milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: sick

(no subject)

OOM

Nita comes downstairs, sniffs the air, and abruptly decides that no, food will not help her headache. If the nausea's any indication, food won't help anything much. She orders a glass of water and commandeers a booth, looking paler than she realizes.

Her headache's not getting any better.

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Guppy wanders over.

"Are you okay?"

She looks up, rubbing her head. "Just a headache." She quirks a quick smile at him. "You new here?"

He smiles. "Yes. I only came in a few days ago. Is it that obvious?"

He pauses to take a sip of his orange juice, glad that he is now more sober than he was an hour or so ago.

"So I don't really know anyone yet and am just kind of wandering around talking to everyone. My name's Guppy by the way."

Nita's smile is more genuine this time. "No, it's just I've been living here for a couple weeks, and I haven't seen you before." She holds out a hand. "Dai'stiho, I'm Nita Callahan. Nice to meet you, Guppy."

He shakes the hand. "I didn't know you could live here. Not that I could" he added, remembering that however many times he opened a cupboard at work and found the bar, that sometimes he had to go to work.
"Where were you from before you came to live here?"

"Yeah, there's rooms upstairs for the patrons. I'm from near New York, originally. You?"

"Holby. In England. Sorry I have to go, I just realised the time."

[Ooc: Sorry, my little brother wants the computer]

She quirks him another smile. "Okay. Good to meet you, Guppy."

Russell notices the young woman she'd met on the previous occasion - looking, this time, distinctly queasy. Russell crosses to her.

"Ms. Callahan. Are you feeling unwell?"

She glances up. "Oh. Hi, Ms. Russell." She shrugs. "I woke up with a nasty headache."

"I'm sorry to hear that."
Her mouth twitches in what might be a smile.
"Exciting night?"
The girl can't be more than sixteen, but one never knows.

She raises her eyebrows. "Not the way you're thinking, no. I think I overdid the running yesterday or something."

Russell backtracks hastily.
"I apologise, I should know better than to tease someone with a headache. I have a friend who would bite your head straight off if you were to so much as mention any physical infirmity of his."

She quirks half a smile at her. "No, it's okay. I'm just not used to being sick."

"So how are you? How are you adjusting to the Bar?"

"It's...something. I'm actually finding it quite a relaxing place to work, oddly enough; I suppose the Universe exploding out the window counterbalances the scholarly and spiritual upheaval within. Or something.

Which reminds me - you were telling me about this Speech of yours the other day. How exactly does it relate to whatever - " Russell still can't quite bring herself to say the word "magic" - "it is that you do?"

"The Speech. . ." The headache's making it a little hard to concentrate. "What did I tell you about last time?"

"You said that it was the language spoken by all things, and that somehow speaking it contributes to your ability to manipulate reality."

"Yeah, okay." She shrugs. "I'm not totally clear on the theory behind it, but I'm pretty sure the Speech was used by the Powers That Be to create the Universe." A half-smile. "To say it's powerful is an understatement. There's a book that humans call The Book of Night With Moon. It has everything described in it -- you, me, Milliways', New York City -- everything. Wizards read from it on a regular basis, and it keeps the Universe real."

To say that Russell is intrigued would be an understatement.

"And you're saying that this works? That, using this Speech and reading in it is what changes reality?"

This is the strangest combination of linguistics, physics, and practical religion that she's ever encountered.

"Does it work in the Bar?"

She says a few words in the Speech and brushes her hand across the air. A portion of it "unzips" and she pulls out her manual -- a red hardcover with the words So You Want to be A Wizard on the cover.

"Seems to."

Russell blinks.

She blinks again.

The book is still there.
"May I?" She reaches out for the book. It is solid, room temperature, a worn cloth binding.

For the past four years Russell has trained her mind ruthlessly at observation and analysis of the physical world. There was no sleight of hand involved, even if Nita's open countenance could have allowed for such a thing.

"When faced with the improbable..." she murmurs to herself, "One chooses the merely impossible."

She hands the book back to Nita without opening it.
"Thank you. That is truly something."

Nita blinks in turn. "Sorry, what did you say? About the impossible?"

"Oh." Russell finds herself wanting, inexplicably, to blush. "Something a - a friend says sometimes."

A truly ghastly thought strikes her. "You don't have the Strand in your world, do you?"

Getting excited, Nita leans forward. "Not in my time, but I know what you're talking about." She grins. "I read. . . Dr. Watson's. . . stories when I was little."

Even here. Even here, the work of that odious Conan Doyle penetrated. Russell sighs.

"Well, in that case, yes. I am...somewhat acquainted with the infamous Sherlock Holmes. Who, might I add, would be less than happy to find that Conan Doyle's writings circulate in alternate universes."

She blinks. "You -- know that they're published under Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's name?"

"Oh, yes. Poor Dr. Watson had no idea what he was getting into when he sold Doyle the rights to his journals. And now there's simply no stopping the man. The trouble is that Doyle's other stories are generally fiction, and so there's a good deal of exaggeration. Holmes claims actually to have met people who thought he was a fictional character as well, though that stretches even my credulity..."

Russell stops. Caught up in the conversation, she hadn't noticed the toll it was taking on Nita, who is beginning to look positively grey.

"Ms. Callahan! Are you quite certain you're all right?"

She blinks, and her headache takes the chance to put in an extra throb or two. She winces, and replies weakly, "I thought I was. . ."

Russell's guilt knows no bounds.
"Hold on."
She goes to the Bar.
"Bar, I need help. What's good for a headache?"
A small plastic bottle and a glass of water appears.
"Um... thanks." She puts down a silver coin and takes the bottle and water to Nita.
"Not a clue what this might be, but the Bar seems to think it'll help."

Nita picks up the bottle -- Tylenol. She looks up at Russell with a smile. "Thanks." She opens the bottle (childproof caps are no match for Nita) and shakes out a couple of small white tablets, swallowing them with a big gulp of the water.

Another glance at Russell. "You look like I'm about to keel over or something."

"I'll be honest, I'm a bit surprised you're still coherent. Listen, I've enjoyed our conversation immensely, but I would like to have someone to converse with again. I think I'd better leave you to recover."

"Well, okay. I'll see you around, then?"

"I certainly hope so."

Russell waves goodbye, still worried about Nita but knowing that there's little she can do.

It's strange, how quickly she's become accustomed to this place. She gives the Bar a friendly pat as she leaves. Opening the door to the chill Oxford afternoon, she realizes that it's still light enough to finish the Rashi passage on the walk home.

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