

Happy Hour

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