There are some people EVERYone should meet, and Alexander is soooo one of those people. After acquiring herself a very large, hot Summer and finding ways to wedge both seven and a half feet of broad Alexander and her $@!*ing wings into a car, November plays hot and cold with streets and the internal *ping* of Amity's location until she arrives, at last, at the old manse.
Quick to get out of the car and into the blessedly frigid air, she stretches her wings to loosen muscles and tells him, "Her name is Amity. She is very polite, but trying to learn how not to be." The rainbow flashes Alexander a swift grin, then turns to head across the yard toward the front door, a sparkly, light-splintering ice queen in a rhinestone-bedecked bra, tie-dyed mesh tunic, black leggings and fluorescent pink/purple sneakers.
Knock knock knock. Or ding-dong, depending on whether there's a doorbell!
Amity has been spending her day off being mostly lazy. She hadn't slept pretty much at all the night before, which was normal for her, and had several half-finished scarves and other projects to pick at. She'd spent most of the morning in bed so far, trying to convince herself that she should go get some of the coffee that Mavis had texted her about. It's only the sound of someone ringing the bell the finally gets her moving. She groans and shifts herself out of bed, too ingrained with the instinct to go get the door and be polite to ignore it. She's dressed in snug winter pyjamas--flannel pants in pink and white polk dots, a cozy artificial soft wool sweater in a cheery Christmas-y red, and of course a grey houserobe over all of that. She tucks her feet into slippers and hurries her way downstairs.
Creak, creak, creak go the attic stairs and creak, creak, creak go the main stairs and she shoulder checks her way into the mudroom to the front door in order to open it at last.
"Good morning--" Her greeting makes it out of her mouth only to be frozen in midair, the chill air and the appearance of November on her doorstep leaving her just a /little/ dumbstruck. Also the very tall, very broad fellow with November. "--Waylady, this is a surprise." Note that she doesn't call it 'pleasant.' "...What can I do for you?" She got out of bed for this?
There's a grunt as Alexander squeezes himself out of the car, and the Ogre makes a striking sight, what with being not at all dressed for the weather. Clad in only a pair of loose linen trousers, a great big leather belt wrought from the Hedge and nothing else. Barechested and footed he squints around with his crimson eyes, scratching his mossy beard. "Your work??" he asks, voice deep as the mountains and booming. His attetion then shifting to Amity, his expression vaguely curious and perplexed at his purpose here. "Hello Amity." he calls out, in that same booming outdoors voice.
November's colours are bright and cheerful, the soft radiance of transparent flesh kept toward the warmer hues of white. In contrast to Alexander's booming voice, the rainbow's is the music of wind singing through stone, thoroughly unnatural light and colour on the ear. "Amity, darling, I wanted you to meet Alexander." Her torso twists as she half-turns, gesturing toward the mountain of scantily-clad Summer behind her. "I did say that the Freehold could help to protect you and yours. Mavis isn't present. May we come in?"
Amity's first instinct is suspicion. How does November know Mavis isn't here? But... of course. November manages the place Mavis works. She would know when she's scheduled. Amity's glittering sapphire eyes dart from November to Alexander. "Good morning. Mister Alexander, was it?" She delays for a moment or two, as if considering whether or not to let the pair into the home. Of course, instinct and the ever present buzzing of fear and insistent instinct that never /shuts up/ in Novvy's presence wins out.
"Of course. There's coffee if you would like," she says, then turns to head back into the mudroom, leaving the others to enter as they please. "Close the door behind you, please. You'll let out the heat." Such as it is. Once everyone is inside, she'll lead the way to the kitchen.
"Yes, Alexander. She just said so." Alexander notes as he ducks in through the door to follow Amity. His raging mantle of summer mercurial and changing in the presence of November, a fact which seems to annoy him on and off as he gives some aspect of it a sneer. "Who is Mavis?"
"The mortal whom she loves, and fears to tell about our world," is the rainbow Ancient's succinct reply, flashing Alexander a smile over her shoulder. "Also my employee." If the Summer doesn't, November does make sure the outer door, and the mudroom door, are closed. Manners.
Following Amity toward the kitchen, the colourful creature admits, "I never have cared for coffee, but the offer is appreciated." With a glance toward Alexander, she adds, "Alexander, she is concerned that informing Mavis, that drawing her further into our reality, will endanger her. It will," of -course- it will, sayeth her tone, "but the Freehold is obliged to help protect the mortals its members have ensorcelled. I was hoping you could set her mind at rest with all the ways that you could make threats dead."
Amity moves over to the coffee maker and pours out a cup of coffee for herself, heavy with cream and sugar. She rather wishes she could add something harder to it, though, if a glance towards the liquor cabinet is any indication. She turns back towards the other two, gestures towards the table. "Have a seat, if you'd like. Mister Alexander, would you like a cup of coffee?" She takes a lingering sip of her own, the explanation from November rather more blunt than she'd have liked.
"I'm not certain this is reassuring me, Waylady. Arriving at my home unannounced and uninvited." Another sip of coffee, her face seeming a little paler. It had taken an effort to say that, to ignore the screaming anxiety in the back of her head that was certain she might be punished. Or worse. "I appreciate your concern, however."
"The things you are concerned about does not wait patiently by the door." Alexander remarks, sounding almost amused before he shakes his head in regards to the offer. He looks too big in the room, cramped, like he does not enjoy being inside. "You speak very pretty for someone who does not want to be polite. Why do you not want to be?"
"Unannounced," the Ancient agrees, then DISagrees, "but not uninvited. I asked your permission to enter." A brilliant smile is cast the shorter woman's way as the too-Fae Fairest brushes past to admire the view out the windows, frost spreading over Amity's shoulder as delicate digits offer a squeeze of approval on her way past. "You gave it."
November seems content to study the potted plants mounted to the window frames, leaving Amity to answer Alexander alllll on her lonesome.
"That is not what I meant and you know it, Waylady." Amity shivers at the touch from November. Not just because it is icy but because it flashes memory through her mind, too quick and vague to grasp. Something horrifying, reassuring, desired, and disgusting that she cannot place. She shakes her head to clear it and reaches up to try and brush some frost from her shoulder before it can melt away and make her sweater damp.
"My reasons are my own," she says. She's stiff, her fingers wrapped tightly around her cup of coffee. It's an anchor between the warring summer and winter mantles and the sheer amount of Wyrd stuffed into the room. "I do not feel reassured."
Alexander snorts again, a big meaty hand waving aside Amity's stiff response. "So you will leave the girl then, send her far away to be safe from you?" his gazes leaves Amity then as he shifts towards the table. An almost comical sight as the very large man settles down onto a chair which protests beneath him.
November speaks without turning around, colours a cascade of river-cool blues, blue-greys and earthy pebble beige-grey-blacks. The colours, of course, are carefully tailored to ensure that the kitchen itself is aesthetically pleasant, nothing clashing with the paint or furnishings, though if people don't like feeling like they're underwater...well. She glows. Light happens. In this case, it happens in underwater-esque fluctuations.
"Ah, but it -is- precisely what -I- meant. Semantics are a weapon. You must learn to use them without hesitation." The rainbow glances back over her shoulder, colours warming briefly, more tropical ocean teals than blues. "I want Mavis to be happy. She is a hard worker, and you care for her." Given their recent conversation, she doesn't belabour Alexander's point, only uncurling a graceful hand as if to remind her of its relevance.
Amity bristles a little, her shoulders tightening as her grip on her coffee cup grows almost white-knuckled. The coffee goes untouched. She looks between Alexander and November for a moment, considering them for a moment as her instinct to be polite and deferential wars with the desire to feel comfortable in her own kitchen and resentment at being suddenly intruded upon. Aggravation because they ask important questions that she knows not the answer to.
"I think," she says after a long, quiet moment, "that you had both better leave my home. Waylady, if you wish to speak to me about this, please do me the courtesy of asking before bringing a stranger to my home in the future. Or contacting me at all."
Alexander rolls his heavy shoulders into a shrug. "Make us." he prompts simply, daring, taunting even. Crimson eyes look to November briefly "Well, make me atleast." the mantle of summer lashes out, warm, severe. He smiles, a big smile showing off his tusks as he looks back to Amity. "I mean you'll need to protect this girl, no? If we're not -reassuring- enough."
Delight comes in many colours, but in this case, it looks like a tropical sunrise, the edges between varying pinks, golds and oranges crisp and clear. It also comes with a lack of personal boundaries, seeing as the rainbow does move toward the Chatelaine as if intending to touch her again. There's nothing overtly threatening or aggressive in -her- posture. Not even anything challenging. From all -outward- appearances, she's friendly, happy for Amity and attempting to be affectionate toward her.
"Thank you, Amity." Thanking her for trying to kick them out? Sounds like it. "Do you have iron? Weapons of any sort? You'll want fireplace pokers at the very least; they should be simple enough to find, or craft. Mavis IS crafty." So helpful. "It disrupts our power, and burns the Fae quite painfully."
Amity flinches back from November's touch, her brain screaming at her to be quiet, to duck her head, to be the quiet servant who gets no notice and will be /safe/. But this is her house and her Mavis and she doesn't want to be quiet. She cocks her arm as if she might hurl her coffee mug at November, but doesn't throw it. Yet. Every instinct fights for her to be frightened, not angry but she is kindling anger in her chest.
"I told you to get /get/ /out/ of my house," she says, her voice cracking from its usual composed evenness. The first time, most likely, November has heard much emotion from her that is not subdued into practical nothingness. She looks across the kitchen towards Alexander from where she has pressed herself into the counter.
"LEAVE!" She jerks her hand up to point a finger at Alexander and then shrieks in pain as something happens--her contract backfires on her and she stumbles, free hand clutching at her chest as glamour is torn from her. Angry, pained tears start to course down her face and despite her better judgement she cocks her arm back and hurls her still mostly full coffee mug at November. She misses, of course, the coffee mug going wide by a foot to smash against the far wall.
"Get out! GET OUT! I DON'T BELONG TO YOU ANY LONGER!" She gropes back for the still steaming pot of coffee on the counter. Someone might want to stop her before things get further out of control.
Alexander watches, scratching his mossy beard. He seems surprised for a moment as Amity stumbles and she screams in pain. He does not move to offer any help though, infact the great Ogre barely moves at all. "Do you think -words- will force us out?" he asks, his tone mocking, taunting even. "Do something."
November, on the other hand, doesn't try to touch her again, shifting her balance to avoid the mug, then turning to retrieve a piece of the broken ceramic, wings lifting to stay off the floor as she crouches down to pick it up. Twisting to flick a wry look over her shoulder toward the Ogre, she points out, "The woman -did- just throw a mug at my head. I'd say that's more than speaking."
Toward Amity, she assures, "You are free, Amity, and Alexander is everything a Summer courtier should be." Within a few seconds, the mug's scattered pieces have reassembled themselves in her hand, flawlessly repaired, and the rainbow is moving cautiously toward Amity with it. She'll stop if it looks like the Chatelaine is going to fling the carafe -- her intention is to give the mug to Amity or set it on the counter nearby, whichever option is most feasible.
After studying the other woman's posture, she adds a small handful of pebbles and dried fruit to the counter, then takes a step back. "They will absorb the mess to prevent stains. Count to seventeen and a half, then pick them up and dispose of them however you please. I'll send Mavis home to be with you." Toward Alexander, she adds, "This is very extreme, by her standards. Baby steps," and beckons for him to follow her as she heads toward the front of the house. "We will close the door behind us, darling."
For a moment it almost seems like Alexander will linger to keep taunting Amity, but the Ogre seems to settle for what he got and rolls his shoulders into a big shrug before rising from his seat. Without a word he ducks beneath a doorway to head out.
Amity shrinks back, her shoulders tensing as if she might hurl the carafe. Thankfully, it seems that November has no intention of laying a finger on her and the mug is set on the counter nearby. She is trembling, weeping openly in a display that her brain is already berating her for. Alexnader's taunt hits her and she whirls her head around before she starts to edge along the counter towards the stove. There's a cast iron pan sitting there, left after being cleaned the night before. Yes, she's moving at a snail's pace and her display so far has made it clear she's no fighter, but... well. It's still heavy. And iron.
"Go." Her voice is shaky and raw and cracking. "Get out--" And to her surprise, he does. She closes her fingers around the heavy, comforting handle of the pan and stares at November, her whole body trembling. "You are not welcome here. D-Do not come back. Swear to me you won't enter this place without my invitation or you--you'll--" She tries to think of what she wants to say. Wants to say 'or drop dead' but this isn't actually her Keeper. Just November. "Promise me you won't enter without my invitation for the next--next year and a day or may the Wyrd make your fingers always fumble and turns your words to ashes when they fall from your lips--"
November pauses when Amity gets up the gumption to try to bind her in a pledge, phone already in hand. She certainly doesn't have pockets in those leggings of hers, and it wasn't visible before, but it sure is now, slim and black and modern. The alert tone for speech to text comes next, and she tells the speaker, "Hey. If you want, you can kick off early. It's a holiday weekend, and the place is going to be packed tomorrow." A confirmation tone follows, and her thumb taps the screen a moment before the phone disappears entirely.
Turning in place to half-face Amity, hand on the mudroom doorknob, she offers the shorter woman a small smile, sympathy and sorrow both. "No." The refusal of the pledge is spoken politely, softly, but without compromise. "For what it is worth, I am sorry that I have brought those memories to light, and I -am- sorry for invading your safe space." She sounds sincere, too, colours muted and soft-edged, the sorts of hues you'd see in hospital waiting rooms. "I had to know what you would do, if pressed beyond endurance. So I can protect you. You've come so far, Amity. I'm very proud of your strength." Still sorrow, but encouragement, too, now.
The rainbow opens the door, stepping into the mudroom, and adds, "My number is at the Wayhouse, if you ever need help arranging matters with Mavis; I can shift her schedule to accommodate your secret."
The refusal seems to strike Amity like a physical blow and she crumples in on ourself on the kitchen floor, clutching the cast iron pan to her like a talisman to ward off the racing thoughts and unknowable memories that batter at her mind. She sobs, any pretense at holding herself together completely gone with the refusal from the Waylady. She stares after November, her vision blurred and uncertain.
"You knew this would happen. You just--you just love to push things until they break just like Them," Amity hisses, her anger still bubbling up into her voice. "If you were sorry you'd not have done it, would you? You knew! YOU KNEW!" She breaks down into further sobbing, unable to summon any more outrage. Everything hurts. She is tired, more tired than she was this morning at 3AM when she could not sleep because of fear of her nightmares and what might follow her into the waking world. She's trembling like a leaf in a windstorm, not able to stop the shaking. "What am I to tell her when she gets home and--" Amity waves a hand, encompassing everything. Herself. The coffee still splattered on the wall and floor. Everything.
"I don't believe you. Just leave me be."
Yep. Right on schedule. "Amity." She catches the mudroom door with her foot, most of the way toward the exit, then reaches out to hold it, watching the trembling woman with .. well, not kindness, though that's an element in the mix. Regret, acceptance. "My Court is Sacrifice as well as Hope; I knew, yes, that today would damage our relationship, but if it strengthens you, if it enables you to better defend yourself, it is worth the loss of any esteem you hold me in."
A finger points toward the kitchen to direct Amity's attention thataway, and she reminds, "The pebbles, dearheart. Gewgaws. Mavis need never know that it was spilled." She considers Amity again, turning away, and as the door closes behind her, hand letting it go, she adds, "It was the wording I couldn't agree with; I accept that I'm not welcome. Let me know, should you change your mind. I won't seek to come here until you do."
And that is that, as far as she's concerned. Unless Amity stops her, she heads out the front door after ensuring that the mudroom door has latched, preserving as much heat as possible inside.
Amity sits where she is, numb. There is nothing else for her to say. She watches the mudroom door swing closed and when November has gone, all she does is bow her head and cry. Perhaps as she hasn't cried since she was a girl. Maybe she has cried such as this since then but if she has, she cannot remember it. It's all she feels she can do.
|
