A Moment of Introspection (Locked to Verity)

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

Schön keeps an office in the Nexus, although he does most of his work outside it, an opulent retreat from the timeless bustle outside. Richly colorful Oriental rugs allow only glimpses of a polished oak floor. The desk is a monolith of mahogany, inlaid with accents of rosewood and teak, carved with reliefs of twining roots and branches, of fanciful creatures, and of faces peeking from among the leaves. The chairs before and behind the desk are upholstered in silk and buttery-soft leather, the one behind the desk tall and evocative of a throne.

The walls, papered in a deep Chinese red pinstriped with navy, are densely clustered with art in a dizzying array of styles; most are paintings, but a few cameos hang as well, and a Stradivarius enjoys pride of place over the mantle. Shelves behind the desk are similarly crowded with books and odd little knickknacks, the former rarely comprising the sort of orderly matched sets that tend to fill shelves behind desks in offices. To one side of the door stand a coat rack and a sideboard loaded with bottles of exotic libations, while to the opposite side stands a small table bearing several indistinct articles over which has been draped a gossamer shroud. Against one side wall sits an overstuffed couch, and in the opposite wall is set a fireplace, where a multicolored flame pops and crackles merrily, sending an occasional swirl of rainbow-colored sparks up the chimney.

The room has also been warded to a fare-thee-well, to keep out prying eyes and ears, ensuring that all which transpires within remains private. The wards, to an extent, even work both ways, for when the door is closed, all the noise from outside falls away.

Hanging up his hat and cane as he enters, Schön turns to offer a hand to escort Verity inside. "Please come in, Ms. Willis, and be seated comfortably. May I offer you anything to steady your nerves?"

Comments

[brave_heart_verity]

She hums softly before admitting, "You don't strike me as the mischievous sort."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"You may wish to hurry your way to fairy tales," he teases, "they'd tell you all the fae have mischief in their hearts."

[brave_heart_verity]

"I thought I was supposed to be reading Aesop's Fables," she points out. "Isn't that all tortoises and hares and things?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"So you are, and so it is." He flashes her a grin. "But you'll want to progress quickly, if you're to be warned of me in time, hmm?"

[brave_heart_verity]

"I think the time for 'in time' has passed. But I'm sure I'll get to it all in time." Playing with words is fun.

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

Taking after Loki, is she? He chuckles. "Well put, Ms. Willis. I think you may find more enjoyment in a well-crafted tale than you expect."

[brave_heart_verity]

He may have taught her a thing or two. She likes to think it was mutual. "I love stories. They're pretty much my favorite thing. It's just only the true stories I can enjoy right now."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Ah? Mayhap I shall have a true tale or two for you, sometime, then." Maybe he just wants her to ask nicely.

[brave_heart_verity]

Oh dear. Now he's really caught her interest. "I'd like that." It's an obvious understatement.

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

He gestures to invite her to the couch, while he moves to put on some light music; quiet, instrumental jazz, he thinks. "Hmm. Where to begin? Something happy? Something sad?"

[brave_heart_verity]

She sits in one corner of the couch, one foot tucked beneath her and her hands in her lap. A much more relaxed posture than usual for her. The choice of music gets a smile. "Something happy please. There's enough sad in the news."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Something happy," he echoes, his voice a thoughtful purr. He sinks into a languid sprawl at the other end of the couch that manages to be elegant and decadent both at once--the way a Roman aristocrat might have lounged upon a divan.

"Hmm. What say you to a tale of Lugh of the Long Arm?"

[brave_heart_verity]

She can only dream about being that relaxed, except dreams are upsetting for her.

"I don't know who that is," she admits. Which is shameful given her family is English. Or maybe predictable. Hard to say really. "But now I'm curious."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Lugh was one of the Tuatha de Danann, the tribe born of the goddess Danu, who were often at odds with the Fomorians, the tribe born of chaos. Though, in truth, Lugh was of both, for while his father was Cian, of the Tuatha de Danann, his mother was Ethniu, the daughter of wicked old Balor himself--cruel king of the Fomorians, with a magic eye that slew all it looked upon."

[brave_heart_verity]

She shifts a little, moving an arm to the back of the couch so she can cup her chin in her hand while she listens. "Is that where the expression of a baleful gaze comes from?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"It may well be," he admits, "for certainly his name became associated with death and doom. But we speak of Lugh, today, who was raised in fosterage with his uncle, Gavida the smith. When he came of age, he set out to Tara, to join the court of King Nuada--but the doorkeeper would only admit those who had some special skill with which to serve the king."

"Lugh had learned much from his uncle, and so he asked the doorman of each. 'Have you a wright?' 'We have a great wright.' 'Have you a smith?' 'We have a very fine smith.' Champion, swordsman, harpist, hero, poet and historian, sorcerer, craftsman, all these things they had, each more skilled than Lugh. "Ah, but,' he asked at length, 'have you any one who is all of those things?' At this, the doorman grudgingly gave way, for they did not."

[brave_heart_verity]

She snorts softly, for all she's enjoying the story. "Showoff."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Well, he still was not so great at any one thing as their greatest. Perhaps versatility was his skill. But his doings in the court are other stories, not all of them happy."

[brave_heart_verity]

"Mm. That's fair. So what's this story then?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Simply the tale of how Lugh came to Tara, and entered the court of King Nuada."

[brave_heart_verity]

She hmms softly, wondering if there's a moral to this one too. "Did you ever meet him?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

Perhaps that sometimes, three threes is better than a nine? "Alas, no, he was before my time. He was a great king of the mythic eras, when the world was still welcoming to our kind."

[brave_heart_verity]

Perhaps. "Oh. Do your people still have kings and courts and all that?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"There is... some debate, on that very point," he admits. "There was a time when the doubt and misery of mortals forced our realm, the Dreaming, away from the world. Most of our nobles either fled into the Dreaming before the ways closed, or perished. The rest of the fae learned to bind their souls to mortals yet unborn, shield themselves from mortal doubt with mortal flesh, and in so doing receive some taste of mortality, themselves."

He shifts. Mortality is an uncomfortable subject. "While the nobles were absent, mortals experimented with new forms of government, and the fae walked with them. Old grudges were laid aside out of necessity, for what mattered a rivalry of tribe in the face of the Banality that would destroy both with indifference?" Is that a little wordplay, there?

"But there was a resurgence--a surge of hope and imagination across the breadth of the world, that drew the Dreaming close again, and briefly reopened the old paths. The nobility, the Sidhe, returned... and expected to take up their old position at the top, to continue fighting old battles and nurturing old grudges."

[brave_heart_verity]

Mortality isn't a comfortable subject for anyone.

"So... when you say 'debate' you mean 'fighting'? Which side are you on?"