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]

"That sounds complicated." But she's had her one question answered; hard as it is, she won't push for more. She's not even trying to hide that she's curious, but she's not asking. If he wants to volunteer that's different.

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

He watches her in silence for a long moment, and seems satisfied with whatever he observes. "The fae are delicate, in ways. Six billion minds convinced we do not, can not exist, are a difficult tide against which to stand. To survive, we become a part of the material world, that we may nurture what sparks of creativity yet remain."

[brave_heart_verity]

She almost asks a very stupid question, then realizes. "Other people can't see you like that, can they?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Not unless we make an effort to be seen," he confirms. "Even then, most quickly rationalize it away. Too much stress, not enough sleep, a trick of the light."

[brave_heart_verity]

"Geez. I'm sorry." More than a few people have rationalized away things she knows to be true. Like her powers. (Mom.) Her empathy is easy to find and sincere.

"You mentioned creativity being important...? Is that why you collect art? How it keeps you young?" Okay it's question time again.

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

He nods. "We are creatures of dream, of imagination, but our realm recoils from the Earth as it grows colder. Creation, imagination, reaches across the gulf and touches our home, lets some of its warmth flow back into the world. We need that warmth, to live. So," he concludes, gesturing to the art.

[brave_heart_verity]

She glances around again, almost getting lost in all the beauty for a second time before a horrible thought occurs to her. "Does that mean people who aren't like that hurt you?"

That isn't really what she's asking.

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

He nods, and chooses also to answer what she's really asking. "Your curse had made you unhappy, and literal, and bereft of hope for some time." He's guessing, but it's pretty obvious, and a good fairy oracle has to play up the mysterious omniscience.

"Had I met you then, outside the Nexus, your presence would have harmed me badly. But all is not lost; you see beauty in this room, and there are stirrings, glimmers, in your heart. You are not without hope, Verity Willis, and that is to the good."

[brave_heart_verity]

It does not take a rocket surgeon to figure out she's been miserable. Just someone willing to pay attention. Also, and this is important, she's not crying. She's just got something in her eyes and it's quickly wiped away.

"I'm glad I haven't hurt you."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

Dust is simply unmanageable without a boggan or two around. Without a word or look of judgment, he offers her a handkerchief, silver-white linen soft as a child's laugh. "And I am grateful, Verity Willis, and further pleased you no longer harm yourself."

[brave_heart_verity]

He gets a whispered thanks, and she'll take the handkerchief. Her glasses are recklessly pushed up into her hair so she can dry her eyes properly. They're going to be all smudgy after. Once her eyes are dry she'll be giving him a confused look. "Harm myself?" Sure she drinks too much but she wouldn't call it harming herself (because then it's a problem and she needs to stop).

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"The cycle of despair. The abandonment of hope. The slow stifling of the soul." Schön's pointy-eared side favors poetic metaphors even more than the be-suited one.

[brave_heart_verity]

"It's not my fault!" She is so angry inside, all the time. Angry at her father, at the world, at herself. But these little outbursts never last long. "It isn't something I chose."

She's up out of the chair then, pacing around the room like it's a cage, a beautiful trap she'll never understand. "I never wanted this."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"No," he agrees, unruffled by the outburst. "But you have begun to turn from it. That, I think, is by your choosing?"

[brave_heart_verity]

She nods and sniffles a little, not quite looking at him. "I've been trying. But I don't understand."

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Do you wish to?" he asks, gently, then amends, "would you prefer to?"

[brave_heart_verity]

"Of course I do. I want to be able to understand people, and stories, and art. Hell, I'd settle for being able to listen to the radio without getting a headache." The question, as ever, is how. She's never figured that out.

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

Schön is inscrutably quiet for a moment, then crosses to the sideboard (during one of Verity's cycles away from it, if she's still pacing, so as not to crowd her), speaking with the deliberation of thought as he goes. "I have had occasion to speak with some of the mortal magi of my own world--not of the cabal who forged our fall, but practitioners of another stripe. The magic of each arises from their worldview."

He selects a decanter of something the green of cellophane Easter grass, pouring a little splash into two glasses, before offering one to Verity. "But true mastery does not come from wholly understanding their own perspective, no. They cannot grow beyond their origins until they are able to accommodate the worldviews of others. Even as they sift through what their own perspective tells them are lies, they find a truth."

The drink is more tart than sweet, tasting of lemon and mint and tingling on the tongue just a little.

[brave_heart_verity]

Her pacing as slowed with each circuit, and she comes to a stop again when he offers her the new drink. She takes the glass but doesn't immediately drink. She can sometimes refrain long enough to think things through. "You're saying I need to... learn to read between the lines? See something underneath the stories? Besides the paper I mean."

The drink gets her attention then, the attention of someone who has some idea what she's doing. It gets a quiet hum of approval after she's tasted it.

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"Such could serve you well."

A brief flicker of satisfaction crosses that elfin face; it is good, from time to time, to have one's taste appreciated.

[brave_heart_verity]

She'll finish this new drink before asking, "Is there something there? Is there something I can't see?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

He meets her gaze, his own level. "Many things." It's spoken like a promise, and it is not a lie.

[brave_heart_verity]

It may be a promise, but it's also confirmation of all the things she's been missing out on. It's not exactly happy news. "So what do I do?"

[u_can_have_it_4_a_song]

"As you said: read between the lines, look beneath the surface. Find the reflections of the artist, the surroundings, yourself."

[brave_heart_verity]

"Myself?" That doesn't make any sense to her at all. "How am I supposed to find myself in a story?"