meanwhile, at lunch

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

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."

Comments

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

"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."

[rhinemaid]

"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."

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

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."

[rhinemaid]

"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.

[baedalites.livejournal.com]

"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?"

[rhinemaid]

"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.