multiversallogs | meanwhile, at lunch

Who: Ms. Ilde D. Featherstonehaugh and Mr. Elliot J. Quirin
What: One of many intellectual exchanges over lunch
Where: The Principle, Brock Marsh (it's a food place)
When: Newdi, lunchtime
Notes: TeeMuu is paying; let's hear it for expense accounts and the eccentricities that they afford.
Warnings: Nerds. Terrible things may be done to science.

The Principle - or The Prince as it's sometimes called - is situated between the university and the river. It does not cater exclusively to the student and teaching body of Tipitaka Medaw but it has made certain concessions to accommodate both. The basement level is considered fair game for parties and loud gatherings; the ground floor often sees discussion groups and orators. The second floor somewhat more traditional and sophisticated. Quieter, generally.

Students rarely go there but that has little to do with Quirin's decision to sit here. He just likes the larger windows; makes the light much better and the view of the river and street outside isn't bad either. He is considers the bread with the half-hearted attention of someone who doesn't remember what hunger is like and has something more interesting to focus on beside. The more interesting thing at this time would be his lunch companion Ilde, and what she has just finished saying.

"As mentioned before I have not ventured far into the fog myself, but I find it improbable that it would be able to sustain any stable form of life-as-we-know-it for any meaningful length of time," he says, not dismissive just contemplative. The bread is all but forgotten. "At least - yes, not life that operates along the same rules as the city. We have yet to see an invasion of fogdwellers, and if witness reports are anything to go by, it's not because a lack of inclination."

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It's probable that any observers more familiar with Ilde in other contexts would be a little startled by her evident manner here, not quite a persona but not quite who she is any more, either; she used to sit in cafés having conversations like this, earnest and interested, stirring her spoon through her tea while she talks because it occupies her hands, covering her unsettling stillness with habits she used to have. The engaging nature of her is less odd, in moments like these, but it's work to remember what it was like being Miss Featherstonehaugh and not the rhinemaiden.

Worth the fuss, though-- "There are the fogbeasts that have adapted or..." Or designed, or come from places like that, and she isn't really sure which of these options is the more alarming thought. "I don't know of any being brought back as live specimens."

This is a charming conversation to have while people around them are eating.

Quirin has no such need to police his own mannerism or behaviour, nor is he likely to notice that of another. His is the expected default in many circles, he's never had to adapt much or even pay attention.

"Oh the university used to pay well for a good specimen, but that was a long time ago. Interest waned considerably after professor Cornelius' office disappeared." Terribly off-handed; not because he'd rather not talk about it, it's just an old news things and not his department besides. "Far as it went, no one came up with a published satisfactory conclusions as to what it takes to live out there."

The notion of someone's office disappearing in such a way as to be shrugged off is a little startling, even in Baedal and even with everything else that Ilde has more or less accepted in the city; she doesn't press, noting the manner in which it was referenced, but she makes a note of the name and to find out if Cornelius was in his office at the time or not.

(However unrelated it may actually be, that's interesting, and she can multitask.)

"But they tried?" she speculates, thoughtfully.

People disappear all the time, isn't it natural that places should too? Not really, but the professor seems very genuine in his nonchalance.

"Oh yes, the unknown is forever a lure to the terminally curious." As a gently ageing survivor of Baedal academia it is implied that he should know. "The fog has always been of great interest, what lives in there and what it does to people."

The Candlelighters are certainly interested in it; they're not distinct in that way, but it's still something to bear in mind. Especially when she knows, already, that they're looking into university studies in other areas...

"The psychological effects of it seem to be accepted fact without..." She makes a vague gesture. "It feels like rumours and correlation accepted as causation."

"Hardly scientific, is it?" This is the vaguely amused tone of the long jaded. Baedal science makes fools of us all. Quirin's expression grows momentarily distant as if some old thoughts have caught up with him. He soon shakes them off and regards his company with something akin to a grandfatherly concern that goes unspoken.

"We don't know much but we do know though, that there are things and occurrences enough out there to discourage in-depth exploration." It doesn't really stop people of course, but political climates and divine implications tend to quiet things but good. "Your interest in the fog is strictly the indulgence of a curious nature, or..?"

A curious nature that she makes no secret of - even when concentrating to follow their conversations in a slightly more linear way, her tendency to veer off in the direction of whatever catches her fancy is hard to have missed - but she half-smiles, shrugging, and puts her teaspoon down beside the saucer. The more they talk, the less she suspects Quirin of having any direct involvement with the Candlelighters himself; she has a hard time imagining one of them giving her such a paternal look, maintaining that kind of thoughtfulness and comfort, interest in her company. She can't pass for human, not really, and that's one of several reasons she's not suited to what Hasi's pursuing elsewhere.

"I've been," she says; both times are essentially a matter of public record, so while it occurs to her to obfuscate, one errs on the side of not lying about anything easily contradicted. "It isn't something I'd do again lightly--" this is more debatable, given her temperament, "--but Sonja, I mentioned Sonja, she's involved in fog-trading and I'm curious about the long-term effects."

Edited 2011-12-03 15:35 (UTC)

"Miss Garin, yes I recall." See, this attention paying thing is not just an act. If it has occurred to him that there may be a number of socio-political objections to older gentlemen paying attention to younger faeries he has chosen to ignore them. Too far along, perhaps, to care what anyone has to say. Besides, his motives have nothing to do with the things Hasi might offer. Aside from polite conversation. He's not surprised to hear of trips into the fog.

"I'm afraid I cannot shine much in the way of light on the situation; the fog eludes most attempts to study it." Regrettably so, apparently. "The best we have are guesses, though there may be some indication in that there really aren't many old or long term fog-traders around."

"I don't know about that," she says, contemplatively, sipping her tea. (She's eaten a little, already; a light dish, fish-based, tartly flavoured with a salad on the side, and she'd had a glass of water while she ate to avoid unpleasantly mixing flavours.) "It's such a directly dangerous line of work; that will draw in a specific temperament, usually. Maybe it says more about them."

Quirin makes a face of concession complete with a nod and everything. It might be the sort of gesture a teacher would make at an unusually apt pupil but that's probably just habit. "That may well be; as you point out, theirs is a singular temperament. I've yet to hear of any successful studies of fog-traders as a concept, though you'd think there'd be interest."

"At least," he adds with a note that at least sounds knowing. "At least you'd think so when you have a hard time conceiving anything beyond books."

"A lot of things make perfect sense until applied to people," Ilde observes, with a cynicism for the population well beyond her few years; there are hints of that, now and then, the jaundiced eye with which she observes those around her. It's most of all self-protective, but prickly and damaged musicians too clever for their own good are nothing new in this world or any other. Nothing special.

"Quite."

The benevolent air never really leaves Quirin, he cares about Ilde and his cares are genuine. It may not be special or new, but that doesn't mean we can't rail against the nature of things. "Ilde - did you ever tell me where you're from?"

"I don't think so--" she doesn't tend to volunteer that about herself, just because it's so complicated in her head to pull apart. (Emery thinks of her as English because he thinks of himself as English; she can't connect to a country she's only ever lived in at boarding school.) After a moment, swirling her tea in the bottom of the cup, she says, "Italy. I'm from-- Florence, mostly, Daddy has an estate there." Had. Has. She doesn't know which it is. "I was born in France, though."

...and she sounds really British when she speaks English.

meanwhile, at lunch

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