TEST DRIVE MEME #4

[fairyfoes]

TEST DRIVE MEME

Considering apping to EACHDRAIDH? Why not give the setting a test run here! OPTIONAL SCENARIOS 01. ARRIVING IN THE DRABWURLD. The Seelie and Unseelie courts welcome you with mirthful revelry and hearty food. After you have been briefed on your purpose here, you will find an endless feast and a night filled with entertainment to placate your concerns. Mingle with new arrivals, sneak down the castle halls and make sure your eyes are always on your glass; fairies and imps have no bias when it comes to tricks! 02. THE STATION. Looking for a little slice of home? The Station gives you all that and more. Take advantage of the wifi, have a cup of fairy-brewed coffee (the one they didn't spit in) or sit back and relax on the patio. You can even move your things into one of the available rooms! 03. WILDCARD. Your own scenario! Explore the Drabwurld or simply take advantage of your Locket!

Comments

[septad]

Where you at?

[noirant]

Between Caer Scima and the Station ring. Where on earth are you?

[ Because if Mildmay is here, he should be able to feel it -- shouldn't he? There's only absence where he expects magnetic pull. It's as though the binding isn't there at all. ]

[septad]

One of them web cafes at the train station. How long'll you be?

[Mildmay will be staying at the cafe, he just discovered Bejewelled.]

[noirant]

[ Wow rude, but he’s desperate enough right now to stifle his irritation. There’ll be plenty of time to be pissed at Mildmay when they're face-to-face; he wants almost nothing as much right now as to hear that thick lilting drawl again. It's easier to love his brother from a distance. ]

An hour or three, a little less if I abandon the troll. Can you stay out of trouble that long?

[ As though Mildmay’s the one who can’t keep his nose clean. He doesn't wait for an answer, it wasn't a question: ]

I'll see you shortly.

[septad]

Likely I'll manage somehow. It'll all go best if you can bring a map along.

[Because, even after everything, Mildmay still knows it's best couch all requests in dire passivity. He's not annoyed or anxious. Mildmay's happy to wait around and play with the computer. And, yes, it seems like Felix is annoyed, but you don't blame yourself for thunderstorms. It's not personal; it's just what clouds do.]

[Sometimes, it's what they do best.]

[Mildmay sits idly by and waits for his brother. When it seems like it's getting close to the time Felix said he should arrive, Mildmay purchases a coffee for him. He waits like Argus at the table near the door.]

http://images.buddytv.com/articles/30%20Rock%20Peacock.jpg

[noirant]

[ It’s closer to three hours than one, and only even that near to schedule because Felix’s horse has been to the Station before. She knows the way quite well, and past legions of shardholders have taught her not to pay much mind to the person on her back, or where he thinks he’s going. That’s how good mares get eaten by Bandersnatches. Some humans just don’t have any sense.

When he finally arrives, it’s looking harried and drab. Felix has always been one for appearances, but after a week on the road and more than one instance of abruptly sneezing himself into a cat, there’s only so much to work with. His hair’s an unruly mane, and there may or may not be a small twig poking out of the back of his boots. It doesn’t stop him from walking like he’s out to burn down the building.

It takes a moment before he spots Mildmay — and when he does, some of that angry glint in his step vanishes, face pulling slack. He doesn’t look disappointed or upset, just…quite at a loss. Perhaps one might as well be the other. ]

Little brother.

[ Warmth mingles with caution in his voice. Mildmay doesn’t look so little; if Felix didn’t know better he’d swear there were a few new years on that face. He’s not certain that there still aren’t. What the hell’s happened in the two months he’s been gone? ]

I brought a map.

[ He pulls it from a pocket, folded into careful creased squares, then offers it out. It's meant to be light, a bit of a jab, but his voice just falls flat. Another beat before he sits down, brows furrowed, still looking at Mildmay for all the world like a puzzle that won’t stay solved. Felix knows what his brother looks like. Most of the time. ]

that would be a gr8 au tho.

[septad]

[Mildmay had meant, mostly, that Felix should have the map for his own sake. But if wishes were horses, Mildmay would own a corral. He takes the map with a light hand, and slips it quickly into one of the many inner pockets of his jacket before it gets lost. He'd planned on Felix being late; the coffee is 'iced', though Mildmay thinks that may defeat the purpose a little, and it was mighty cheap for being ice.]

Thanks. [Still, you gotta remember your manners.]

[Mildmay looks up at Felix with a creased brow; Felix will know that expression for what it is. He's thinking. There's a pause where he decides, quite simply, what to say.] Grew your hair back out. [It's a question.]

mad money fantasy edition

[noirant]

And you’re wearing brown.

[ Felix lifts his eyebrow back, in lieu of an answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to give one, he just doesn’t know any that would suit. He hasn’t cut his hair short since Mildmay still wore a fox’s head — certainly it’s a bit of a mess in the moment, but nothing so bad as all that. Finally, he seems to notice the coffee, glancing down and examining the cup. It’s that same odd, light plastic as so much else at the station, slick like casein or rubber, yet somehow clear as glass. A nice gesture, but he’s too distracted to drink, just fiddling with the straw.

(Saying ‘thank you’ like a human being is, of course, out of the question.)

Looking up again, he finds Mildmay’s eyes, his own narrowing hard. ]

When I left, you were down with the winter fever. It’s been two months of full summer here.

[ He’s working it out loud, though he doesn’t think either of them’s dull enough to need the help. Felix wants the sound of it, to taste how crazy it has to come off before he commits. ]

What month was it, for you?

[septad]

[Mildmay hardly expects a thank you. A gesture is a gesture, no matter how it's received. He watches Felix carefully, with the quiet eyes of a... orange woodland canidae.] That ain't right. Your coat's cut wrong. [He's wearing the fashion from over two years back. Felix would never... Maybe the style came back?]

[The wheels in Mildmay's head continue to metaphorically turn.] It was Messidor, last I saw you. [Or Pell, or frickin' September, because I can't be arsed to find my copy of Corambis right now.]

[noirant]

I’ll have to have words with the tailor, [ Dry. ] The next time I’m in any country that recognizes silk.

[ He sighs, pushes his hair back with a frown. ]

This coat is seven weeks old. Was, I suppose. Hell if I know how it happened — [ He really must not, if he’s cursing. wash that mouth out!! ] — But we don’t seem to have arrived from the same…

[ Time? That’s absurd, or at least, it ought to be. With an infinitude of possible huphantikes, there implies a certain number of associated presents. Felix waves a hand, smiling for lack of any rational explanation. ]

At least you’re here now. I was worried.

[ Little danger of dying in the Mirador, but unwelcome uncertainty to have left him sick behind. ]

[septad]

[But Mildmay can't put aside a mystery. There are still some details missing. Instead of asking, he makes a statement, albeit leading:] You didn't say which month it was for you.

[He doesn't like being out of the loop. He also doesn't like being surprised, but in this case, he'll make an exception. Mildmay's eyes go warm and soft, crinkling into a quiet sort of smile that has nothing to do with his mouth.]

[(I don't think Sarah Monette intended for him to essentially be smizing when she came up with this detail, but here we are.)]

You said it been two months, here? [Just as Felix doesn't give his thanks, Mildmay doesn't express worry-- a liability-- where just anyone can hear it. The intent is, again, implied: What did you get up to while you were alone?]

[noirant]

[ A flicker of annoyance twitches down his cheek. Felix can take care of himself — did for years before Mildmay came along — and it’s an unpleasant little scene to wonder at what he expected. Miraculously, I wasn’t involved with the dragon, please do try to contain your surprise. ]

Sixty days, give or take — they may be at war, but they know to keep a calendar.

[ He’s not certain what information to volunteer; in truth, Felix feels that he’s done frighteningly little. The Drabwurld is vast, and those few ends he’s explored aren’t anything that he much wants Mildmay to know about. A mutual feeling, no doubt; magic’s saturated his every step in this place, and that might as well be a footpath away from Mildmay. ]

I've been sticking close to the courts, there's work to be done there. It was Pluviose. [ Felix admits, a touch reluctantly. Or w/e January is because I’m not reinstalling Readium atm. ] It was Pluviose, in the year [ NUMBER ], when I left.

[septad]

Who don't? [Everyone and their mother has a fucking calendar. Mildmay lets the thought roll off his back in favor of Felix's information, though. He's a terrible liar, and even then, eh wouldn't lie about this. Not of his own volition. And if he were being controlled, his posture and bearing would be different when he delivered the news.]

[Which means it's hocus shit.]

[Joy of joys.] It's [FOUR YEARS LATER], last I saw. [He repeats it in the Wizarding calendar.] You're still in the fucking Mirador. [That isn't even a meta joke, don't start with me.]

[noirant]

In my previous experience, not wolves. [ He brushes it aside, waving a hand. Get to the point. ] Where else are we supposed to be?

[ We, because really. This is the longest he’s been away from Mildmay since they've met. ]