milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Quentin's sitting at the counter with one of the brochures and a pen marking that parts that don't make sense. There are lots of questions marks and use of a few specific words; how?, contract?.

He's eating a sandwich with a soda beside him as he works, looking up sometimes to note who comes in. When he goes back home, he's going to have as much information as possible about Milliways in case he comes back again or doesn't.

His disguise is up, leaving him looking like a fifteen year old boy just one who tends to hold his back rather straight.

(OOC: All threads set before Autor's. Open until it scrolls.)
Quentin (October Daye)

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"Like what?"

Faith isn't a huge part of his life, he knows who he is and what he can do. Trust is, but that's different.

"There's nothing at all that you believe without seeing?"

"Well, yes, I mean most history feels like stories and I don't know all the hows and whys and what I've thought was correct wasn't. Its just some people exist,"

Its hard to have this conversation without explaining a lot that he can't.

"People here all know Milliways exists -- well. Most do, when they don't think it's a hallucination. But some of them have faith that the door will always open when they need it."

She gestures to the room at large.

"Or that there's a reason for them coming here, something beyond chance and happenstance. That's faith, too. It isn't all myth and legend and religious mystery."

"It does that?" He hadn't heard that before.

"I can't say. The evidence doesn't overwhelmingly support one opinion over the other."

At least so far as Michael chooses to tell.

"It seems possible, I mean if people know how to talk to the magic here,"

Sort of like how the Duchess talks to the roses and the Rose Road, if Milliways has something like that, it would fit.

"Do you do a lot of talking to magic?"

"Sort of, it depends,"

Its not his skill but he knows that its important to know what makes a place itself. And part of blood magic and illusions is knowing how to listen and react to what's happening.

Michael raises an eyebrow.

"On?"

"What about you? I don't think I got your name,"

He's said too much and has no idea how to get out of this conversation without saying more than he should.

Edited 2014-10-16 21:09 (UTC)

"I'm Michael."

She holds out a hand to shake.

"As my Father named me."

"Quentin," He shakes her hand and smiles at the phrasing, which makes him think of the Luidaeg.

"Nice to meet you, Quentin."

Her smile goes crooked again.

"And I can tell you that I don't do much talking to magic, back home."

Or here, for that matter.

"Right, yeah, its weird how magic seems really comfortable for some people but not for others,"

And what he can say and not say.

"Slightly less weird when you realize that some people only believe in science."

"That's how they deal,"

He saw that when he was in high school, humans are good at convincing themselves of what they don't want to see. That's helpful but also scary when it doesn't work.

Again Michael raises her eyebrow.

"Which 'they'?"

"Oh, um, people who want to explain everything and can't,"

Hopefully that makes sense, he's going to get in trouble.

"Magic hardly explains everything, either."

Michael grins again.

"And some worlds don't even have it. Hard as that is to imagine."

A fractional pause.

"For some."

"No, but oak and ash, I should shut up,"

Somewhere he can imagine Toby glaring at him and he sighs and flops his head down on his arms.

"Rowan and thorn. Perhaps you should, but not on my account. I've an old friend, Fionnghuala, who turns into a swan, and I have barred the way of the Dragon Prince, whose beloved is a Queen of Faerie.""

Michael's smile quirks.

"Though you, young Quentin, might want to watch by which things you swear, here and elsewhere. Some there are who are very good at listening."

His ears turn red and he nods and the nod has a touch of bow in it,

"I will try. I'm still learning what's safe here for someone like me. May I ask which Queen of Faerie?"

"Elaine. Queen of the Seelie Court, though of course her son, Ian, is now King instead."

Michael folds her hands, one over the other.

"Which Queens do you know?"

He frowns, sitting up straighter becoming the page more than the teenage boy and his Canadian accent becomes more pronounced,

"The Queen of the Mists who rules San Francisco, then there's the High King Aethlin and Queen Maida of the Westlands. I'm a foster at the court of Shadowed Hills."