u_can_have_it_4_a_song | Unfamiliar Ceiling [For Amelia Ronsam]

It's the smell that slowly draws Amelia away from her dreamless sleep. It isn't like home, or any other place she's been in her life. The lavender was calming - which immediately caught her attention. Why would she need the aid for calming? Nothing in particular had happened that would have set her off the day before.

Except...

Amelia's sudden realization that something was wrong had her sitting up in bed with remarkable speed. She quickly checked herself for her things - clothes, weapons, hair pin - before surveying her surroundings. Everything about the place was unfamiliar, with one exception.

"I suppose this means all those things I could've sworn were a nightmare were, in fact, real, then?"

Schön looks up from his book, closing it and slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket. His cane hangs on the edge of the desk, defying no gravity at present. "If you were having a nightmare, you did so quite peacefully," he answers calmly. "If you refer, however, to finding yourself in a place-between-places where the rules are unknown and the inkeeper has feathers? Then I must disappoint you in the affirmative."

Nightmares in her head she could handle. Those she could always wake up from and find a reminder that they weren't real. She slowly reaches up and removes the dark silver hair pin from her hair, the strands of tiny, polished flowers jingling brightly as it moves. She then begins working her fingers through the long, dark brown tresses as she undoes the braids that had been pinned up.

"I should have guessed as much." Luck was never on her side, even if her skill more than made up for it. "I hope the innkeeper wasn't too offended. I didn't..." A soft sigh escapes her. "It wasn't my intention to cause a scene."

The thin man watches her unbraid her hair without comment or apparent judgment, although there is as always a certain measuring quality to his gaze.

"She has met with worse reactions," Schön admits, "and you had had a great shock. That, she understands. Would it be safe to say you've grown hungry?"

She blinks as she takes a moment to think about her physical state. It had been quite a while since she last ate, though from what Schön told her, it was impossible to tell how long it had been by looking out the window. With quick, practiced motions she re-braids her hair and pins said braids into a tight bun.

"Were I in full control of my faculties, I might call that an understatement. As it stands, I know I should eat something." She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, gently working out wrinkles of her linen sleeves and resetting her belt to a more proper place. The weight properly adjusted, she nods to Schön. "Please, lead the way?"

With a genial smile, he takes up his cane and rises (is he leaning on it? Certainly his other hand is on the desk), asking, "before we go down, might you have a look out the window? I've done what I could, about the tree."

Said tree is, it should be noted, both taller and fuller than it had been when they first arrived, and a sturdy-looking branch grows within easy reach of the window.

The use and not-use of his cane puts Amelia ill at ease. If he has it, why does he only use it at some times and not others? The answer is obviously more complicated than it would appear and is one she will be looking into in the future. For now, there's other matters at hand.

Turning to the window, her eyes widen and a smile slowly spreads across her face. Without thinking, she steps up to the window and opens it. The branch is a little farther than the one outside her window, but it will do well enough. After judging the distance properly, she executes a single, fluid motion that not only puts her out the window, but onto the extended tree branch as well. It sways and bends a bit with her weight, but not enough to cause her any alarm. As Schön watches her test out the branch, he'll note the large grin on her face. It seems she's in her element.

When a few minutes have passed, Amelia carefully slips back in through the window into the room. The grin is gone, but an echo of it remains in her smile. "It's perfect. Thank you." Her eyes betray the slight anxiety over the use of magic for such a thing, but it's overwhelmingly clear that the end justified the means.

Schön is a riddle wrapped in an enigma, written in a maze that's been cut into a puzzle, with its pieces scattered on half-a-dozen continents in a succession of puzzle-boxes wrapped in a guy who looks like David Bowie. Muppets optional.

He waits quite patiently while Amelia tests the branch, and offers no reproof upon her return, simply a smile. "I'm pleased it suits. Martha would have grown suspicious if I'd tended her gardens twice in one day. Shall we?"

Downstairs, the dining room is sparsely populated at... mid-afternoon, it seems? A Rodian is picking over the remains of a piece of pie, while a young man who looks human but for the cadaverous white cast to his skin and the tubes and wires that seem to dig right into his skin (his armor is strange, black and boxy, one hand entirely enclosed by a gleaming, rectangular piece of chrome with two slots in the top*) munches contentedly on a piece of jellied toast.

It would appear that the inn is a family business, as their server is another chicken-person, smaller than the one at the desk and with thinner plumage of variegated red and white. Schön looks to Amelia, inviting her to place an order, if she's feeling brave enough.

*: Cameo by an old nexus-goer, Seven of a Bunch, the failed Borg.

She'll skip the Muppets, thank you very much (just another thing she can't quite handle yet). David Bowie, however, him she can probably handle.

More chicken people. Amelia's at least somewhat prepared this time and manages to place an order for a simple breakfast style meal of eggs, jellied toast, and coffee without wide eyes, hyperventilating, or feinting. Small progress, but every bit counts.

She takes a seat at an empty table in the corner of the room once she's placed her order. Having a wall at her back makes her feel a little safer in an unfamiliar place. It's easier to keep track of what's going on in front of her when she doesn't have to worry about someone, or something, coming up behind her.

Her face is a bit pale, though, and despite the sleep she got, dark circles remain under her eyes. Someone's been burning at both ends for a while, it seems. After surveying the room, she leans an elbow on the table and reaches that hand toward her hair. A familiar jingling sound fills the air as she plays with the polished flowers of her hair pin.

"This place..." She makes a small face of annoyance as she debates her words. "I feel both comfortable and ill-at-ease. There are so many things going on that I simply don't understand." That annoyed face becomes more pronounced as she speaks. "How do people deal with it all?"

Schön orders the same, taking the seat opposite the wall with an untroubled air. "You're experiencing a little bit of culture shock," he answers, his tone soothing, "which is perfectly normal. Yesterday you took a wrong turn, and now so many of the things you took as universal rules are revealed as local ordinances. Everyone here has felt what you feel now, to some extent."

The coffee is quick to arrive, and Schön apparently likes his sweet, as he takes a moment to add a generous drizzle of honey and a splash of cream. "But you get used to it. This isn't a place of no rules, merely different ones. Given time to soak it all in, you too can greet all of this with familiarity."

That same soothing tone again. It really gets under her skin. She's so accustomed to that being her choice of tone when making deals and convincing customers to buy things that she automatically rebels against it. He's also patronizing her, which makes the matter worse. If she had wanted that, she would've settled down and married when her father told her to years ago.

"Culture shock is one thing, but I lost control completely. I can't afford to do that." Not now, not ever.

She takes her mug of coffee (which is made out of some kind of clay that shines and is completely smooth? Strange.) and begins sipping at it immediately in spite of the temperature. "I need a lot more information about this place, how it works, and why it works before I can be comfortable here." Control. She needs it and information is the best way to get it. "Time will aid with that, yes, but the faster I get it, the sooner I will be useful." She leaves off the important part of who she would be useful to, but it matters little. Her mood has taken a decidedly unpleasant turn and her general state of being is petulant.

"If you're certain you are ready," he replies, her petulance waking a mild teasing note in his own voice, "I shall try to explain. Think back through your life, and imagine all the choices that you made, that could have gone another way. The choices other people made. The random chances. All the way back from now... to the dawn of time." He gives her a moment to do that while he sips his coffee.

"Now imagine that one, just one of those chances going some other way. How different would the world have been? Now another. And another. Imagine that each of those histories, each of those possibilities, is a world unto itself. Each change brings you a step farther away from the world you know, yet each is true." Their food arrives, and he interrupts himself with a pleased, "ah," as the plates are set down.

Her face is overtaken by a look of both concentration and pain. The idea is broad, vague, but hard to take in. On top of that, there are a lot of choices to think about. What if she had been content with her family being merchants? What if she had never gone on that assignment to find a family's lost child? What if she had never met the few people she calls friends? What if, before he had gone, she had told her inventor friend why she really wanted him to stay a little longer?

The arrival of the plates is a welcome one, as it allows her to briefly cover her face with both of her hands. She keeps her breathing even, but her head is screaming in pain, which is the ~~obvious~~ only reason for the tears standing in her eyes.

After a few moments like that, she reaches into one of her pouches and pulls out a small vial. When she opens it, Schön will recognize the smell of peppermint oil. She adds a few drops to her coffee before closing it and returning it to her pouch. Once she's swirled the contents of the mug a few times, she downs what remains of the coffee without pausing for breath then sets the mug down gently on the table.

Any look she gets from Schön will be met with the same answer. "Thoughts like that are painful. I'm trying to alleviate the pain in my head before it gets any worse."

He gives a little shrug. "You wanted to know quickly," he points out, "and learning is growth. Growth is often painful--growing fast, especially so." He cuts up his omelet as he speaks, and pauses with the first bite speared on his fork. "So, we have these myriad worlds, some so similar you would scarce notice the difference, but some have diverged so long ago, and in such a different direction, that, well... perhaps chickens, and not people as you know them, are the dominant culture, hmm?"

He has his bite; though his manners are precise, the speed with which he swallows it bespeaks urgent hunger. "But what lies between all of these worlds, you might ask? What separates them? This place. This Nexus is the place between all places, the moment between all times, the fulcrum of possibility. And occasionally, there are portals, or holes, or other matters, which allow something from one of those infinite worlds to find its way here. As did you."

She nods slowly as she takes in everything he's saying. Her eyes settle on the edge of the table, but they're not focused on anything in particular. Her mind swirls with possibilities. Her food remains untouched, forgotten.

"Is there a way to find out what has happened in any of these... alternate worlds?" The words are soft, her voice barely above a whisper. She seems almost scared, but the look on her face is determined. "Could I find out the result of taking a different course of action?"

Thinking about 'what if's was dangerous and she avoided it like the plague. But here, in a place like the Nexus, it felt almost right to ask the question.

He considers the question, gauging the likely motives behind it. "If one is careful, yes. I could be of help to you there, too, if you like."

Her gaze remains unfocused for a moment and the concentration on her face grows.

"I..."

Take the leap, Amelia. That's why you're asking, isn't it? Because you couldn't before? Why stop now?

Except...

Except that if that leap lead somewhere, there would be no way for her to have the part in it that she want.

"...will consider the offer."

She shifts her focus to the plate in front of her and begins eating slowly. Despite her rogue's regalia and the fact that she must be very hungry at this point, she eats with slow, precise manners. She remains silent while she finishes everything on her plate, at which point she looks up at Schön for the first time since they sat down. "What else is on the docket for the day?"

He takes her answer with aplomb, and applies himself to his breakfast while she eats hers.

"Your book of directions, for one," he tells her, producing a slim notebook from that inside pocket of his, and a small cloth pouch that clinks softly beside it. "And an advance on your first week. There are notes on currencies and conversions in the book. Would you prefer to see your first assignment now, or when you've had time to acclimate a little more?"

"I'd prefer to keep moving." Even at home she's a restless creature. Her life could be one of luxury and instead she forces herself to do more than is necessary. Anything to keep herself from being able to sit alone with her thoughts.

"Directions will be good for getting to and from this place, as well as to and from my first job." Her face becomes oddly serious as she places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her folded hands. "What's the job? And is this a good time to figure out the small standard fee I mentioned?" The advance is a nice thought, one she hadn't really expected. Still, if she had the chance to look through the advance he was offering, she could get a good gauge on what he had to offer and could negotiate appropriately. There was no telling what a good standard fee was for the kinds of jobs he expected her to complete.

"As you will," he replies genially. "The directions to your target from the Forum, and to the Forum from your target, are included. It is the residence of a person who stands close to default on an agreement with me."

Drawing a folded piece of paper from that inside jacket pocket, he slides it across the table to her. "Your task will be to paint or draw that exact diagram on his bedroom wall, where he will see it immediately upon waking. While he sleeps. Most of his possessions are not to be taken, for now, but you may help yourself to his wine cellar, if you so choose."

He pauses. "Questions?"

She glosses over the fact that he didn't answer her question about the fee. That can be discussed later.

"It's good for him that I don't care for wine, then." She takes the folded paper and opens it slowly. The intricate circle means absolutely nothing to her - something she plans on remedying in the future.

"Get in, draw the circle on the wall, get out. All while our target sleeps. Seems simple enough." An eyebrow slowly raises as she looks up at Schön from the paper. "Anything I need to look out for in this residence? A guard dog? Traps?" She'll go in no matter what, but she'd like to cover her ass on the front end, if possible. "Also, do you have any chalk?"

He was coming to that--and makes note, also, that she seems not to intend to pick up extras to sell and supplement her income, as so many in her line of work might.

"I have, if chalk you wish to use." Again, a hand dips into the mysterious realm behind his lapel, this time emerging with a small paper box holding four gently-used pieces of chalk. At some previous point, they had been two pieces.

"There is a dog, but not an especially vigilant one--more the ornamental variety. And while he uses very good locks on several of his doors, I do not know of any traps. He lives alone, but has frequent guests overnight."

"What might you have asked for such a task, in your home world?"

She would take something - if it were of interest to her. Wine, however, is not one of her things. Perhaps sometime in the future she might take something else, but for now, she'll keep her hands to the task she's been set.

She takes the box of chalk and stores it in a pouch carefully. "Dog, intricate locks, possible guest." All of this is nothing to be afraid of, though she knows she'll be more on alert than she has ever been when on a job back home. Best to be extra careful when in a place so unfamiliar as the Nexus.

"To be honest, I've never been asked to do a task quite like this in the past." She crosses her arms in front of her chest, tapping her fingers on her upper arms as she thinks. "But something requiring me to get in and out without being noticed, with the owner home, two possible hindrances, and an intricate lock? 5 gold pieces." She didn't go easy on her clients at home and she certainly wasn't going to go easy on Schön. "Let's call the standard fee for a job requiring me to get in and out 2 gold pieces and I'll add on based on all the extra factors involved in the job." It seemed fair enough to her and insured she would get paid enough for her work.

He considers that offer for a moment, then nods. "Very well. Two, and extras as needed. What would you say is the weight of one of your gold pieces?"

Of course he expects her to know. What thief worth their salt hasn't done a little coin-shaving now and again to work up enough spare gold for another coin?

Of course she knows that. Not because she's cheated anyone with her coins, but because she never wanted to be cheated. When every bit of coin you have is going toward one, large, unknown price goal, you weigh them and make sure no one is screwing with you.

"0.41 ounces." She hopes he'll know the unit of weight. It seems like one of those things he would just know. "I hope that won't be a problem for a man such as yourself."

Unfamiliar Ceiling [For Amelia Ronsam]

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So glad I rewatched Labyrinth yesterday. I feel like that first bit makes more sense that way.

It really doesn't, without that context, true.

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