milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"But musing what an easy thing it were to mix our opiates in a larger cup," Autor says, patting the counter in preparation to hop over it. "And drink, and not perceive"—and here he hops—"sleep deepening lead his truer kinsman up, like undistinguished Night, darkening the skirts of Eve.*"

After a few minutes of setting up his prior preparations, the boy reaches for the specials board. "Good night, Bar."

Bitter Chocolate Aria
Hot chocolate & one croissant

Submission Sonata
Virgin strawberry & wasabi daiquiri

Ode to Blood
Giga ant eggs, sour apple juice, seltzer water, flavored ice

Fiery Trigon
Grenadine, lemon juice, apple juice, passion fruit juice, & cinnamon

Silent Overture
Free coffee if you can prove that you’re knighted

Note: Virgin bar.

[This post is open forever.]

*Ode to Sleep , Richard Chenevix Trench

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"True enough, but I figured giving warning was courteous," she admits, shrugging.

The door to the bar's fridge opens apparently by itself, and a bottle of Irish Cream floats out, up, and into Sunshine's hand. She twists off the top and adds a generous splash to her hot chocolate.

As long as it's taken her to admit it, magic has its advantages.

This, of course, marginally freaks Autor out. "What the he-! Rae, I didn't know you could do that," he says, jumping back to avoid being beaned by the suddenly floating liquor bottle.

"You have so many abilities," he says, a little awed--and a little annoyed. "Does that one draw power from the sun, too?"

"You're acting surprised to hear I don't tell you everything," she answers, capping the bottle and sending it floating gently back to its place in the fridge. It goes nowhere near his precious and easily-beaned head. "It's me that draws power from the sun. And I'm a magic-handler. Everything else is just details."

"I'm not surprised about that," he says, obviously covering his tracks. "I'm annoyed that I made the assumption otherwise."

Which is true.

He props his elbows up on the bar and cups his chin in his hands, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the alcohol. "So what else can you do?"

"Shows you what you get for assuming," she smiles slightly, stirring her hot chocolate.

Apparently the answer is: nearly beaned by a bottle of Irish cream.

"Lots of things, really, but transmuting is what I'm best at, apart from snuffing out vampires," she murmurs, taking a sip. "Transmuting is stuff-changing. Changing something into something else."

Edited 2013-05-07 02:08 (UTC)

Autor's eyes gleam with interest. "Really," he says. "What sorts of things? What can you change into what? And does it take a lot of energy?"

He pulls out a few German marks from his pocket, and arranges the coins in front of her. "What can you do with these?"

"I've never not been able to change something, once I try it," she replies, though she's thinking of her grandmother's ring.

("I'm tired of that red stone. Give me a green one.")

"These are your world's currency?" Rae says, picking up one of the coins and eyeing it. "Sweet. Your mint doesn't skimp on the metals."

It's nice and heavy. Dense. Sunshine closes her hand around the coin, and when she opens her hand a moment later, the coin is a bright blue, plastic button.

"W-What!" Autor says. He brings his fists to his chest to keep from flailing, but it's no good--he wiggles instead. "How is that even remotely possible? Can you transmute different-sized objects? Do you have to know what each object looks and feels like and--gah!"

Sense, Sunshine. This makes none.

"Magic, Autor," she reminds him gently, with a slight smile. "I have to have contact with the item in question, and there are certain rules and things that dictate how difficult it is to turn. I haven't tried turning something into something else that's drastically different in size, really."

"You should," he says eagerly. "Unless there are severe consequences to using this that you're also not telling me about."

Then he furrows his brow. "I assume human transmutation is morally reprehensible and so thoroughly frowned upon that the only people to have tried have been imprisoned or executed?"

Sunshine had been in the middle of taking a drink of her liberally spiked hot chocolate, Autor. That is not a good time to ask a question like that. It carries the risk of making bakers choke mid-sip.

Like this particular baker, who is now spluttering madly. "What kind of lurid, multicolored hell is your brain, Autor," she chokes out. Apparently the thought of transmuting a person hadn't even occurred to her.

And this is why he tried to ask that question in a manner that wouldn't make her choke. "I'm going to assume no one's tried it, then," he says. Or at least been discovered. Still. "That's good."

Then he sits back and waits for her to yell at him. He'd ask another question, but he has a feeling it would be disregarded.

Apparently his and Sunshine's typical conversational-argument has arrived early. Surprisingly, it's not the one he thought would happen.

Augh. There aren't enough napkins in the world. Sunshine coughs, clearing her throat as she dabs at the splashes on her shirt and jeans. Brown is making the rare appearance in Sunshine's fashion, today, if rather unexpectedly.

"That kind of thing... It's not really something that's come up, thankfully," she says, between coughing. "On very rare occasions you might get a bad blood-cross, but there are usually signs to look for way before things get that bad."

Edited 2013-05-07 18:02 (UTC)

Autor fidgets a bit. She's coughing, and normally people would pat other choking people on the back, but he's not normal, and he's fairly certain that never helps anyway. That he had the idea to do so at all is terribly unnerving. He turns to make tea.

He is fairly certain that more discussion on this topic would lead to more, "what the hell is your brain," which is why he really should steer them away from it as quickly as he can. Figuring out how to weaponize an ability Sunshine isn't already gloomy about--and he has ten to twelve theories already--would probably be have a longer-lasting effect than causing her to stain her clothes with hot chocolate.

"What's a blood-cross?" he asks.

"It takes a bit of background to explain." Hot chocolate may turn out to be a stain even more difficult to remove than blood. Sunshine gives the shirt up as a lost cause and turns to throw away the used napkins.

"Magic-handling is hereditary, and the strength of one's power depends on the strength of one's combined ancestry, more or less," says the daughter of Onyx Blaise. "You've heard me talk about Others, in my world, I think? Sentient non-humans. Well, there are also Part-Blood Others, people who have both human and Other parentage. With me so far?"

"Can I get you another drink? On me, rather than you," he says. Autor winces at the uselessness of said napkins, and shrugs at Sunshine about her shirt.

"Oh, genetics!" Autor says, lighting up. He nods eagerly; he's been working on a similar topic for months. "I assume people who have Other-blood running through their veins have significantly concentrated magic ability? What price do they pay for it?"

"Cup of tea would be nice," she replies with a slight smile.

"Others and Part-Blood Others don't really..." she says, grimacing. As she said, it's complicated. "There are lots of different kinds of Other, and those that have magic abilities aren't... they don't handle magic like human magic-handlers do. Most often it's because they are magical, in some way or another. Like how Swallow Demons fly only partially because of their birdlike, hollow bone structure. Mostly they fly because the atoms that make them up don't seem to submit to gravity like they should. They don't handle magic, they are magical."

"A bad blood-cross is when someone with magic-handling genes has a child with someone who has Other blood in their background. Magical Other blood and human magic-handling blood do not mix well. Nine times out of ten, the child turns out to be very inventive, very powerful, very hard to catch serial killer."

Autor nods and clears away her hot chocolate mug. He offers her a glass of water to clear her palate and then turns to assemble a tea ball for her--not lavender, but the same mix she had the first time they baked croissants.

Teacups in hand, he turns back to her and shakes his head. "Well, that's rather deterministic, and I bet Others shoulder the blame," he says. "No wonder humans discriminate against them. What is it about the Other blood that warps a human's magic-handler's child? I've been studying this, but it still seems odd to me that a person would genes would have that much an effect."

"I've not done any great study on it," only partly for fear of what she might find out about herself, "but the general idea is that the Other magic genes and the human magic-handling genes are mutually incompatible, and make the child mentally unstable while magically very powerful. It usually manifests itself early, when the kid's a toddler, getting getting into the really gruesome kinds of mischief. But it can also be that the kid in question is completely normal until some sudden shock or stress kind of... snaps them."

"It's part of why magic-handling families are very careful about which families they marry into - Dad's family was dead set against him marrying my mother, for example, because she was an unknown. The general discrimination towards Others and Partblood Others, though, comes from the Wars."

"Ah, I see," Autor says quietly, lost in his tea. And that's all he'll say on that. The 'unknown' comment doesn't slip by him, though.

"Wait, I thought the discrimination was an instigating factor in the wars," he says, furrowing his brow. "A cause rather than a result, though I imagine that the attacks made it worse."

"Discrimination begets conflict begets discrimination begets conflict," she shakes her head, lifting her glass of water to take a sip. "Who's to say which came first? Though the Wars certainly made it worse."

"For everyone, really." Indiscriminately. "Most people don't like even to think about Others. Thinking about Others makes them think about vampires, and thinking about vampires makes them think about the Wars, and thinking about the Wars makes them think about how things were before the Wars, i.e. better, and that just makes them think about how... bad things are now, and how they're getting worse."

If he ever needed to know why Rae does what she does, even when it hurts her and haunts her nights...

And it's just about here that Autor squirms. He wouldn't, normally. He'd sit back, sip his tea, and stuff his unease so far down he'd never feel it linger. It's Just Sunshine... but that's the problem, isn't it?

"I can imagine how thinking about vampires would be a horrible thing," he murmurs.

"The Wars were a bad time - everyone lost someone, either in attacks, actual battles, or from... well, there were a lot of suicides."

Sunshine has her own list of those lost.

"Most people try to ignore everything Other, so they don't lose hope. But that's not going to help the situation." It's not something Sunshine can do, any more, however much the totally-normal-baker part of her wishes it were. She just has to remind herself that she's making a difference. Hopefully.

Sunshine is realizing this isn't a conversation topic she wants to be stuck on.

Seeking to get away from the topic of vampires, she shakes her head and asks, "So, what've you been up to lately, Autor, other than practicing your croissant-baking?"

Edited 2013-05-08 00:06 (UTC)

And Autor squirms a little more. The word suicide stops him--just long enough to take a breath, a sip of tea, a moment to reorient himself--but then he's right back to squirming again. He's really getting annoyed with this feeling that he can't quite put a name to.

He's startled when he realizes that it's a mixture of not wanting to bring up his conversation with Eric because that would make Rae... uncomfortable, and guilt for keeping that sort of secret. Ha! This isn't guilt, he thinks. I felt that with Lohengrin and it was much uglier.

But he's curious. Yes. He's curious, and that will always be his downfall. The kid adjusts his glasses.

"Expanding my knowledge of mythology," he says, carefully. "Speaking of vampires," he says, and winces, unconsciously, "have you seen a blond one roaming around the bar lately?"

Sunshine's look and bearing sharpen, suddenly, and the weight of her attention falls on Autor. "Not lately, no. What's he done?"