Cupidity - chapter thirteen
Nov. 21st, 2007 03:29 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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Previous chapters here.
Jenny tugged Angel along by his sleeve. They reached the opposite side of the ferry just as it docked, and they were the first off. The docks smelled like salt and fish, and everyone seemed to be smiling. It was dusk, and there were long shadows everywhere he looked.
They walked down a couple of streets and onto a wider, open one, with sidewalk cafes and tourists and even a KFC.
She must’ve caught him staring at it, because she said, “Don’t even think about it,” and herded him down a side street and into a little bar. The bartop was made of perfectly normal wood, stained and scratched, and didn’t have doll parts embedded in it. There were high tables scattered around the room, and high stools to sit on and dangle your feet in the air.
Jenny talked to the bartender and got them a bunch of little plates of things on a tray, two large, gold-colored beers, and two even larger glasses of water.
“You’re probably dehydrated,” she said, in a tone of voice that added ‘you idiot,' if gently.
Angel found it weirdly comforting and drank half his glass before starting on the olives stuffed with strong, crumbly white cheese and the fried round things that weren’t onion rings.
“They’re calamares,” Jenny said.
“What?”
“Fried squid.”
“Oh. Well, they’re good.”
She smiled at him like he’d gotten a difficult question right in math class, and she was a lot prettier than Mrs Flemblebalm had been. “Yes, they are, aren’t they? The octopus is very good too.”
“Do they leave the suckers on?”
“Of course. They give it more flavor.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. I’m a witch, not an octopus chef.” She started unloading things briskly from her backpack, starting with the paperback from earlier. She slid it over to him. “Read this?”
“No?” It was a pretty safe bet. He looked at the creased and faded cover. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, it said, by William Shakespeare. “Oh, yeah. Like I’m gonna read Shakespeare.”
“I think you should.”
“Why?”
“That shrewd and knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow; are you not he that frights the maidens of the villagery; skim milk and sometimes labour in the quern, and bootless make the breathless housewife churn; and sometime make the drink to bear no barm; mislead night wanderers, laughing at their harm?”
Angel looked at her blankly until she opened the book to a marked page and showed him the passage. Then he looked blankly at the page. He ran his finger over the name and swallowed.
“So,” he said, trying to sound like he wasn’t phased at all. “His parents had a bad sense of humor, huh?”
“That’s certainly one explanation.”
“What’s the other? That he’s some kind of fairy?”
“Some kind, yes.”
Angel forced a laugh. “I know exactly what kind of fairy he is.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That must’ve been some break up, then, to be throwing his diamonds overboard.”
Angel shrugged and picked at his squid. “It was stupid. I should’ve sold them.”
“I disagree. It’s never a bad idea to give gifts to the sea. You don’t know when you’ll need its good will.”
“You’re weird.”
She shrugged and set a blue, velvet bag on the table, and a pack of oversized cards. She was weird, but not like Robin was weird. Not creepy weird. She shook the bag and held it out to him.
“Pick one.”
He eyed her warily as he stuck his hand in. He touched cool, slightly rough shapes. Stones, he thought, but flatter. He pulled one out and set it on the table. There was a symbol carved on one side. It looked like a three-sided rectangle with the sides squished in.
“Perth,” Jenny said. "Interesting."
“What’s it mean?”
“It’s a rune of chance, of gambling. Of possibilities and the unexpected.”
“So I should go find a poker game somewhere is what you’re saying?”
“Can’t win if you don’t play.” She dropped the tile back in the bag and shook it. “Maybe it means you’ll be lucky in love.”
“Ha. Funny.”
Someone came up to the table and asked her about the runes. Money changed hands, and she was busy for the next few minutes. Angel flipped through the book. It was a little hard to picture Robin doing the stuff this Puck guy seemed to get up to. He turned to the last page.
“If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,” he mumbled, and read the rest silently to himself. No more yielding but a dream seemed about right. If you replaced the but with than so it actually made sense. Whatever, people couldn’t even spell back then.
“Do you always do that?” Jenny asked.
“What?”
“Read the end first. It’s a horrible habit.”
“He doesn’t say what happened. He’s just apologizing for it.” Also nothing like Robin.
“Well, you should start at the beginning. You might learn something.”
“About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Literature? Robin Goodfellow?”
She turned away again as someone else came over, a short guy with beautiful long flowing hair and a thing for velvet. He spoke to Jenny like he knew her well, and pressed two coins into her palm. The stones clicked quietly in the velvet bag, and they spoke in soft liquid Spanish over them.
Angel touched the dog-eared cover, tracing the freaky pen and ink drawing of a braying donkey, and then he opened it at random and began to read. Titania wanted to stroke someone's huge furry ears.
“Shakespeare’s Robin was relatively helpful,” Jenny said, turning back to him after a while.
“Yeah. Well. He seems kind of annoying.”
“He’s really a trickster, like Loki and Anansi and Bugs Bunny.”
“Bugs Bunny?”
“Brer Rabbit, but they’re essentially the same. He could be tamed though, through his own greed. Older myths say that women would leave food for him in the hope he’d do their drudgery.” She touched his hand. “But Robin is unpredictable. He’ll take whatever you give him and turn on you just the same, if it amuses him.”
He drew his hand away from hers. “You’re talking like you think he exists.”
“What do I know? I’m only a witch.”
“You’re crazy.”
The evening drew on. The bar got noisier and one of the waiters lit candles behind the bar and on the tables. The yellow lights flickered softly, casting shadows on the wood and on people’s faces. Angel drank his beer and watched Jenny talking and dealing the runes. She didn’t look crazy. She looked as uncrazy as anyone he’d ever seen.
When his phone rang, he stood without a word and walked into the street. He took it out of his pocket and watched the pale screen flicker. He'd forgotten about his phone. Maybe on purpose, a small part of him said. There was a garbage bin nearby, a huge square one on little wheels. He could just dump the thing, and it could sit in there buzzing away as much as it liked. He'd never have to know. He didn’t have to answer. His heart was beating so hard in his chest he almost could hear it knocking, he was sure.
The phone buzzed louder in his palm, its tone almost questioning. He pressed the incoming call button.
“What d’you want?” he said.
“Are you all right?” Robin said.
Angel closed his eyes. Robin sounded very distant and the line was crackly. Maybe he was still on his yacht. He also sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” he said, and then he couldn’t speak.
“Where are you?”
“Robin. Just--don’t call me again.”
“Have you got enough money?”
“Fuck.” He rubbed at his head. It was aching again. He needed sleep and to be not standing in the middle of the street being eyed up by passers by. “I took the five grand. I’m not stupid.”
There was a little pause. “I didn’t think you’d leave,” Robin said, then.
“Yeah. Well. That was the deal, you said it yourself.”
“Yes. Will you tell me where you are?”
“No. Jesus. Why do you even care?”
“Angel, I wanted to explain--“
“Don’t bother. It's safer if I don't know, right?" he said.
"I-- Yes," Robin said, sounding very faint. "That's true."
"Don’t call me back.”
He stabbed at the end button and threw the phone hard at the ground. The back flew off and the screen cracked. He stared at it and felt sick. The people sitting at the cafe tables across the street were watching him.
“Is everything all right?” Jenny said, quietly, behind him.
“No, it fucking isn’t, okay?”
“I think you need some sleep,” she said. “Come on.”
The hostel was ten dollars a night, and for a reason. It was clean though, even if the bunks were mostly made of hardboard and ancient bedsprings.
“Do you always stay in these places?” Angel said, as they rolled into their sleeping bags.
“I like them,” Jenny said. “I always meet the most interesting people.”
“I thought witches were supposed to live in cottages in the woods.”
“I don’t have a broom either, or any warts. Sorry to disappoint. Stories aren’t always real you know.”
“Right. Jenny.”
“What?"
“What’s going to happen to me?”
He heard her bunk creak. “Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, Angel. You make your future. I just make educated guesses.”
“That doesn’t help me at all, you know that right?”
She didn’t reply. He fell asleep and, as far as he could tell, he didn’t dream of anyone.
Jenny tugged Angel along by his sleeve. They reached the opposite side of the ferry just as it docked, and they were the first off. The docks smelled like salt and fish, and everyone seemed to be smiling. It was dusk, and there were long shadows everywhere he looked.
They walked down a couple of streets and onto a wider, open one, with sidewalk cafes and tourists and even a KFC.
She must’ve caught him staring at it, because she said, “Don’t even think about it,” and herded him down a side street and into a little bar. The bartop was made of perfectly normal wood, stained and scratched, and didn’t have doll parts embedded in it. There were high tables scattered around the room, and high stools to sit on and dangle your feet in the air.
Jenny talked to the bartender and got them a bunch of little plates of things on a tray, two large, gold-colored beers, and two even larger glasses of water.
“You’re probably dehydrated,” she said, in a tone of voice that added ‘you idiot,' if gently.
Angel found it weirdly comforting and drank half his glass before starting on the olives stuffed with strong, crumbly white cheese and the fried round things that weren’t onion rings.
“They’re calamares,” Jenny said.
“What?”
“Fried squid.”
“Oh. Well, they’re good.”
She smiled at him like he’d gotten a difficult question right in math class, and she was a lot prettier than Mrs Flemblebalm had been. “Yes, they are, aren’t they? The octopus is very good too.”
“Do they leave the suckers on?”
“Of course. They give it more flavor.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. I’m a witch, not an octopus chef.” She started unloading things briskly from her backpack, starting with the paperback from earlier. She slid it over to him. “Read this?”
“No?” It was a pretty safe bet. He looked at the creased and faded cover. A Midsummer Night’s Dream, it said, by William Shakespeare. “Oh, yeah. Like I’m gonna read Shakespeare.”
“I think you should.”
“Why?”
“That shrewd and knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow; are you not he that frights the maidens of the villagery; skim milk and sometimes labour in the quern, and bootless make the breathless housewife churn; and sometime make the drink to bear no barm; mislead night wanderers, laughing at their harm?”
Angel looked at her blankly until she opened the book to a marked page and showed him the passage. Then he looked blankly at the page. He ran his finger over the name and swallowed.
“So,” he said, trying to sound like he wasn’t phased at all. “His parents had a bad sense of humor, huh?”
“That’s certainly one explanation.”
“What’s the other? That he’s some kind of fairy?”
“Some kind, yes.”
Angel forced a laugh. “I know exactly what kind of fairy he is.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That must’ve been some break up, then, to be throwing his diamonds overboard.”
Angel shrugged and picked at his squid. “It was stupid. I should’ve sold them.”
“I disagree. It’s never a bad idea to give gifts to the sea. You don’t know when you’ll need its good will.”
“You’re weird.”
She shrugged and set a blue, velvet bag on the table, and a pack of oversized cards. She was weird, but not like Robin was weird. Not creepy weird. She shook the bag and held it out to him.
“Pick one.”
He eyed her warily as he stuck his hand in. He touched cool, slightly rough shapes. Stones, he thought, but flatter. He pulled one out and set it on the table. There was a symbol carved on one side. It looked like a three-sided rectangle with the sides squished in.
“Perth,” Jenny said. "Interesting."
“What’s it mean?”
“It’s a rune of chance, of gambling. Of possibilities and the unexpected.”
“So I should go find a poker game somewhere is what you’re saying?”
“Can’t win if you don’t play.” She dropped the tile back in the bag and shook it. “Maybe it means you’ll be lucky in love.”
“Ha. Funny.”
Someone came up to the table and asked her about the runes. Money changed hands, and she was busy for the next few minutes. Angel flipped through the book. It was a little hard to picture Robin doing the stuff this Puck guy seemed to get up to. He turned to the last page.
“If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,” he mumbled, and read the rest silently to himself. No more yielding but a dream seemed about right. If you replaced the but with than so it actually made sense. Whatever, people couldn’t even spell back then.
“Do you always do that?” Jenny asked.
“What?”
“Read the end first. It’s a horrible habit.”
“He doesn’t say what happened. He’s just apologizing for it.” Also nothing like Robin.
“Well, you should start at the beginning. You might learn something.”
“About what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Literature? Robin Goodfellow?”
She turned away again as someone else came over, a short guy with beautiful long flowing hair and a thing for velvet. He spoke to Jenny like he knew her well, and pressed two coins into her palm. The stones clicked quietly in the velvet bag, and they spoke in soft liquid Spanish over them.
Angel touched the dog-eared cover, tracing the freaky pen and ink drawing of a braying donkey, and then he opened it at random and began to read. Titania wanted to stroke someone's huge furry ears.
“Shakespeare’s Robin was relatively helpful,” Jenny said, turning back to him after a while.
“Yeah. Well. He seems kind of annoying.”
“He’s really a trickster, like Loki and Anansi and Bugs Bunny.”
“Bugs Bunny?”
“Brer Rabbit, but they’re essentially the same. He could be tamed though, through his own greed. Older myths say that women would leave food for him in the hope he’d do their drudgery.” She touched his hand. “But Robin is unpredictable. He’ll take whatever you give him and turn on you just the same, if it amuses him.”
He drew his hand away from hers. “You’re talking like you think he exists.”
“What do I know? I’m only a witch.”
“You’re crazy.”
The evening drew on. The bar got noisier and one of the waiters lit candles behind the bar and on the tables. The yellow lights flickered softly, casting shadows on the wood and on people’s faces. Angel drank his beer and watched Jenny talking and dealing the runes. She didn’t look crazy. She looked as uncrazy as anyone he’d ever seen.
When his phone rang, he stood without a word and walked into the street. He took it out of his pocket and watched the pale screen flicker. He'd forgotten about his phone. Maybe on purpose, a small part of him said. There was a garbage bin nearby, a huge square one on little wheels. He could just dump the thing, and it could sit in there buzzing away as much as it liked. He'd never have to know. He didn’t have to answer. His heart was beating so hard in his chest he almost could hear it knocking, he was sure.
The phone buzzed louder in his palm, its tone almost questioning. He pressed the incoming call button.
“What d’you want?” he said.
“Are you all right?” Robin said.
Angel closed his eyes. Robin sounded very distant and the line was crackly. Maybe he was still on his yacht. He also sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” he said, and then he couldn’t speak.
“Where are you?”
“Robin. Just--don’t call me again.”
“Have you got enough money?”
“Fuck.” He rubbed at his head. It was aching again. He needed sleep and to be not standing in the middle of the street being eyed up by passers by. “I took the five grand. I’m not stupid.”
There was a little pause. “I didn’t think you’d leave,” Robin said, then.
“Yeah. Well. That was the deal, you said it yourself.”
“Yes. Will you tell me where you are?”
“No. Jesus. Why do you even care?”
“Angel, I wanted to explain--“
“Don’t bother. It's safer if I don't know, right?" he said.
"I-- Yes," Robin said, sounding very faint. "That's true."
"Don’t call me back.”
He stabbed at the end button and threw the phone hard at the ground. The back flew off and the screen cracked. He stared at it and felt sick. The people sitting at the cafe tables across the street were watching him.
“Is everything all right?” Jenny said, quietly, behind him.
“No, it fucking isn’t, okay?”
“I think you need some sleep,” she said. “Come on.”
The hostel was ten dollars a night, and for a reason. It was clean though, even if the bunks were mostly made of hardboard and ancient bedsprings.
“Do you always stay in these places?” Angel said, as they rolled into their sleeping bags.
“I like them,” Jenny said. “I always meet the most interesting people.”
“I thought witches were supposed to live in cottages in the woods.”
“I don’t have a broom either, or any warts. Sorry to disappoint. Stories aren’t always real you know.”
“Right. Jenny.”
“What?"
“What’s going to happen to me?”
He heard her bunk creak. “Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know, Angel. You make your future. I just make educated guesses.”
“That doesn’t help me at all, you know that right?”
She didn’t reply. He fell asleep and, as far as he could tell, he didn’t dream of anyone.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-21 08:49 pm (UTC)Also, I am dead from the angst. That is all.
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Date: 2007-11-22 12:24 am (UTC)Angel forced a laugh. “I know exactly what kind of fairy he is.”
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Date: 2007-11-23 01:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-21 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-21 09:06 pm (UTC)*wibbles helplessly*
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Date: 2007-11-21 09:10 pm (UTC)Ah, the angst. It may be just me but I thought Robin felt sad from that brief call. Like... little boy lost sad. I understand why Angel left and kudos for sticking it out as long as he did in the midst of such weirdness but....
This hurts so good.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 03:12 am (UTC)If you wish, feel free to nab the icon. I can also send you the actual pic (which is very purdy *wipes drool*) if you want it. I don't know who the artist is but they seriously rock.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-21 09:15 pm (UTC)I also liked that Robin was concerned ... but I'm also wondering how angry he is, as well.
And whether Eos knows where Angel is, even though Robin doesn't. (Heh. I bet Robin can find a strand of Angel's hair or something around the yacht cabin, couldn't he?)
no subject
Date: 2007-11-21 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 12:47 am (UTC)Also, didn't one of you two own runes? I'm sorry, I can't remember who it was if you did, but I'm interested in if you actually drew that rune at random when writing or if it was a choice you made. With last years NaNo I had one character do a tarot reading for the main character, and the reading in the text was almost completely the same as one done by me while I was writing.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-23 06:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 01:03 am (UTC)Tonight I'll probably cry in my sleep. Well done.
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Date: 2007-11-22 01:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 01:40 am (UTC)also something about strange voices across the void
somehow fits perfectly ...
so difficult to end reading a chapter, particularly this chapter.
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Date: 2007-11-22 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-22 02:06 am (UTC)Oh, the phone conversation almost made my chest ache.
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Date: 2007-11-22 03:38 am (UTC)I think that alone proves how good your story-weaving skills are.
I also love reading others' comments here.
They are so analytic!
Thank you all!!
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Date: 2007-11-22 07:02 am (UTC)Why do i think that poor Angel is about to learn about the differences in not only faerie courts but in truth vs story.
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Date: 2007-11-22 12:44 pm (UTC)"He doesn’t say what happened. He’s just apologizing for it.” Also nothing like Robin."
May not sound like Robin that much, but it did remind me of Hakkai...*amused*
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Date: 2007-11-22 02:35 pm (UTC)Not all the writers can throw supernatural stuff in the mix and make it both credible and interesting. Did I already mention how awesome you two are?
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Date: 2007-11-23 11:32 am (UTC)Then you tore out my heart and stomped on it with the phone conversation. How's Robin going to come and save Angel now, without a working mobile to track him?
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Date: 2007-12-01 10:33 pm (UTC)My absolute favourite line so far.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-09 11:57 am (UTC)