milliways_bar | (no subject)

[OOC: Mun would like to note that is one of her favorite non-fiction books, EVER]

[ooc: I have heard very good things about it :)]

Susan is curled up in a corner of the couch, toying with a handful of red and gold autumn leaves. Her gaze is distant and half-dreamy-- but when it falls on Jack, she waves a greeting.

He waves back and lowers his book. "How are you, dearest?"

"I'm -- I'm well enough, say true," she tells him, smiling a little now. "And ye, sai, how do'ee fare?"

"Quite wonderful. I find married life with Gil suits me very well."

"Give ye joy of each other," she says in return, and her smile is much brighter as she adds, "and I kennit, sai, say true."

"Thank you," he says, bowing his head. "You are finding the same, I assume. Your Cuthbert is a good man."

"He is, and very dear," she tells him earnestly. "I-- I love him."

"As you should, being his wife and all." He looks amused--but then, he usually does.

It's not always that way, and well she knows it, but Susan simply nods.

"Ye say true." Playing absently with the leaves in her hands, she tilts her head to look at the book. "What are ye reading, sai?"

"It's about the difficulties teenage girls face in modern times. It's very interesting, and rather saddening."

"Oh," she says, looking curiously at it. "... mayhap it depends on the world?"

"It does. Gil's world, for example, it applies to very well."

"Then that's as well, mayhap," she says.

"I agree. The world has changed so much since the last time I have children." He regards the book thoughtfully.

Susan blinks, and looks more than a little startled.

"Ye're to have-- " A confused pause. "But how..."

There are ways and ways, of course--

(gilly-girl)

-- but she's honestly surprised to hear this.

"My sister is bearing a child for us," he explains. "A girl. She'll be born on the winter equinox."

If it is possible, he looks even happier than ever.

"Yer... sister?" Oh, but this is unexpected, and yet she kens very well indeed that sai Jack is a god, and mayhap things are different, so. Smiling, Susan simply says,

"Give ye joy of yer daughter, then."

Soft and a touch wistful, but only that-- and then there's a distinct pause.

"In-- in the winter?"

"Sister, mother, female aspect--" He waves a hand. "She's all things.

"Thank you, dear. Yes, in the winter. And Sheila has also offered to take my place this winter--I get to have my first Christmas. I'm so excited--even though it doesn't snow in Las Vegas."

"Oh," she says, brightening at once. "I'm so glad for ye-- and Las Vegas, it were a wonder indeed."

A moment, and she adds softly, "I were-- it's fin de ano, and I'd thought of ye, with what ye'd said before."

"My death," he says frankly. "Yes. But with Sheila taking my place I'm not certain, entirely, what is going to happen. The magic here follows its own will."

He has died over five million times. He can talk about it easily.

"I guess ye'll find out," Susan says quietly, and her glance drifts to the front door as she toys idly with the autumn leaves in her lap.

"And ye say true-- it's a different place, and naught-- I'd never be able to explain it."

"I feel wilder," he says softly. "I feel like the guardian of the forest when I'm here much more strongly than I do when I'm at home. I feel a--a pull--to the trees.

"Explain what?" His hands are folded on his chest, his expression curious.

"A-- a pull?" She says it slowly, and her gaze goes automatically to the front door again, before she turns back to meet his glance. "Aye, I kennit, mayhap, a little."

"And -- and all of it, mayhap," she adds, with a small laugh. "It's-- there's so much I've seen here that I'd never have thought, so much magic and machines --"

Susan shrugs, smiling a little. "It's all a mystery, or very near."

"Ah . . .yes. Very few expect a place like this to exist at all--I don't think anyone truly understands it. Even those of us with a bit more wisdom," he adds with a grin.

"A pull. I hear their voices all the time--they have lovely soft voices, their long beautiful words--but lately--they're saying 'Come, be with us, run amongst us again, we miss you.'" He shakes his head. "Or I'm imagining it because I miss them. There are few trees in the desert, and no forests."

(no peace but the clearing)

"Ye hear them?" Susan looks at the handful of red-gold leaves, and then back at his face. "They tell ye things?"

"All living things speak to me."

There's a pause, and then she brings one hand up to her forehead, rubbing at it for a moment.

"Ye've-- I think ye've told me that before, even-- cry yer pardon, sai, I should have remembered." Susan looks rueful. "It's the day, mayhap -- I've been dreamy all day, for some reason."

"It's all right, dear.

"Can I get you something to clear your head? If you wish to have your head cleared--dreamy is a fine state, I find."

"It's happening more and more often," she tells him. "It's -- things seem less real, mayhap, and more like dreams."

She shrugs again and says gently, "It's kind of thee to offer, but I can't think what would do such, do'ee ken?"

"Well--" As it happens, he can think of such a thing, and hands her an apple. "Here. Eat. It'll make you feel better."

Exactly how? Well, that's part of Jack's magic, now, isn't it.

She looks at it, and then up at him uncertainly. "If thee say so--"

She takes a bite, and it's crisp and tangy and bright with flavor, as though it were somehow more real than any normal apple should be. She breathes in the scent, and feels more awake.

Susan savors it, and beams at Jack.

He smiles back, pleased--but there is concern in his eyes.

End, begin--all the same, he thinks, and like all truth it stings a bit even as it soothes.

"I should bring some out to the stables some time," is all he says.