She quizzes me, I quiz her back. She sips her drink and knocks me flat...
     Loki's fingers tap out the drum line to Lady 52 on the edge of the cafe table. He's sporting a faint pink line of sunburn across his cheeks from too long spent walking in one of those rare sunny hours of a London March. Today's wardrobe is shades of dark gray sufficient to stand up against midnight cold, though inside in the late afternoon the coat's unbuttoned and the thin gray scarf's trying to drift away onto the floor. Tea has already arrived, forgotten so far on the table while he drags a thumb slowly down the side of his phone's screen, scrolling through the pages cued up.

     Gillian arrives only ten minutes later, cheeks flushed pink from the cold air outside. She's got on a long grey overcoat with a dark purple scarf; when she unfolds the coat, she's got a white turtleneck underneath, paired with black slacks and boots. "Hello! I'm sorry I'm late. There was a wreck next to the train station and they had a bomb disposal unit making sure it was safe."
     She drops into the chair opposite yours with a quiet thud and a sigh. "I hope it's cleared up before I head back. What's up? How are you? How's Pres? Did you order yet?"

     The phone disappears into a pocket, and the earpiece follows half a second later. "Just some research, fine, not fine, nothing more than tea," Loki says, reaching for the cup he poured fifteen minutes ago and which has since gone lukewarm. The still warm teapot gets a discreet nudge across the table in your direction. "Since you're here in one piece, I gather the wreck was safe enough to pass by without exploding in the process."

     She takes a cup, pouring out for herself. "Oh, yes, I think it's probably a real wreck," Gillian answers candidly. "But they have to play it safe, especially so close to the station." She runs her fingers back through her hair, leaving it sticking up askew, then lifts the filled cup to her lips. "Well, research - I'm your girl. Glad you're fine. Sorry Pres isn't." The corners of her mouth turn down, and her shoulders visibly drop. "Tell me about it?"

     Loki takes a breath, and then in a fit of cowardice has a sip of tea before he tries to answer that. "Which one first? Pres. Right. He's fucked up right now. Not the thing with his leg, though obviously that's the main problem, but everything going on around it. College is weird enough on its own without adding distance from friends and the health problems to it. Except in this case I think distance is better than the alternative. What's up with your mother not letting him get
that fixed?" It's not entirely characteristic of him to be that confrontational, but then, the thin line of anger behind his eyes isn't very characteristic of him either.

     Gillian shrinks back slightly. "I don't know. Pres didn't tell me anything about it. Mumsie hasn't said - I could ask Maddie, but I've been over here for over six months, remember? If you want, I'll ask dad, but he probably won't know. Mumsie handles the organized stuff in the family, y'know."

     "Sorry," Loki says quietly, and downs the cold tea so that he has an excuse to pour more. "It's not your fault." He sinks back in his own chair, staring moodily at the table. "Maybe this isn't the kind of thing I'm supposed to pass on, but he didn't tell me to keep quiet about it. Pres says there's some operation that could fix his leg, but because it's risky, it's a no-go from your mother. Being old enough to make your own medical decisions does not, unfortunately, come with the funds for it. The joy of no nationalized health insurance. You have to love America sometimes."
     He pokes the teacup around in circles with one finger to the handle. "I don't know if you can actually talk your mother into anything she's so firmly set against, but it's making it worse for him. Knowing that there is some sort of chance at an out, and that he can't take it because of her."

     Gillian frowns. "Why would mumsie say no? She was crushed about his being hurt. I can't imagine she'd want him to stay hurt. But no, mumsie's hard to talk into anything." She bites her lip, worrying at it. "Did Pres say how much the operation would cost? I mean - I'd need to know more about it, but maybe - I can't talk mumsie into anything, we're all just kids to her, but maybe I can find a way to
get the money."

     A twisted little half smile, and Loki says, "I was wondering the same thing. Pres didn't mention a price tag. I gather she's afraid that it'll make things worse, or just that something horrible will happen if he goes back into the hospital. I'm only really familiar with the quirks of my own parents." He adds under his breath, "I could soak my dad for a few thousand with the right story, but he'd -- I'd have to enroll in classes just to make up for it."

     "Don't do that yet. I mean, classes aren't a bad thing, but let's find out how much first," Gillian answers practically. "We can see what we can do. You know web programming, don't you? Worst comes to worst, we can publicize his situation and get donations. That would totally shame mumsie into paying for it - or it might make her get stubborn, but either way, right?" She peers at Loki hopefully.

     "Or Pres would kill both of us to deal with the humiliation of drawing the attention of the notoriously unsympathetic online world to
his medical condition in a blaze of publicity," Loki points out in a highly reasonable tone. "Also, web programming is not site design. I agree that it's not time to start panhandling from my fathers quite yet, but I want to do something. Bad enough that I barely talked to him for so long, without ignoring this."

     "Fine," Gillian answers with a sigh. "I don't know enough myself. Pres doesn't even talk to me much." She looks hurt about it, too. "He talks more to Maddie than he does to me."

     Loki shrugs, and looks up. "The only reason he would talk to me was because you made sure he had no choice about it. He didn't even
tell me about the accident, remember?" He picks up his tea abruptly. "Do you want anything to eat? We might as well order before we forget entirely."

     "Oh, yes, of course." Gillian looks over at the special of the day. "...The ploughman's platter, I guess. They have a cute version of it at one of the places in Oxford. Piers Ploughman Lunch. So what kind of research did you want help with?"

     Loki orders himself a salad, in preparation for one of those meals where he just pretends to eat while stabbing randomly at the hateful lettuce with a fork. "Oh. Right. I'm trying to find out more about one of those amalgamated gods that's big in Wicca these days. The Horned God?" His phone comes out again for reference. "Maybe Cernunnos. I'm not sure. My research abilities begin and end at
Wikipedia's suggested links. Oh, and something called the Well at the End of the World, which might or might not be connected to London, or to that pagan figure."

     "Well, it's not really my field, but let me think..." Gillian closes her eyes, folding her hands in her lap. "Well... tackling the Well first, there was a late Victorian novel with a similar title. It's largely cited as an influence which inspired Tolkien to write his novels - The Well at the World's End. It tells the story of Ralph of
Upmeads, the fourth and youngest son of a minor king, who sets out, contrary to his parents' wishes, to find knightly adventure and seek the Well at the World's End, a magic well which will confer a near-immortality and strengthened destiny on those who drink from it. It's pretty obscure these days, but it certainly was an influence on many. I haven't read it myself - you know how I am with fictional rubbish."
     She opens her eyes, lifting her teacup and saucer out of the way of her plate with a smile to the server, waiting until he's gone again before she continues. "The Horned God is - well, I don't know as much about that. I could find out if you like. My roommate might be able to help you. She's premed, but she read up on paganism in self-defense. Because she's Hindu, she always gets lots of wanna-be pagan types coming up to her wanting to talk about how Kali is their personal spirit guide or something."

     Loki mutters under his breath, "Let me just cherish the illusion that my father was never one of them." The tea's neglected again as he jots down notes. "I'll go ahead and raid his library for more of the general pagan literature, but if you could get any recommendations from your roommate about that topic particularly, that'd be great. Otherwise I'm slogging through The Golden Bough until I find something relevant. And I'll look up the Victorian novel. It sounds almost like the kind of thing I'd read voluntarily."

     Gillian wrinkles her nose. "Well, more power to you." She is, apparently, not a big fan of fantasy as a genre. "I'll ask if we can pick her brain. Anything else I can ask her about, or which you'd want to know? Why the sudden interest, anyway? I never thought it'd be, well, your thing."

     "It's just a thing," Loki says, tapping out a few more details on his phone before it disappears into his pocket. "It's -- I don't know. Call it a coping mechanism for being here in London with my father swinging through every so often with another round of enthusiasm for saving an endangered species of banana slug that might or might not be his latest inner spiritual totem animal." He does not look as if he finds the explanation hugely convincing himself, with a half shrug as he picks up his tea. "So far, that's all. I'll ask for more help if I know what to ask about more specifically. I didn't get my sterling grades in college from my ability to dig through the
books."

     "Okay, well, I'll see what I can dig up. It's just outside my area of specialty. You should ask Balthazar, though. I mean, he's actually British - he's Welsh, that's a form of Celt, right? And I'm pretty sure Cernunnos was a Celtic deity, whether or not one of the Welsh ones." Gillian picks at her lunch platter thoughtfully and methodically. "And he's in a band, so maybe he knows some pagans or
something."

     A tiny shudder of horror passes over Loki, but he only says politely, "Not a bad idea. Maybe I'll ask him some time when conversation turns that way. It's not exactly the kind of thing to discuss in the middle of band practice." His salad suffers from a series of inconclusive forays through it with a restless fork.
     "How are things going with you two? Care for Rent tickets for next week? I've already seen that twice, no interest in going a third
time, but the tickets are right there."

     She blushes a bit. "It's going fine," Gillian answers a bit sharply. "It's ... sorry. I just - I don't really understand what he sees in me, you know. I keep expecting him to lose interest. Rent tickets? Hmm. Sure. I'll see if Parvati wants to go with me. If she isn't studying for another double-header, or off to a cricket match." She rolls her eyes tolerantly. "She's nuts for cricket."

     "It comes with the nationality," Loki says. Change of topic successfully achieved! "Calling apartments flats, oddly named foods, fondness for cricket. A package deal."

     "I guess so." Gillian wrinkles her nose. "Anyway, I'll check in with her about paganism and about the tickets. When do you want me to pick them up?"

     "This weekend? If you're coming to any of the shows, I'll be there. Otherwise we can work out another time to meet." Loki's next smile's thin, but not without some warmth. "I'm not going to monopolize your perfectly good studying time too often."

     "I can probably come to one of the shows," Gillian answers judiciously. "Just text me or email me, okay? Oh, speaking of time." She eyes her watch in some dismay. "I'm going to have to ask you to pick up this, I've got to run. I've got a fitting in twenty minutes and I still have to get there!" She pops up out of her seat, ready to fly.

     Loki waves a goodbye with a tilt for No problem, I've got it. "I'll text you."

Posted by rowan at March 03, 2009 07:19 PM