milliways_bar | (no subject)

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What just happened?

As Fakir reaches the Goldkrone smithy, he's thinking it through: I saw Rue. I wanted to ask her what she did to Mytho. I grabbed her by the shoulders.

Fakir holds the doorknob, lost in thought.

Then Duck tried to stop me. And then Mytho was pulling me, and I reached back--

I didn't mean to hit him. But I did. And the whole school saw us.

I don't care what they think of me. I deserve it anyway. I've hurt him before.

Fakir opens the door and walks in before he notices that he's come to Milliways instead of his foster father's house. Good. At least the people here at Milliways don't go to school with him. (With a few exceptions.)

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"I wouldn't want them to be," Autor says, thankfully on the Milliways side of the door. "That would be a twenty-four hour job."

He places a hand on his hip. "Though you are moodier than usual. I wonder why."

No, I am not going to answer that.

Ignoring Autor, Fakir walks to his usual table. Maybe the waitrats will bring him a book.

They don't, but Autor does. Two, in fact--both with their endings torn.

And tea. Common courtesy.

I won't accept his gifts.

But Fakir's resolve only lasts until he begins turning the pages of the books. The one on top, Perceval, or the Story of the Grail, begins with the story of a boy who doesn't know what knights are. The boy sees some knights in their shining armor and asks if they are angels.

What does it mean, after all, Fakir wonders, to be a knight?

Autor indulges in his tea, watching Fakir peruse his books. As always.

The music student raises a brow when the dancer's fingers brush the cover of the second tome: a rousing narrative of a brave knight who runs off to battle only to be maimed, and chooses to make his living as a bard, instead.

Start with knights, land in stories about Story, Autor thinks.

The Bard had a lover, though he hated the Lord she was to marry. Since the Bard could no longer fight, he couldn't defeat the prospective groom. Bitter and in mourning, the Bard sang of the war between the Lord and Lady's people during their wedding. The guests brought the war home, culminating in the groom's injury, and the bride's death.

And end with a warning.

Fakir turns a page, and Autor smiles.

Edited 2013-05-23 01:54 (UTC)

A bleeding lance, a shining chalice, a wounded king: Perceval sees these things at the home of the Fisher King but asks no questions, or asks the wrong questions. For his error he is cursed to wander in search of the Grail, until-- until--

the book ends with the final pages torn out.

"What must a knight do?" Fakir doesn't realize he's said it out loud.

Autor pours out two new cups of tea and pushes one over.

"That's up to the knight, isn't it?"

"Is it?"

Only then does Fakir remember who he's talking to. Damn.

Pointedly, he does not drink Autor's tea.

The music student laughs quietly, mostly because of the tea-snubbing.

"You tell me," the boy says, tapping the second book. "There are a lot of knights featured in stories. Tristan and Isolde. Lancelot." The boy glances up. "Lohengrin."

Autor leans back and throws an arm over the booth. "Maybe you could ask him?"

"I don't need to." Fakir shuts Perceval with a snap, opens the second book.

(He died a long time ago, and he died a failure.)

"Really," Autor says with ill-disguised interest, and the light strikes his glasses when he tilts his head.

"So you do have an opinion on the topic," he says, and blows on his tea. "Hm! There is something buried under all of that bluster after all."

Fakir's fists clench.

No. No more violence today.

Instead of punching Autor, he says, tightly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are a terrible liar," Autor says lightly.

"And you are an arrogant buffoon. You know nothing about me."

...but if Autor knows nothing about Fakir, why did he choose those books?

The music student sits back. He smiles, and lifts his teacup in a toast. "Whatever you say, Fakir."

Fakir lifts the books with his left hand and sweeps his right hand, knocking his teacup off the table. He stands.

"Your books," Fakir says, offering them to Autor. "You should take them." Away. Now.

Autor sets his empty cup on the table and stands fluidly. "I do appreciate that you didn't spill tea on them in your second fit of temper of the day," he says, and gingerly removes the texts from what care Fakir has given them.

"Do respect the importance of narrative, won't you?" the music student says, smirking.

Unfortunately for Fakir, the next time he orders anything from the bar, a list of recommended books will be waiting for him, with a hopefully infuriating sketch of a spilled teacup at the bottom.

Respect the importance of narrative.

Fakir spends the next hour practicing sword forms by the lake. It takes that long for his fury to begin to fade.

Perhaps thankfully, the Bar is sleeping later when Fakir gets around to ordering food. If Fakir had received Autor's note today, he'd be angry for weeks.

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