Completed [The Quill's Rest] The License to Revere

[Philomena]

Sympathy... sympathy... sympathy... sympathy... The hard knot of her mind, unthreads, just slightly, loosens enough to show the contours of it, waiting to picked apart. Her mental shield arm droops, slightly. Of course, the boy is a liar! He must be, they all are, but... what if he is not?

"You are perhaps after the wrong quarry, in that case, child. My knowledge of art is less than a novitiate's. I was pointing out only the technical and historical aspects of his work. A waste of effort anyway, since artist's take license with the truth, as often as not."

//This boy,// she thought, trying to be reasonable, //Talks too much to be honest. He reminds me of The Cat in the Cage.// The Cat in the Cage is an old play, a romantic comedy from the mid 5th century, written in verse, about the seduction of a sour, but beautiful woman, by a man hired to get revenge on her for a spurned lover, approaching her with long, declaratory speeches of love, that iwn her (inexplicably really, Minnie had always thought) over. But those sad, little eyes. The poor thing, she found herself thinking. It is hard, to be alone, she knows this, it is so hard to be alone... the feeling of her resistance builds it guardianship around this weak spot in her defenses.

[Lock Cicuta]

Sympathy, sympathy, sympathy...Lock continued to push. It was becoming draining just to keep the steady push going. He would have to stop soon and rely purely on words and gestures, he had no wish to overgive and lose himself. For the moment though, the softening of the old women's face kept him at it. "Well miss if you wish me to take my leave I shall. I had no intention to impose and it has become obvious I have." The man pushed his wooden chair back a smidge, turning to rummage for his cloak, a forlorn look on his face. "I apologize for the trouble, please forgive me."

[Philomena]

Sympathy... sympathy... sympathy. She thought of her own young days, and shuddered darkly. //What if he is what he says he is?//

//And what if he is, though? He's a pretty child, he'll take care of himself.No! No, Come on, Minnie. You remember what that means too well, too many friends wasted out by their 25th birthdays. He's only a child.//

The force of it all weighs on her mind. Enough... not enough to make her occgent and sympathetic, but enough to throw a narrow strand of lifeline to the boy.

//He's only a boy... you can be polite. It isn't as if the little mouse would want anything romantic, thank the Gods!//

She blurted out, awkwardly, "You are... recently back. What brings you back to Zeltiva, child? What drove you away? Have you a family here, then?"

[Lock Cicuta]

While still turned around the pale man smirked. Hook, line, and sinker. He turned around making sure he looked aptly hopeful, but with a dash of reprehensibility to him. Lock eyed her for a moment thinking, Perfect moment too, much longer and I would have had to actually leave. He stopped bombarding her with his intangible message. A moment longer and I would have had to stop. He let go of the djed, the gap had opened, and if he played his cards right, it would be the perfect chink in her armor. The soft sizzle of power faded from his eyes and mouth, leaving him to his less arcane skills. “Madam do you mean for me to stay? If so I would be most pleased.” said Lock. He settled himself tentatively in his chair. “I am here to find my home, I was born here, but after my mother passed...” Lock looked at his knees, “Beautiful city Zeltiva, so old, so new, so strong. I lived in the city of Ionu for many years, but illusions and lies aren't for me.” That lie slid off his tongue easily as butter off a hot skillet. He glanced back up, “Things have changed though, I am not the little boy I was when I left nor the city full of people who care to remember him.” That much was true. “I am alone, and you seemed so approachable and interesting, I made to talk to you, but I have made you think I am but some rapscallion after favors. I am abhorred with myself.” he changed his expression to reflect his words, trying to contain the urge to smirk, “I apologize madam, I am in your debt to even be allowed to stay another chime.”

[Philomena]

She frowned, sighed. //Well, if this how it shall be, I'd just as well accept it.//

She looked at the boy, silent a moment, then smiled, almost ruefully, "If we're to be... acquaintances, then you must learn how little I like flattery, child." she peers at him, and frowns, "You are... remarkably well-dressed for a gentleman of no family. I know old-clothes men who might give you food for two months and a more durable set of clothes for what you're wearing. How are you keeping yourself? Do you have a place in the city? I am no chancellor, but I know a few names, i you are looking for a position. Depending on what your skills are of course."

She still peered somewhat guardedly, through her spectacles, chewing at her lower lip.

[Lock Cicuta]

"It is true I am not the poorest of men." Lock said, the tips of his fingers brushing against his vest. "My mother left me a fair sum of money, enough to live comfortably for several years, as well as take care of needs for various equipment for my kind of work." He smiled gently, Well what should I tell her, that I craft poisons, no... "I fashion antidotes, various anti-toxins to prevent envenomation and assassination. I specialize in plants and fungi specifically." He put on a mask of seriousness. "Terrible thing poison, the weapon of geniuses, it often leaves no mark, can be made from countless things, and is always changing. Grows stronger all the time." He almost laughed at that one. "What kind of work do you do? Teaching obviously, but of what? You seemed quite interested in the art earlier, are you an artist?" This was much easier territory, less to lie about when the prey was babbling about itself.

[Philomena]

She flinched and frowned at 'antidotes', and at his description. Her mind racing - a maker of antidotes? What a horrid line of work. She can't help but shudder at it - an antidote after all is just a poison differently applied, as often as not. She begins to descned own the road of thinking too hard about this circumstance, but then... ah the primrose path beckoneth. He asks about her work, and she is lost for a bit. IT isn't, so much, self-absorption. Its simply that, the whole business of social interaction is so inherently dangerous, that when the safe haven of her own knowledge beckons, it is difficult to resist.

"I am a professor at the University, in the Department of Literature... nothing, perhaps that would help a poisoner - or anti-poisoner - unless, you were to seek the tactics of the past. Like the Lay of Hamilcar, have you read it? It concerns, the entire tale, the effort of a sailor to sail to to a far off land - not a real one of course, it was written long before the Circumnavigation - where he is to retrieve a poison that turns one's heart to - well, we're all grownups here - that turns one's heart to lustful thoughts. Its of course, as they always are in the Lays, immensely, irresistibly powerful, and he slips it into the wine that he gives to his best friend, who in the tale, of course, has been lying with Hamilcar's own wife. So, then, of course, the friend and the wife end up drinking the poison, and they're filled with this horrible lust, and... well, one can imagine the end perhaps. Have you read it?"

[Lock Cicuta]

Lock contorted his face into a look of interest. “The Circumnavigation, interesting topic, Kennebelle Wright Day was just a few days ago.” He snared his long tapering fingers around his cup, raising it to his lips for a brief quaff. “I have not heard of this Lay. Just one of the...dastardly uses poison. Luckily there are people such as I to philter anti-toxins and antidotes. No arrogance intended of course, I am still but learning my way about the noxious stuff.” I have enough skill to leave you a cold corpse on the ground though, you old bat. Lock was becoming well satisfied with tonight's catch, this professor could become a valuable asset given time and effort. He almost had her, he could feel it. Still some reservation and guardedness clung to her, but he noticed his plea of lonesome times had, when laced with magic, been most affective. By the end of the season he would have her eating out of the palm of his hand.

[Philomena]

A symphony of expressions washes across the professor's face - at first and as expected, the spark of deep, deep excitement at the mention of the circumnavigation, yes, but then, beyond that, coming up, something else. A troubled wash of something between worry and fear, inward now. Her eyes look down a moment to her own breast, as it rises into a low, heavy sigh, "Yes, it was. Ms Wright, her work, I mean, they are my... my life's work, actually. IT was a beautiful Kenawright Day this year, indeed. Beautiful."

She sighs, at this and takes a slow, deep sip of her own tea. Tears perhaps, perhaps just the shadows of prototears, in her eyes.

[Lock Cicuta]

The woman grabbed her tea with a small, slightly pruned hand. She drew up her tea cup and drank deep from it, somehow not grimacing at the salty, bitter taste of kelp. Even growing up in Zeltiva had not rendered Lock totally immune to it's taste. The old professor was looking dewy around the eyes. Did I misplace my words? She seems unsettled." He glanced towards her, "Did you something go amiss? The atmosphere has," he paused to tuck his ascot into his vest, "declined a little in the past few minutes. If you need someone to proffer an ear, I am all yours professor." He made sure when he smiled that his grin was neither to large nor overly sympathetic, but as gentile and restrained as a smile could be, the smile of a compatriot. Lock would have her, the first thread in his web.