stormandwind | INBOX: lastvoyages

[Tris takes a slow, steadying breath, but replies with no evident shock or horror.]

I see. My world probably doesn't have that sort of book, but I've heard of others that do. [In fact, Erskine has joked about the prospect of finding them in the Barge library.]

Come over. I'll put the kettle on.

[ ...and with that response, Jon has decided that he likes her very much.]

I'll be right over.

Should I- that is, I've got some biscuits here. Or-

[ Dire dire dire MANNERS. Guess which one he's better at handling these days?]

Gods no, unless you feel you must. I bake to keep my hands busy. I can't eat everything I make.

Oh.

[ That is... that is a sort of delighted little sound. A neighbor who bakes. That's... that's actually quite nice, really. ]

I'll be right over then.

[ And there will be knocking on the door in about a minute.]

Tris opens the door to her neat, whitewashed cabin. She looks, as usual, traditional and old fashioned in her modest blue dress complete with petticoats. She smiles up at Jonathan, both because she heard that smile at the offer of baked goods and because loving books is one of the most direct ways to her heart.

"Come in."

Over her shoulder are a few things that are considerably more outlandish than Tris herself at first glance. The fluffy black dog napping on the hearth is normal enough. Perched on the table and a dining room chair, however, are a glass dragon and a faintly glowing green winged monkey.

Jon had not at all been kidding when he'd mentioned scars.

He had a number of them on his face, deep circular gouge marks where it looks like something might have- nothing pleasant, anyway. There's his hand, which is a mess of scar and an almost melted quality to some of it, and the other hand has more of those circular scars.

The other curious thing about him is the faint hissing whirring noise that accompanies him; a tape recorder is in one pocket, and the wheels are revolving along with the gentle hum of the machine. He'd try and turn it off but, to be honest, it just turns itself back on again most of the time. What, really, is the point.

"Thank you for having me," he says with a dip of his head, and while he's certainly taken in the person across from him, he's smarter than to think that appearances are anything but deceiving in most cases. All the same, he'll walk in, and he'll take in most of the room before he gets to the glass dragon and the green glowing winged monkey.

He takes about ten seconds to acknowledge them, then turns to her.

...really, as long as it doesn't want to stab him, club him over the head, shoot him, burn him to cinders, or kidnap him, he really can't be bothered by much. Not at this stage of the game. Her pets are actually just a rather interesting novelty. He will ask, but after business is attended to.

"I did bring over my notes," he says as he lifts his notebook, which is open to a page that is filled with cramped notes. "And I am sorry to, er, spring this on you. But I didn't see much point in delaying."

Beat.

"...what kind of biscuits, incidentally?"

It's always nice when people don't make a fuss unnecessarily. Not that her pets aren't worth the fuss, of course.

"Spiced shortbread. I was trying a combination of my brother's favorite spice cookies with the shortbread I made Harry for the new year."

There's a plate of cookies already on the table, and a notebook and pen of her own laid out at one of the places. Tris likes notes. "Sometimes it's easier to get things over with. What kind of tea would you prefer? I have a variety."

That's not a question he thought he'd have to answer, mostly because a good portion of the tea he drinks he either prepares himself, has with Georgie (who's known him forever) or is made by Martin (who's almost certainly gotten his tea down to some sort of science because Martin). That said, he has no idea what she's got given the location so-

"Black?"

Please say she has black tea.

"Of course. You have a seat if you want to," or he can look over the contents of the nearby bookcase, which is what Tris would most likely do.

As she heads for the kitchen, she adds over her shoulder, "The animals won't do anything to you except maybe beg for food. Glass dragons try to eat a lot of things. At least, she does. I don't think there are any others like her."

He's already looking at the bookshelf, so he misses her invitation but he does nod along to the comment about the animals. That's fine, honestly. He's used to that from the Admiral, which in this case was his ex-girlfriend's cat and not the avatar of the End who controls the barge and currently employs him.

Suffice to say, announcements will come with a hilarious mental image for him.

The books on the shelves the interests she told him about already: a scattering of meteorology and geology books, books on the history and technique of various types of glass work, several volumes of fairy tales, dictionaries in a number of languages, a couple unlabeled notebooks, and one labeled Storm Systems and Ocean Currents of Kamino in neat handwriting down its spine.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth when she comes back to find him inspecting her books. She sets a glazed clay teapot down on the table next to a matching sugar bowl and cream pot, then settles into the seat with her notebook in front of it.

He can't help that he does a second sweet for Ex Altiora while he's looking through, just because. After all, that was what they were here to talk about and she had called this her work space. Just because she didn't know the books by the name 'Leitner' didn't mean that she didn't have one, or several. When you opened up your understanding to encompass multiple worlds, you also opened it to realizing that there was multiple versions of the horror you knew that could exist as well.

He does turn when he hears the slight thunk of the tea pot on the table, flickering a smile at her as he goes to take his seat. He'll wait till she pours out before starting to talk.

"I don't suppose you're-" he swallows, considers again. It's always so difficult. "It looks as if you're a meteorologist, to judge by your shelf. Or possibly a writer of fairy tales."

"I have a friend on board who's fond of fairy tales, and a little girl back home who would appreciate new stories. I started keeping an eye out for books that avoid certain tropes." No damsels in distress for Glaki, and she's careful about anything that kills off the heroine's mother. For Shiro, her favorites are ones where monsters aren't the villains.

"You aren't entirely wrong, though. I'm a weather witch. I was born with an innate magical connection to all weather as well as a few other elements of the natural world, like the tides, or the flow of magma. It's an extra sense for me, and I can use or manipulate it, within limits." She smiles crookedly. "So I can predict the weather, I just don't use tools to do it."

He's newly arrived, so it's hard to say if he'll stop doing this, but his mind immediately categorizes her as having some manner of connection to the Vast. He takes a moment to examine whether or not that makes him nervous to be alone in the room with her, given his last experience with an avatar of the Vast, but given that he had actually survived his encounter with Michael Crew and that the whole thing had ended in poor Michael's murder by a rather amped up Daisy, well...

But no. He's fine. He's not sure if it's because of his own changes and the revelations he's been privy to since then, but it also might just be because she's done up tea for him and spiced biscuits. His life has ruined all manner of perfectly normal things that he'll no longer be able to think about without considering the ways they could be made unpleasant and terrifying but tea and biscuits have, thankfully, remain untouched. He's not sure what he'd do if he lost tea and biscuits. He resolves not to find out.

"How very interesting. I've met someone like that previously, though he wasn't born like that to the best of my knowledge. Struck by lightning as a child, actually."

Tris wraps her hands around her teacup as she answers. "My first student got his magic from a lightning strike, so that isn't impossible where I come from. It just wasn't the case for me. Before I learned to control my power, most people saw me more as a danger than as a child."

She is in control of it now, being the corollary of that statement. At least so long as the Barge doesn't prevent that control, and she has multiple safeguards to mitigate the risk.

He takes a sip of his own as he nods along to what she's saying, his mind working as he considers something he'd like to ask. He doesn't want to ask it, precisely, but hopefully she'll understand what he's doing. Or at least that he'd like to know.

"I met a woman named Iris and a gentleman by the name of Quentin, both of which seemed rather up front with their abilities. It does seem to be rather... common around here. To share that sort of thing."

He reaches over for one of the biscuits.

"At least in my small sample of experience."

It wouldn't be the worst thing, really. After all, it seems like every kind of monster back home knew what he was, knew better than him really. Half the time it felt like he was learning his own ways from their snide little comments. Jude Perry, for all that she'd been particularly dismissive, had also been particularly illuminating, er, despite her affiliation.

Tris has always been perceptive, and she takes a guess at what question he might be stepping around.

"I come from a world where magic is widespread and common, but my particular varieties and... potency, I suppose... are very rare. I've never been as widely accepted back home as I have been on the Barge. The four most common reactions to my power were fear, doubt, envy, or wanting to use me." Never her foster family, but even they were sometimes hard to trust in a world that treated Tris very differently. "Lack of those pervasive attitudes makes it easier to be open here."

But Tris, who didn't tell her own mother about scrying the wind until she'd been on board for months, isn't about to tell Jonathan that he's not entitled to his own secrets, especially at first.

"And-" he stops himself, closing his mouth, breathing in deep as he reformulates his words. This... this is going to be a trial, honestly. It feels like he's trying to go up a wall in a Morris Marina;' he needs the information but he's got to get it using the lease helpful means.

He breathes out.

"If you don't mind sharing, I would be curious to know if you have been used, Miss Kal-El." He continues. "If you find the dangers here, specific to the barge, present significant threat to that... openness."

Fortunately Tris is willing to share information these days.

"It's rare when everyone is in their right mind. A little over two years ago during an event that caused amnesia, I lost control. I started throwing off lightning, which of course was upsetting enough that it fed back into itself and got worse. Someone offered to help me control it in exchange for an unspecified favor. I was terrified of killing anyone, so I agreed." She's aware it was foolish, but that was the point. She couldn't remember who she was or any of the things about her life that made her wary in the first place.

"Once we were back to ourselves, I thought I'd managed to escape any real harm. Then he contacted me, asked for information, and threatened to possess my body and use me to murder the people around me if I refused. I have precautions in place now, but for months, I didn't go anywhere unless I was accompanied by someone ready to stop me by any means necessary. Whatever power you do or don't have, I'd take it as a favor if you never shake hands with Bill Cipher."

He'd been following along with the rest of it before the name came up, or rather, before the issue of the handshake came up. He lets her finish, though, before lifting his own scarred fingers.

"I am well aware of the price one might pay when they are desperate," he says with a turn of his hand. It's followed by a snort. "And there is nothing you could do to make me deal with 'Bill' any more than is absolutely necessary. He..."

He shakes his head and wishes, suddenly, that he'd thought to take the time to have a cigarette back in his room before he'd come here.

"Suffice to say that I am familiar with his type. And want as little to do with them as possible."

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