multiversallogs | ( i must be a mermaid )

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( i must be a mermaid )

Who: Ilde Decima & Castiel
What: Catching up for coffee.
Where: Queequeg's.
When: Misdi (Tuesday) afternoon.
Warnings: None as yet.

Ilde doesn't make a particular habit of being in Mog Hill - she lives on the other side of town, for one thing - but there are a few things there that she's fond of or that have caught her interest in her explorations, and so when she and Cas make arrangements to make good on the suggested coffee, she suggests Queequeg's. (If she lingers near the Mog Hill temple as she makes her way there...she's not going in, yet, she needs to talk to Sonja about it before she does anything stupid.)

She's got work lined up, but renovation delays mean they don't need her yet; most of her time, at the moment, is taken up in getting to better know the city, the riverways, and looking for part-time employment to tide her over. Maybe she'll offer music lessons, there's enough of a solid citizenry that someone's got to be interested - piano lessons for spoiled pre-teens in Gidd, who knows. It boils down to Mog Hill not actually being too far out of her way, not when 'wanderlust' is the way in which she most takes after her father and an inability to travel has her mapping Baedal out more thoroughly than strictly need be.

(She never thought she much cared about wandering, until she realized she'd just been taking it for granted.)

At Queequeg's about ten minutes early, she'll be sat out on the deck with a coffee when Cas arrives, her legs crossed at the ankle (wedge heels still don't much improve her height, when she spends as much of her time around people upwards of what she thinks of as 'unnecessarily tall'). Socializing is still a little surreal, and a part of her doesn't see the point in bothering (they're going to leave-), but it's nice to assure herself that she can. If she wants to, she can.

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Cas smiles, it's always nice to see someone take pride in something. It's been so long.

"I should," a beat. "You should come as company."

Her tone is almost teasing when she answers, the smile hinted at more around her eyes than her mouth- "Will you swim?"

Ilde looks different, in the water. She doesn't hide. (In the water, it's her territory and on her terms.)

Castiel has to think about it because he hasn't ever been swimming. It was a mortal recreational hobby and never really something he'd ever spent time occupying himself with. "I don't see why not," he paused with his tongue to his teeth for a moment. "Well, I don't have any swimming clothes."

Ilde shrugs again, evidently not seeing where the problem might lie here - there's no shame in nudity, as far as she's concerned, and she's generally indifferent on the subject. Well, some people are more interesting to look at naked than others, but as far as modesty goes, it's not a concept she's ever really invited into her life. "In the water I have a tail, not a bikini."

Castiel's brows raise instantaneously at that. While his inhibitions aren't at all what she's expecting he just assumed for the sake of argument that she wouldn't want to see him in the buff. "A tail?"

It takes her a moment to remember, generally, that a lot of other people actually do care about things like nudity, so Cas is all good around here. (Poor Allen and his Victorian sensibilities; she didn't realize immediately what the problem was.)

"I'm a naiad," she clarifies, sipping her coffee (it's weak - alcohol isn't the only thing that affects her physiology more intensely than humans). "We shapeshift."

He looks genuinely interested, if not amused, and though the emotion doesn't touch his eyes it's there as clear as day.

"Interesting," it's just a word but it encompasses what he feels about the subject. "We have shapeshifters where I'm from too... but they're of a different creed. Their functionality is much different."

Her glamours might seem almost superfluous, when one considers the shapeshifting - though she doesn't know it, the Nix are rumoured not to have natural forms - but it has its own different uses, and she makes good with both abilities quite often. (The seeming of a human appearance she greets him with now, that's merely a cosmetic overlay, not shifting. Beneath it, she gleams.)

"There are all kinds of shapeshifters," she shrugs, "but it's an ability, not a..." She makes a vague gesture. It's not a species or an identity, in her view, but something that assorted kinds count amongst their skills.

"It's different where I'm from," Cas rolled a shoulder back and folded his arms over the table, palms around his mug of coffee. "Alternate realities, different back stories...... those things."

She makes a little face, briefly; Sonja's the only one from their world, she's sure they'd know if there were anyone else, and the whole thing is just...odd. Off. She's getting used to it, almost, in that she expects the differences now, but sometimes she finds the notion of worlds where New York functions without a wall of encroaching eldritch horrors and slums overseen by the rich and drugged past caring about what they're living off-

The apocalypse, as Cas no doubt knows full well for himself, doesn't always make for people with a lot of sympathy.

"There are a lot of those, here."

Cas took another sip of the coffee, licked his lips, and then used his finger tips to wipe his mouth. He's silent for a moment, coming to his response a little slower than usual. "So I've noticed."

"Some people come from places I haven't even heard of." Which she has to concede she finds far more interesting than people who come from variations on what she knows; cities still standing and worlds still turning.

"I've come across the same," he drawled out low over another sip of dark brown liquid. "It keeps things.... interesting."

"Something like that." It's almost like an agreement- close enough, anyway. Ilde's smile is faint and practised, the easy sort of expression she can summon up without needing to much think about it, and it's just a different kind of illusion, the kind you don't need fey enchantments to create.

"So, tell me..." Cas began after an undulated pause. "What have you done with yourself here?"

"We're looking for a way out." It's very matter of fact, and the 'we' comes very naturally; it's so very easy for Ilde to think of herself as one of two, which is probably why she gives the slight impression of being Sonja's housewife. It's a thing. (A sometimes disturbing thing!) "We tried taking a big yacht into the fog, it didn't go well."

He considers this, mostly for the fact that he'd heard about the fog from her or someone else before and that it couldn't possibly have gone smoothly. "I haven't tried," to escape. To find his way home. There wasn't much to return to as far as he was concerned.

"We have things to do, back there." And they're going to go and do them. Sonja means to do that, so Ilde believes that they will, easily, like breathing. "So we've got to."

Cas has a we, the other part of that faction just isn't here yet. He sighs and pulls his cup closer to his mouth feeling words were irrelevant for a moment.

Silences aren't uncomfortable when sounds are so often superfluous to her; people talk too much and it's a pain in the ass trying to keep their mouths in view. A long time ago (when you're twenty-one, five or six years is a long time), she remembers closing her eyes and letting conversations just wash over her. She remembers the things she picked up like that, just listening, not really paying attention.

It doesn't work like that any more. She has to be alert to communication, she has to watch closely, she has to account for the ambient noises that should warn her that she doesn't hear, or that begin to blur together. There is no warm rush of sound around her above the water, not any more, and she doesn't know a lot of people who can come to her and speak the way she's best designed to hear. (If any.)

Ilde treasures silence, and it's nice, to have company and drink weak coffee and be quiet for a moment.

It is nice, and because of that Cas continues carrying on in silence, every now and then taking a drink of coffee or sweeping his fingers over the table in small circular motions. He still hasn't gotten the hang of being long winded in the company of anyone but Dean.

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( i must be a mermaid )

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