(no subject)

[iambetadraconis]

You'd think by now he knew how things worked at the Bar at the End of the Universe to recognise its weird whenever it sprung up...

He didn't talk to the drunken man; only passed him by.

Innocent, for a beginning.

And an hour after that, he'd forgotten even that much.

But when he saw that oh-so-simple-looking cube, with all those colours...

He spent a good three hours twisting the damn thing this way and that, trying to figure it out and getting steadily more annoyed with it, before giving it up as a lost cause and deciding to hand it over to someone else instead, so that they could share the frustration.

It ended up in his pocket. Presumably for later.

With that little matter settled, he went about looking for something else to do.

That's when he made another discovery.

Contrary to popular opinion, rocks are not dull. They're interesting. Unique. Fascinating.

And the bloody things have their own personality, that you'd only discover once you've gotten and spent time with two or three of them.

Five or six.

Ten or twenty.

And now here, at his home in Lunar, one of the rooms has been transformed into a ... kennel? Stable? Rockery? full of rocks and stones of all sizes and kinds, much to Elea's amusement.

Or is it annoyance?

Well, while her beau spends time dusting his granite companions, she's sitting downstairs waiting for someone just a little more inclined to talk about far more normal things than whether basalt is given towards playfulness, or if flint rocks are happiest in groups.

She examines the kettle that's steadily heating up.

He should be here any minute now...

Comments

[herr_bookman]

Autor is about as familiar with a woman's touch as he is--wait, whoa, that sounds terrible.

Still. The point remains.

The boy prepares three steaming cups of tea and gingerly sets them down on the table.

"So, Rabastan," he says, blowing on his drink and preparing himself for the onslaught. "What inspired you to collect rocks?"

[iambetadraconis]

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

We're surprised he hasn't gone scarlet yet, but, maybe his imagination hasn't kicked in yet? :]

Elea, meanwhile, is busy fixing up something to eat.

Sure smells good.

She is listening in though.

And then wishing she wasn't, because now that Autor's opened the flood gates Rabastan quickly launches into a monologue about rocks that's so long and involved she can barely pick out any words.

"Yes. Well. I'm sure they're quite fascinating, love," she says with barely-contained annoyance. It took her three tries to get him to shut up long enough to breathe. "How about, instead, you tell us when you became interested in rocks?"

Oh. When?

"About a couple days ago."

"And what happened two days ago that caused you to discover the ... joys ... of rock-keeping?"

Pause. He's ready for another monologue.

"No," Elea cuts him off. "Just stick to the exact moment."

"Somebody had left some rocks at a table, and. Well. I wanted to investigate."

"Table? There's no table in that room Rabastan. And apart from Autor—and Merissa the day before you became interested in rocks—we haven't had any guests over that would leave rocks lying about where you could find them."

[herr_bookman]

Nah, he's too busy trying not to cackle to worry about blushing. By the time Rabastan's done with his monologue, Autor has gouged tooth marks into his own knuckles and has to wipe tears away from his eyes.

"So you--really?" he says, trying to get a word in between the wizard's babble and his own muffled giggling. "You don't say."

Poor Elea.

When she makes the point about a lack of table in the room, Autor straightens up. Ah. He sips his tea calmly.

"I think I may have an idea of what happened," he says calmly, shifting his gaze from Elea to the rock-besotted man. "As you know, Rabastan deals with magics different from those on Lunar. I believe this situation is just as he says: he tried something new, and it backfired."

Then he smiles at Elea. "Actually, there was a matter that I wanted to speak with him about in private. I hate to ask that of you, but would you mind granting us some time?"

[iambetadraconis]

Elea doesn't need another request for privacy.

Feeling equal parts grateful to step out for a bit, if only to keep herself from strangling Rabastan—and she loved him too much to want to do that, and concerned that either Rabastan or Autor, or, more likely both, were keeping something from her, she nods and leaves.

"What?" is Rabastan's oh-so-intelligent question.

[herr_bookman]

Whereupon Autor promptly baps him on the head with his sylladex again. It's a gentle enough bap, but the music student finds he likes doing them.

"This is a Milliways thing, isn't it?" he says, burying concern under smug amusement. "Good heavens, Rabastan, I'd be shocked if you haven't eaten cursed food already."

He taps his chin. "So how to reverse the effect..."

[iambetadraconis]

"Augh! Stop that!"

Pause.

"So I stopped at the bar. It was there. Big deal!"

The big deal, Rabastan, is sitting three rooms down the hall, trying to enjoy her tea while she worries about your mental state.

"I didn't touch or eat anything questionable! God, what do you take me for? I've known about these things for some time!"

Moving a little ways down the table where the only way Autor can hit Rabastan for a third time is if he clambers up on the table, he gives Autor a sour look.

"And I only touched the rocks after I looked at them for a few minutes."

Which means any magics involved here fall under the "if the victim lays eyes on it" category.

[herr_bookman]

Autor grins at his reaction. Weirdly enough, it's one of the most genuine smiles Rabastan will see on the kid, if he's paying attention.

But then, of course he pulls an immediate facepalm as soon as the wizard opens his mouth. It's the second one he can ever recall doing. Congratulations.

"Do you even hear yourself?" he starts quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You looked at them for a few minutes. That's a long time to stare at a bunch of stones on a table."

He scoffs, folding his arms. "As you're well aware, there are many, many repelling charms in your branch of magic alone. Why wouldn't there be compulsion charms as well? I can't imagine that something wouldn't work via sight in a place as screwy as the bar."

Autor gestures to the hallway. "And as I said previously: do you have any idea how worried she is about you?" he says, and the sound is more a frustrated growl than anything.

Then he blinks, and steps back. "My word. I am not the person who should be reminding you that your girlfriend is more important than rocks. Magical rocks, but still."

He slouches. "So. You're the wizard. How do we fix this?"

[iambetadraconis]

"You're right about compulsion charms, Autor," he grouses, for a moment reluctantly glad Autor did not listen to what he was told not to do. "Except for one thing: who in their right mind enchants rocks?"

They're rocks, after all. Just garden-variety rocks.

And chances are, that's probably where they came from.

"Somebody must've emptied their pockets after spending time in the flower beds, then had to leave suddenly. Surely that's also a likely explanation for them being there."

Yeah, sure. Things lying around can be enchanted, but not everything.

"I'm not sure what's there to fix. Okay, granted, rocks are not what most people consider pet material, but why not?

"She might even enjoy the hobby herself if she tries it."

[herr_bookman]

"I'm sure she would," he says evenly, "and then you'd only have yourself to blame when she becomes so addicted to tending rocks that she neglects you in turn."

The corner of his mouth quirks a little. "And you'd deserve it.

"Who indeed! Think, man. It's not like Loki never visits the bar," he says, shaking his head. "Better than dumping ice on you, at any stretch. Would that I'd thought of this first and had the ability!"

[iambetadraconis]

"Or maybe we'd raise rocks together," he says in his how-about-that? voice. "Our shared hobby."

One of their hobbies.

"I don't know who this Loki is, or what he'd be like, but I'm sure you're the type who would dabble in things like compulsion or mind control magics. I mean, why wouldn't you?"

Dinner and reconciliation: two steps forward.

Accusations of "being the type to": one step back.

[herr_bookman]

Autor snaps his teeth together in a steely grin. "You're right. But I'd have much more use for you than to set you messing around with rocks, don't you think?"

Then he sniffs, affronted--not that Rabastan would accuse him of employing such things like Imperius, but at his lack of creativity! Tch!

"Loki's a Norse trickster god. Muggle mythology, but still has power in the bar."

[iambetadraconis]

"He doesn't have power here." Pause. "Don't know why I'd be singled out, though. Seeing as no one else who might've seen those rocks was affected like you think I was."

They were there for a while.

"As for what you'd do with me were I under your thumb? I'd rather not think of it. Servitude under one tyrant is one too many."

[herr_bookman]

Autor shrugs. "Hence why you're not under my service."

He does debate whether or not to add a 'yet'; Rabastan seems like a lot of trouble to retain, and there's no point in causing him to storm off to his rocks again.

Yet.

"How do you know that someone wasn't affected? And how do you know that his power doesn't travel? Your power travels from your world to the bar to here."

[iambetadraconis]

"More that the magics of this world are in some way compatible with mine," he corrects. "As for people being affected? No one else at the bar was playing with rocks.

"Saw a few people playing with small pieces of rounded cardboard, and another person had on a pair of pants ten sizes too large at the knees, though."

Hmmmmm....

[herr_bookman]

Autor pops a hand on his hip and smiles.

Really. He's just going to wait until Rabastan draws the logical conclusion.

He'll even time it, for fun.

[iambetadraconis]

You're gonna be here a while, because Rabastan isn't adding two and two here.

Why shouldn't people want to play games with cardboard? Why not wear absurd pants?

Really Autor. What have you got against other people's unusual hobbies?

"Are you done now?"

Meanwhile, Elea is beginning to wonder if any headway has been made, and is heading back to the kitchen to check in on their progress.

[herr_bookman]

Autor chuckles and shakes his head. "I thought you didn't want me to be done with you?"

He tilts his head quickly at the door, to indicate to Rabastan that shutting the hell up is a very good idea.

"Ah, Elea," Autor says cheerily when she walks in. "Right on time. He's still mulish, but we spoke of what we needed to."

[iambetadraconis]

"And just what does that mean—"

He stops abruptly when he hears the footfalls.

"Still won't give up his pets?" she asks, anxiety clearly written on her face. "Rabastan, please. You're scaring me here."

[herr_bookman]

And Autor pushes himself up from his chair and begins preparing more tea. He sets the heat again to whatever Elea was cooking previously, and stirs the food. Finding what looks to be the equivalent of a half-chopped onion, he picks up the knife to finish the job.

If Elea's pleas work, well. His part is over. If they don't, well... they'll figure something out, maybe, but he doesn't have to listen to her beg.

[iambetadraconis]

Meanwhile, voices lowered, Elea continues to do her part to get to the bottom of this mess.

A few words can be made out.

"...please..?"

"...I don't see..."

"...I'm worried about you..."

"...just fine, really..."

"...how did a table and people..."

"...there was ... honest..."

"...something you're not telling..."

[herr_bookman]

Autor takes that as his cue to interpose. He steps between them physically and sets three cups of tea on the table.

"Elea," he says, "I'm not quite sure what you're making for lunch. Mind telling me how to finish it?"

He tilts his chin at Rabastan, in another of those, yes, we need to talk, gestures.

Autor's not quite sure why he's protecting the man. He really should just let him trip over his own tongue and expose the secret of the bar. Why keep Elea from Milliways?

Ah, of course, he thinks. The random flushing thing they do. That would get annoying fast.

[iambetadraconis]

Funny how not that long ago it was you who was quite unwilling to talk, and needed to be strong-armed into it.

Now it's Rabastan's turn to be strong-armed into conversation.

"Of course, Autor."

She gives Rabastan a thoroughly pitying look as she makes her way over to the still-unprepared meal.

Something she keeps giving him now and then, in-between instructions on how to prepare this ingredient or that, and to make sure he's not trying to sneak out and back to his granite companions.

"I don't understand. First rocks. Now it's tables and people in a room where there isn't supposed to be either.

"And he's not showing symptoms of having suffered a sudden hallucination. I'd know that much."

She looks at Autor, having stopped slicing up some root vegetable.

"That's just not possible, is it? To find things where they're not supposed to be? When there's no way they could have gotten there?"

[herr_bookman]

Autor pauses at her question, trying to figure out what to say. He shrugs. "Who's to say? Magic is a funny thing. Clearly it affects different people in different ways."

Then he glances over his shoulder at Rabastan. "Speaking of, why don't you cast a repelling charm on your rockery door and windows until we figure this out, hm?"

[iambetadraconis]

"You're not keeping secrets from me are you Autor?"

Yes, she knows that you barely know her, but still.

You're only supposed to cover your own ass. You don't have to cover someone else's too.

She sighs, and turns to look at Rabastan, after showing Autor how to finish slicing the vegetable.

"Rabastan, tell me about this table and those people. How did they get inside that room? We didn't let them in. There should not have been anyone..." Her voice trails off.

He had a slight whiff of liquor on him, she remembers herself saying. And we don't keep the spirits in that room.

Tables. People. Spirits. Where else do you find these things outside a home?

She thinks about it some more. Didn't she say he'd forgotten what he was sent up to retrieve—something that could only happen if time had elapsed?

It's impossible. Absurd. But there's no other logical explanation, no matter how unlikely it seems.

"Rabastan. Forget the charms on your rockery. Tell me how a bar managed to get inside our house."

For Rabastan, it feels like time itself has stopped.

[herr_bookman]

Autor raises a brow at her in response. Seriously? You didn't know my name during the first two hours of speaking to me.

He finishes slicing the vegetable, and then washes his hands. Literally. Figuratively.

Well, Rabastan?