It's a tiny little bed-sit that he's found. And he's been there less than a week, and every day has been difficult. Like being pulled backwards over broken glass, he tells himself as he examines his face in the mirror; tries to make some sense of it. It's just a face. Good-looking? Sure, but still just a face. Dark hair that's grown long enough to fall in unruly curls; blue eyes that have been compared favourably to summer days and calm blue seas. Aye, well - whatever to that.
     It's in the heart of London; the irony appealed to him, inasmuch as anything has been appealing to him of late. Where does the man who's lost his heart go but to the city whose heart is stone cold uncaring? And he's being silly and melodramatic and angsty and he knows it; that's the worst part. Being this self-aware while still being this hollow and aching so that one's aware of how foolish one's being while going on hurting all the same is no fit fate for a man.
     Tiernan sighs. Where does one go when one's a fairy prince in exile? No kingdom to return to. No home that he can call his. Slowly, he gets dressed. This is but one port of call of many, after all. He's some ideas, he has - and some faked papers which should bear up under mundane scrutiny. If he runs into people with magic, well, then he'll be in trouble. But that's nothing new...
     Dressed, then, in rugged cloth - a lightweight sweater over a cotton shirt, jacket over that. Duck cloth trousers, working boots, and a cloth cap which can be pulled down over his eyes or shoved into a pocket depending on his need. The key's turned in the latch; it's lunch time. He'll eat first, and maybe then he'll work on finding some answers. And where else to go for lunch when in London overnight, than where he can go to get answers to one of his questions, at least? Pashmina's...

     Pashmina's is busy at all hours, particularly at lunchtime. Almost all the tables are full -- they would all be full but outside seating has been added for the summer, with umbrellas to shade from the sun or provide shelter from lighter summer rains. The bells chime and tinkle as you open the door, and you see her most likely immediately.
     Saddharma Banerjee (also called 'Lotus') is working behind the cash register. She wears traditional garb for a hindi woman her age (early 20s) but she wears the eye makeup of a modern London girl, with violets and hazelnuts that blend into her mocha complexion. Her nose piercing is a sparkle of gold as she turns her head, her thick black hair plaited behind her back all the way to the small of her back. Her sandals (if you could see them from the door) are gold colored flats with glass jewelry decoration -- little flower blossoms in red and gold glass, mimicking rubies and topaz.
     "That'll be ten-pound-eighty," she says to the woman with a smile, and she pivots to hand the order slip to her brother Sanjeev (also very handsome, but dressed in kitchen whites). Her dark eyes flick their attention to your entry. She smiles and there is a wondering that passes over her expression: where have I see you before?
     "Thank you," she says to the woman, smiling to her as she gives her change. "It will be only a few moments. May I help you?" she says to you next. You are next in line.

     Tiernan smiles a little, looking you up and down with the weight in his gaze; a measurement that is devoid of lust, of everything but a certain wondering, wandering of thoughts. "One for lunch, please." His accent is flavoured with Somewhere Else. He tells people it's Irish, the same as he tells people his name's Terry instead of Tiernan. Terry Winter. An innocuous name. A nothing name. "You're looking well."
     What, after all, can he say? He could, if he chose, spin tales and weave webs - but that's not really his way. He's quieter than that, and he lacks the purpose to take direct action as of yet. A name, first. "You're Lotus, aren't you? I remember, you delivered the food we ordered, once."

     "Yes... Lotus," she smiles at you. "And it is okay to order here. It is still lunch. You liked the spicy, right?" She glances back to the kitchen and where Sanjeev (protective brother that he is) is looking at you and at her. Rolling her eyes at him, she looks to you, smiling sweetly. "It is good to see you again. And thank you. So... what would you like today? Some stuffed naan? It is good today, very fresh always but today with spicy lamb."
     She looks at you again. Your hair has grown, she thinks. And she thinks you are cute. You can tell by the lifting of her eyes, the tilt of her head, and there is a rosy quality to her complexion. A warming more than a color.
     "You should try the kabla naan too, stuffed with cherries. That is my favorite." As you peer over the menu above her head, she jots something down and slips it to you. It is a series of numbers. A phone number to her mobile.

     "The lamb, yes. And the naan," Tiernan agrees. "I'm happy to put myself in your hands; I'm fond of spices, though, so no need to hold back on my account." His smile is quick and assured; without the smoothness of the rake, but this is something on which he can speak with confidence.
     If you knew, woman-child, the spices and flavorings of my world, the world in which I was born. What would you do with them, if I showed you, if I told you? Not that I would; I wouldn't endanger you that lightly, that cavalierly. And despite everything, I find I still want to live. I do not want to court death at the Holly King's hands. No matter what relationship his son and I do or do not share.
     Tiernan puts his hand over the paper casually, palming it so that your brother need not know. He offers you a crooked grin, nodding his head as he takes his wallet; see, your number is being slid in even as money is being slid out. "Tell you what," he says quietly. "Pick out all your favorites, hm? I'll have it to go - there's a little park up the street, I saw. It's too nice a day to waste. If you have time and can get off, you're welcome to join me. And if not, well, life's like that, isn't it? We never know how things are going to turn out."

     She is traditional in the sense of her dress and name only. In all other things, she's every bit the typical adventurous London college girl. With a brilliant smile, she begins to jot all of the items in a beautiful script. She makes tick marks beside each one as she calculates the items in her head. "And something to drink. Lotus tea," she murmurs, making the choice for you.
     "And it is nearly time for me to walk to my classes," as a matter of fact. Your order will be enough for you both. "That will be eighteen pounds, thirty-five pence. Sanjeev," she says, turning and handing the slip to her uncle. "I am going to head to class with my friend. You will have the rest alright, yes? Papa?" She looks to her father, who looks up from his cutting of chicken to smile and wave. Go, go, he says in an Indian tongue, a tangle of vowels and consonants.
     Looking to you, she holds out her hands. Her fingernails are painted a bronzy cinnamon, and she wears several golden bands on her fingers. "We'll go to the park and then to class, we have enough time." She lifts her eyebrows to you. Play along. "Taahira," she calls out, "I am going. Come to the register, yes?" And like that, your money taken and your change given, Saddharma ("Lotus") comes out from behind the counter.
     She kisses her father goodbye as he himself brings out the four bags of food and the containers of the lotus tea with straws. "Be careful, my darling," he says to her. "You know..."
     "Yes," she sighs but smiles, kissing him in return, "... all the crazy drivers. I will. And I will be late tonight, remember? The study group meets. I will call you." She is a shimmering thing in her gold and red and purple saris, all made of shining silk. Her small feet glitter with the glass jewels, and her hair is covered by a golden, silken veil. "It is good timing," she says, heading out of the restaurant.

     Twenty-five pounds are handed over, although without recklessness. He knows what he is doing. "Sure," Tiernan says easily, "plenty of time. And it's a nice day for it." A lovely day. Your brother and your father are glanced at with the casual incuriosity of a fellow playmate, a classmate; nothing to see here, or not yet.
     He takes the containers with due caution, balancing them without particular difficulty. He is familiar with the balancing acts; when one is on a ship in a storm, it is much harder to balance than here, upon dry land. And he moves to follow you, observing you with an engineer's eye, an engineer's thoughts.
     "I promise," he tells you, once out of the shop, "I don't even own a Vespa, and I wouldn't run you over if I did. I dislike waste." You receive another crooked smile as he moves to catch up with you, his broader shoulders clearing the path a bit. It would be a pity if anyone were to step on the hem of your silks. "And I am not particularly crazy. A little mad now and again, but that's unavoidable. Terry, by the way." Terry. Not Tiernan. Though it does, almost, come out like 'Thierry'.

     "Saddharma," she says, closing the door to the shop with the tinkle and chime. "But you can call me Lotus if it is easier for you." She laughs brightly and moves beside you. "Here, let me take something. I will hold the teas," she says, taking that bag from you. "Terry. It is good to officially meet you. I am glad you asked me to come with you." Saddharma looks forward as she speaks, then looks to you. "I started to give you my number when I was delivering that day." That day was only a couple of months ago by London time.
     "I will warn you," she whispers as she walks with you. "In public, I must be very formal. Who knows what woman of my country is going to see me having lunch with a London boy." She winks. "So if I sit on the other side of the bench, it is not you, yes? Do you live nearby?"
     Such a glittering thing she makes in the streets. She is like a lotus flower blossoming among so much grey and glass. "I only do the deliveries close to the shop. My father does not want me riding the bike all over town," her small hand waves. "But I like riding my bike. And I have a Vespa. But it is parked at the college."

     "Oh, believe me, if there's one thing I understand, it's about public proprieties." Tiernan grins a little at that, closing his eyes. There is a pang for the thought. O my prince, would you be upset with me if you saw me now? I, who have traded away my right to call you my anything, along with any birthright I might have held. But here I am. And you are not here. I do not know when I will see you again...
     He has an easy, long-legged stride, quiet rather than martial; one designed to keep up with his mother's retinue and his lover's naval boots. He has to remember that your legs are perhaps not so long; your steps more graceful, more delicate for your silks. "I'm staying nearby," he admits, "though it's not much of a place. Just a room I'm renting while I get my bearings, figure out where I want to go next. Taking some time off to figure it all out."
     He smiles a bit at that, gathering up the bag more securely. "I can see why your father'd be careful. There's all sorts of lunatics out there, he's right. He probably wants to protect you while he thinks he still can. Not that you'd tell him different, right?" The blue eyes are canny, the grin offered to take away any offense which the words might offer. "Sorry, I shouldn't psychoanalyze. What are you studying?"

     She laughs, delighted by the idea of protection. "He cannot help it. But he also cannot shelter me. I think he is beginning to understand this. My mother? Not so much. I have rejected their notions of an arranged marriage, my family is very traditional. But my way is my way. So long as my grades are as they are, they do not argue. I do not tell them that which would hurt them or the way they see me; they do not ask questions for which they do not want the answer."
     She manages to keep up with you, though she must take two (if not three) steps for every one of yours. "I live with my parents now that I am going back and forth between Oxford and the medical practica. I am pre-med. I am training to become a medical doctor. But I love literature and history, philosophy. And even psychoanalysis," Saddharma grins to you.
     "I wish I had time to take off. But, I am afraid if I stop I will not start again!" Beaming to you, she begins to look around. "How far is this park out of curiosity? Not much of a place, but at least the place is your own. Soon enough, I will have to move out again, when I am doing my residency. Then I will wish for my mother's cooking and my father's hugs when I am working back-to-back shifts."

     "You have a certain amount of freedom, at least." Tiernan smiles at you. "Luckier than some. Hearts will wander where they will, but some families are more understanding of that than others." It is still so soon. So fresh. How long, Io, before every thought no longer brings me back to you? How much do I mind it, for that matter?
     He points at a copse. "See, there, between those stone lions? It's well hidden - a courtyard more than a park outright. But I've seen no signs to keep off the grass or trespassers beware, so I'm choosing to think it's public. As much as anything is public, these days."
     "I had a good job with an assured future," Tiernan admits to you, tone light and casual. "But I had doubts, and I knew doubts would kill my career dead if I let them stay. So I talked to my employer, and ... well, we'll see how long it takes me to get my head on straight. I wouldn't want to do him a disservice, aye? Or myself. Time will be the judge."
     Ah, there; benches beneath the trees, an iron railing around the little courtyard allowing peeps at the wandering world beyond the gates and gardens and greenery. He waits for you to sit with an absentminded sort of gallantry. "What sort of medicine interests you? I'm an ... engineer by training, though mainly these days geared towards naval engineering. I was thinking I might sign on with a crew for a while, get some work experience in that way. Are you planning on practicing here, or ...?"

     "I would actually like to return to India. I think that bothers them more than my refusing to marry the man of their choosing." She smiles at the copse, a small courtyard but it is a charming little secret. "I've probably walked past this a thousand times," Saddharma whispers. She smiles at you. Good choice. She takes a seat and then begins removing the iced teas in the styrofoam glasses, an unwrapped straw set on top of yours.
     "I am thinking pediatrics. There are so many children in India, especially near the Kashmiri border who need help. Refugee camps. I will have to have a practice here for a time before I can do that, but there are traveling programmes. I should like to be able to share some of the fortune I have had in my life."
     Sipping at the tea, she looks to you as you join her. "Engineering. Naval engineering. Well, you are in the right place for that. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, as they say. And I think you're smart, taking time to see if this direction is the one you should be heading into. If you have doubts, it's better to pay attention to them than to ignore the flags and then be caught in something unrewarding or unpleasant." She nods to you, sipping at her tea. It is sweet without being overpowering. There is a subtle spice and a subtle floral note to the tea.
     "There are shipyards along the Thames. You shouldn't have any trouble finding an engineering firm. You might check Portsmouth or Southampton. Major shipping channels there."

     He listens without comment, without judgment. There are things which he could say. Could. But he does not. He says nothing, giving you his undivided attention. "You have compassion for those less fortunate. Not a trait many seem to share, these days." Tiernan smiles a little, then leans back, closing his eyes as he stretches. He turns and begins unpacking the food with meticulous care. "Suffering is something which makes many people uncomfortable; they don't know how to respond to it, so they tune it out, block it out. Easier than trying to achieve."
     It is words. I am having thoughts, Io. I will have to put pen to paper and write these thoughts to you. Will you read what I have to say, I wonder? Will my words make a blaze upon a fire? I hope that you will want this little part of me...
     "Better to find out now," Tiernan agrees softly, "than before spending the time and locking myself in. But you know, if only for my own ego - I'd rather quit than be fired. Male egos are fragile, aren't they?" You get a little grin. He knows they can be. The tea is taken, sipped, sipped again before he speaks.
     "I imagine it won't be hard, though I'm thinking I might actually start with something more menial. Get my hands dirty, build some muscle. It'll pay less, but you know, I'll learn something I don't already know and not seem some Bright Young Thing looking to challenge the old men. I'm not looking for something permanent right now; just for something new to explore. We'll see, of course - there may be some work which will interest me, and I'll change my mind." Tiernan grins, just a little. "I'm afraid I'm not like you; I'm not likely to set the world on fire in a hurry. I'm too slow-moving for that."

     She laughs, it is a musical thing that sound, as you mention the fragility of the male ego. "Like glass," she teases, sipping at her tea and batting her lashes at you comically. "But always there is a glassblower who can make you good as new, right? And so you don't have everything planned out for you like I do. Some would say, and have, that I am too planned out. There is no room for adventure or discovering myself. But I will have my own adventures one day, I think. If you feel like exploring now, you should explore, Terry."
     Setting her tea aside, she begins opening up the containers. She hands you a fork with a smile and you and she will eat out of the same containers. No plates. There is yellow curry, there is spicy lamb naan, kabla naan, so many good things. And fragrant. The perfume of spicy food lifts and lingers around you both.
     Saddharma reaches above her head, slowly lowering the gold silk veil. She removes it and ties it around her slender waist. Her black hair is shiny, lightly oiled with almond oil. It is her only perfume. Almond eases among the smells of curries and peppers.
     "You sound like you know what you want. You at least know what you don't want," Saddharma notes, gesturing to you with her fork as she pauses to chew. "And that is, as they say, half the battle. I have goals," she sighs with a smile. "And those have driven me. It has yet to be seen if those goals will have cost me some knowledge of myself or adventure. I am hoping, I am betting on it in fact, that I will be able to finish in three more years, and then spend time working in India, Sri Lanka, Indonesia."
     Her dark eyes linger on you as she eats and as she speaks with you. Her casual demeanor speaks volumes on her interest and her comfort in you. You are so easy to talk to. Her interest is telegraphed from her eyes, the color of her skin, how her body leans just slightly (so subtle as to be subconscious) toward you.

     "I? I know nothing. But I'm learning." Tiernan smiles again, lifting a forkful of food to his mouth. His manners are good; he doesn't talk with his mouth full, he wipes his mouth carefully between bites. And he watches you without intruding; your space is your own, for now. He is non-threatening in his presence. There is a summing up being down somewhere behind those blue eyes; patience as he gathers the data he needs.
     "People tend to forget that adventure is often inconvenient. It's very modern to think that an adventure ends at dinner-time and with a ride back to the hotel, isn't it? I'm in some ways not very modern." If you only knew. The world from which I come has adventures; I have had adventures. But I cannot tell you of those... "I'm a fan of being prepared for whatever I can, but that isn't always good enough."
     He lifts a container of curry, one hand cupped under the carton while he works with his fork with the other. He is silent while he chews, setting the container down again so that you can reach it without having to ask. Courteous to a fault. "...Someone I knew once was very driven, like you. Tell me, for you - does this drive come from your family? What kind of family do you come from?"
     That he is interested in the answer is apparent. There is no sign that he is dissembling; that this is a ploy to catch you off your guard. And for all your interest, he is holding himself back, just a little. Tiernan's smile quirks into being, but ... there's something he needs to find out, first.

     "The drive I suppose first came from my family. There was always an expectation that we would succeed, by whatever standards. My family immigrated here and own several businesses, Pashmina's is one of them. They are working class, what others call middle class, though upwardly middle. They do well enough for me to go to school. And they want better for their children. So I do not blame them for wanting me to be successful and to give something of my fortune to others who are not as fortunate. That comes from them and their teachings. But me... myself, I am driven for my own reasons. There are certain things I want to do, to have, to be, and so I push myself. But believe me," Saddharma laughs a little, "...when I do not do as well as I could or would have liked to, they let me know about it."
     She does not seem off-put by the question at all. It's a pretty normal question to ask, really. "So I guess to answer your question, it is both nature and nurture. Some are not as driven by the same things, they're driven by other things. Me, I want to have a comfortable living, I want to be able to take care of my family, and to be able to travel and volunteer, so medical school seemed to be the best way to achieve all of these things."
     She takes a little curry, takes a little naan. Saddharma is not bashful in the slightest. Sipping at her tea, she at last relinquishes the fork. "I better save some for you. As if I have not eaten it all day already. What about your family? How do they feel about your leaving your job to discover what you want to do?"

     Ah, a painful topic. One best left for sometime else, really. "Oh, I'm on my own," Tiernan says easily, "so the only people I have to answer to are those I get close to. And myself, of course. If I can't be happy with the decisions I make, sooner or later, noone else will be, either." He leans forward, fingers brushing the ends of your long hair. That one liberty is permitted to himself, and his hand pulls back again, without apology or comment. "It's a hard thing, to find happiness in life; balancing duty and responsibility with achievement and joy. I'm capable of taking pleasure in things, but if it's just pleasure, it's not enough. So - this little journey of self-discovery, boldly treading the road which's been trodden into brick by so many before me."
     He picks up his tea, leaning back with a little bit of a smile. "You have so many different goals, but are you as passionate for the medicine, the search for the cure and the healing as you are for those goals? Don't get me wrong; I admire your drive, but does it make you happy, what you do, beyond just as a means to an end? Does it interest you - beyond just challenging you?"
     They are heavy questions, and suddenly he laughs. "Sorry," Tiernan says quietly. "I tend to have a lot of philosophy rattling around in my brain. Every so often, it just - makes a break for it. Don't feel you're in an inquisition, please."

     She laughs, "Oh no, it's no problem, Terry. I am passionate about medicine. About treating children, particularly as it relates to AIDS. There is such a problem in India now. Not to mention malnutrition and a host of other ills. I am passionate about that, I could not do it otherwise. It is ... a hard profession. It is rewarding, and it provides what I need it to provide. But I want to be able to make a difference, if even just a tiny one. Medicine interests me, finding a cure to stop the suffering of children and people is something that I'm very passionate about."
     She looks to you as you touch her hair, a tendril curl of it wrapping around your finger for a moment. Her complexion darkens slightly, but she smiles, tilting her head to the touch. She not only allows it, she encourages it.
     She does not ask about you being on your own. It is not polite to pry. Her dark eyes may reveal that she is interested, she will listen if you wish to speak of it. But she does not press or push you. "Ultimately, it is the same for all of us, I think," she murmurs. "We are all on the long road, as they say. And each one of us is the one to whom we must answer."
     Pausing for a moment, Saddharma places her fork back in one of the bags. "Would you like to go to my student apartment and talk more? My sofa is more comfortable than the bench." She smiles at you, sharing a secret quite clearly as she leans in. "I have a place I have rented that I use during the day, to study and nap between classes. And for privacy. God, if I had to sneak you in past mother and grandmother, we'd never make it..."

     He is unsurprised by your offer, and unoffended. And not entirely disinterested; his hand slides gently into your hair, thumb lightly touching your cheek before he withdraws. "I'd like it, but I think maybe another time, if it's all the same to you. I've got a lot I've a need to get done, and if I let myself, I'll end up tangled in your hair and suspended from it helplessly until you shake me loose."
     You receive that faint quirking smile, and bit by bit, Tiernan begins to tidy up the containers. "Let me know what's your schedule, and we can try then? I'll make you one of the six or seven random dishes I've learned to cook, even, if you're so inclined. Nothing compared to your mother's, though, so I can't say it's all that special an offer."
     He will, if you let him, introduce you to such spices as you've never had before. But - slowly. He rushed in once, and his heart still feels it. And there are complications, deus, it is so complicated. "Always assuming," Tiernan says lightly, giving no outward sign of the inward thought, "the number in my pocket will still be good by Friday. I didn't see a date of expiry."

     She blushes and rolls her eyes at you as she did Sanjeev. "You are terrible. Of course it has no expiry. Call me. I would like to eat the dinner you would cook. I will pour the wine. Let's see. Today is Wednesday. I am in labs tomorrow night, but Friday night and Saturday night I am free..."
     The color in her cheeks remains. "I will be sure to oil my hair for you so at least, if you are stuck, your bed will be a fragrant one," her whisper is lyrical, dancing lightly. Her fingers slip against your own hand, lightly running over a finger. Her skin is soft, and it is warmed by her laughter.
     "You will call me," her dark brown eyes peer at you even as her mouth slides a smooth smile. Yes, you will, her smile echoes. Gently, gracefully, Saddharma unties the golden veil at her waist and wraps it around her head and hair in a most traditional fashion. "You have enough leftovers to last you till then at least. By Friday you will be hungry."
     Rising, she says gently, without words, that she must leave. If you are not going to persuade her out of her veils and classes, then she must go to class. "My practica begin shortly," she whispers. Bending, she kisses your cheek. Her kiss is as much a smile as it is a show of flirtatious affection.

     "Thou art as lovely as thou art temperate," Tiernan tells you gravely. He accepts the kiss to his cheek and bows his head with that courtesy; the packages are gathered up with a delicate grace. "By Friday I am sure I shall have appetite. I will bring myself, and such ingredients as I feel are necessary. Good luck with your practica."
     He remains where he is. He will watch you go. He will be lost - as ever - in his own thoughts, the tangled, wild and woolly maze that they make. If you only knew...

Posted by rowan at August 13, 2006 06:06 PM