#a_room_at_firnost

*****************************************************************

The door to the library quietly unlatches, admitting the pale sluagh. She does not flick on the lights, preferring the darkness for her prowling.

(He is in the dark, practicing the guitar, tucked into a stuffed chair in the corner. His glasses are off; he stops to listen, not alarmed; her quiet steps reveal her kith, if not her actual identity. He lifts his head to scent the air, then whispers) "Miss Zara," (Courteous, soft greeting) "Good eve," (He is blind ad it's a guess; accurate this time, it's not surprising he does not always know precisely the time)

"Oh, sir. Pardon. I did not wish to interrupt..."

"'Tis a public room, sooth. Will my presence disturb thee? I can go otherwhere, an' so." (Offering)

"Not at all, sir. Was that... ah.. the Beatles, I caught? I am in your space, still. I was just... I wanted aught to read."

"The Granddame allows me to stay, so as not to have to...ah...manage the stairs, so oft." (He ghosts a smile) "Aye, Miss. Beatles. The tabs, were the first I learn'ed to play from. I warrant...I can, ah." (He is speaking slowly, punctuated with his usual hesitations) "Appreciate the irony, of using them again, to re-learn? I shall put it aside. Reading is betimes done best, without musical accompaniment." (So saying, he eases the guitar over the arm of the chair, to lean, then pauses) "Hast thou a moment, to tarry and speak, pardon? An' not, there is always another time."

"I've a moment. I was... restless, pardon. I am in no hurry for bed."

Zara drifts closer to the older sluagh - her tread is indeed soft, feet bare on the carpet.

(He reaches to the small reading-table beside, and feels for his glasses, unfolding them slowly and sliding them on; he makes no effort to hide his eyes from her, or other sluagh. Once on, the pushes his hair back, and seems to be regarding her) "I rather owe thee to speak of the Restless, albeit Mr. Mitchell knows sufficient now, I warrant....to be a teacher." (There is a second chair nearby, he indicates it with a minute, questioning gesture) "And an explanation. And....it is not my business, but....I did o'erhear, thy words to others. Mr. August, most recently."

(Vaguely apologetic)

"I wonder, an' I might not have a suggestion? Surely, one thou hast consider'ed already."

With the glasses on - it is apparent it is late, the library in darkness. Zara sinks into the offered chair, becoming small. "Aye, sir?"

"Am I incorrect, Milady...in mine assessment, that...speaking thy thoughts, especially in...." (A pause to search for words) "In the...the midst of a...betimes emotional conversation, is difficult for thee? Pray pardon, do I pry,"

She twists her fingers together, watching them. A nod, without looking up. "I am sorry. It was unseemly for me to be speaking so... I am... I know, sir, that I wear my feelings too openly. Speak too much."

"I might....were I thee, Miss...exercise a trifle more discretion, an' only for those things, that may be heard, and use'd to thy disadvantage," (Not ungently. So perhaps this is where Ice gets his caution? Although not phrased quite so delicately, with him) "But none was about to hear, save I, so mayhaps I speak out of turn. I daresay, thou wouldst speak not so, in front of the Ailil, or Balor, at any rate." (He reaches into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, finding the steel hand-balls, and painstakingly beginning to rotate them. He has been working tirelessly to regain his dexterity) "I do not find it offensive." (A silence, as he thinks)

She tenses at the mention of the Balor. "Aye. Yes. Pardon, yes."

"But, ah. I did note, some quite distinctive stationary....use'd on behalf of the Lady Brekke. Why dost thou not write thy thoughts and expectations, thy concerns....to deliver, to those who thou wouldst have hear them? It grants thee time, to gather thy thoughts, ere they scatter....can be change'd, or worded differently upon re-read, impossible once spoken. And....avoids uncomfortable confrontation. Correspondence, that is?"

"I... I see the wisdom, sir. Yes. But I would... were that I not speak at all, I think, a'times. My tongue runs away, showing my folly to all. And, if Mr. Mitchell is to be correct, shining like a beacon. "

"They can see our moods, this is true."

"That is how I met him, yes. I was... I was upset."

"I see." (A thoughtful silence. There is no sound, save the soft clack and chime of the hand-balls, as they rotate, held in his right hand, arm resting along the chair's arm. Then) "But when thou wouldst speak. It is merely....one method, pardon....at thy disposal. A letter to the Lady Miriam, mayhaps?"

"Forgive, it is not mine to speak of."

"No. She cannot know what I am. Who... what.. no. She needs no further burden. Nor Hirim. Nor any of them."

"You would like her, I think. She is... true, forgotten.. but.. polite, for her kith. Smart. She reads...."

"It is very difficult, to conceal such a thing...for years and decades, is it not? Especially, an' she is to be part of the family." (A ghost of a smile) "For her kith. I may, at that. Mayhaps, I shall have the pleasure of meeting her, at some point." (A soft cough, his laugh) "I did meet the gentleman, thine Uncle briefly, whilst he was seeking thee. He did not recognize me, from our speaking at the scrye, and I did not feel it appropriate to enlighten him, albeit I would rather like to speak to him, as well, betimes. Mayhaps it is an unseemly sentimentality for the kith, I carry." (His head tilts) "But I digress."

"It would be, mayhaps, aught easy to conceal....hast thou nae strong feelings of it, either way. But that...is not so, is it?"

"Miss Dria, yes?" She shakes her head. "But... but.. n-no, I fear I.. I have lost control. I cannot.... I would that I feel naught, be naught. I would that... I think not even a letter would assuage, if I did what I wished. They would not see a burden relieved, they deny what I clearly see."

"Ah, but art thou certain, thou art seeing clearly?" (A soft murmur) "Emotion can blind...I know this quite well."

(A trace of irony, there)

"I see how foolish I am. And selfish. And... and I know, wishing to disappear, that is selfish, too. I think, perhaps, it could be possible to become hollow. I have tried, yes - to be better for them, to be not a burden... but then.. then my tongue flies, and all it does is hurt those I love. I do not want to cause any more trouble, yet it seems.. it seems that I do so again, and again. Yet I cannot just leave, for I know not how to leave without hurting them. And I do not... I... I do not want to leave. I wish, very much, to stay."

"That, Milady, is why I suggested letters. I warrant, there is a reason...that people keep journals, aye? An' thou art certain, thy tongue shall fly, and it cannot be prevented...let thy pen fly, in its stead. And...the return letters, can be Soothsay'ed by another...for to Omen or Fortune thyself, carries risk of seeing, only that which one expects, or wishes." (A pause, thinking) "I do not desire to discount thee, Milady, sooth. For I can see, that thou art distress'ed." (Not ungently) "But there shall be greater pains, in thy life. Thine Uncles, shall sicken, or die. Loves shall leave...parents grow old, and do not recognize thee, any longer. Or....as in my case....thine enemies, shall lay hands on them." (A pause) "Dost thou have such difficulties, now...it pains me to think, what shall become of thee, when these things do happen. Pardon my....speaking so candidly, Miss."

"How thou dost learn, to cope now....shall carry thee, when these things do happen."

She closes her eyes, nodding. "I would be naught. Then, nothing would hurt - yes? And I would hurt none. I... I am losing my family, now. I don't know how, but I feel so... I don't know how to fix it."

"Mayhaps they need work it amongst themselves," (Thoughtful murmur) "But the urge to assist, or have hand in it...is nigh-irresistible, is it not?"

"There are means to feel naught, but these things have their own prices, to pay, I fear."

"I want to help, yes. I want to know her. I want... I want too much. And when I reach out, I fear that my efforts will only turn sour."

"Aye. But...as difficult as it is, Milady, to believe. Thou hast decades ahead, to do so." (A ghost of a smile) "It does not all need to happen now, at once....does it?"

(He switches the balls to his left hand, awkwardly; one falls into his lap and he retrieves it, placing it into his palm. His right hand he flexes to ease the cramping)

"How much time does she have, truly? Or Hirim, or Ratchet?"

"It... when she looks at me, and asks who I am... " her voice catches in her throat.

"All healing, takes time." (A soft murmur) "I know not, Milady." (A slight head-tilt, and she can sense the scrutiny of those black glass ovals, behind straggles of lank hair. She has never seen his eyes, to know how much they would resemble another's) "Then, give her thy name," (A murmur, soft) "And save the rest, for when her world, hath settle'd, mayhaps?"

"Words spoken, cannot be unsaid, knowledge granted....cannot be retrieve'd. Better to speak too little....than too much, mayhaps."

"I have not told her. I have not."

"Thou canst always tell her more, when thou dost judge her ready."

"I will not. I promised I would not hurt her again."

"Very well. Then what, Lady...is the issue, pardon? Thy course is set?"

@shadylady has joined the channel

"But all I can see is that.. that by being, I am.. a land mine."

"Aye? Then I warrant, that it is for others....to decide whither to tread upon't." (A trace of gentle humor)