Elena gazes into Tam Linn’s eyes and sips from her glass of mineral-water. “So”, she says, meeting those brown eyes with her own blue. “So”, he retorts, placidly, putting one finger in his cup of coffee, swirling it, judging the temperature.
The servers bustle around them, noon being prime-time for Evers. “What am I even doing here?” She asks. She uses a part of her magic, and the worn-down clothes that Tam Linn wears melts into a mess that is hard to look at, rearranging themselves into first an old fashioned suit, then a hunter’s buckskins, then something out of a Renaissance-fair… then nothing. It’s that last part that makes her wonder. Nothingness… it suggests something about Tam Linn, what he truly is. But is it that he feels he is nothing or…?
“I am following up on a lead”, Linn eventually responds. ” Helena Gravsten had a primer on necromancy, written by someone calling herself Tiresias.” At the mention of that name, Elena’s countenance faulters slightly. Tam Linn elects to ignore the reaction and continues.”You have heard about Esaia Eldridge?”
Elena nods; any other time that particular item, that the man who built Ochre has come back from the dead would make the headlines. But in the face of Censure and the stories about Amanda’s grandfather, well, it just doesn’t seem overly important. “Eldridge claims that someone gave him the advice that saved his life. Additionally, the sorcerers employed by Pier 7 claim that Fenrir had help when he broke out of the Bastille, something those sorcerers claim, akin to that of a great spirit.”
Elena listens attentively.
Linn pauses. “But let’s talk about you”, he states, taking the conversation in another direction. “You have the look of someone who has visited Limbo”, he holds up a hand as to stall any objection she might make, a lie she has in fact prepared,” and while you truly are one of a kind, Elena Havenius, you could not make that trip back without help. And of course, you had no magic before Helena Gravsten shot you.” He stops there, dips his tongue lightly in his cup before deciding that it’s still too hot.
“You had help getting out of Limbo, and someone awakened the magic you now possess”, he mutters. Elena nods, knowing better than to lie with Linn having figured out as much as he knows. She clears her throat. “It was a woman. She called herself Tiresias.” Now Linn nods. “This is very interesting. If one assumes that she is the one that gave Eldridge his advice, broke Fenrir out of the Bastille, supplied Helena Gravsten with her knowledge of the dead, helped you out of Limbo while granting you the magic of a seer…” he trails off, “… then one starts to wonder what else she done. To what tune does she play?”
“I wouldn’t know”, Elena answers, before asking a question of her own. “Seer. You called me a seer?” With the temperature of the coffee having dropped, Linn drinks freely. “They haven’t told you?” “Told me what?” Elena’s question comes a bit irritated, a sentiment she quashes.
Linn shrugs and gives her a wan smile. “Insanity comes to seers. Always has, one way or the other. The hospitals and institutes of normals are filled with people who see things that science and the world has judged ‘unreal’.” “There has to be a way-” “Drugs will do it”, he interferes,” atleast in the beginning.”
“But”, and now he holds up two hands,” the human body will in time grow a tolerance to those drugs, leaving you with one option.” “Which is?” Although she asks the question, she can guess the answer. “More. More, until you spiral down in misfortune and poverty, sitting on the pavement, wondering how you got there.”
Rather than pursue that depressive line of thinking, saving it for another time, Elena poses a different question. “Seem to me that you’re talking from experience”, she voices out loud. “Oh, I am” he simply says. “I didn’t chose immortality. It was forced on me. In the centuries since, I’d like to think I have done well with it, but there are times when I want to crawl in a bottle of cheap beer, have crawled into a bottle and lost myself.”
Linn little speech makes him seem… almost human. But let’s not forget that he attacked Rune, she thinks to herself.
An intruder. This what Merith notes as she enters her house. Someone that doesn’t belong. She opens her inner channels, preparing herself to siphon away the magic of any supernatural that think they can overpower her. She carries a baton in her handbag for the more mundane predators.
“Good afternoon, Merith”, a demigod greets her from own damn kitchen. “Hello, Fenrir”, she mutters.
“I hope I am not bothering you?” Merith removes her coat and shoes before answering. “No, you’re not bothering me. But when Tam Linn finds out that you have been here, then I will certainly be bothered”, she finishes on a certain worried note.
“You don’t think I could bring him down?”
She enters her kitchen and starts to prepare tea in ornate semi-Japanese ritual. “I am not sure”, she says at last. “He is like no other of the Seven I have ever met. And the Council were unable to kill him…”
She gives Fenrir a mug. “I could use that on him”, Fenrir says, almost furtive. “No!” “No”, Merith repeats, this time in a lower voice. “Bad enough with Greyscale and his ideas of that abominable fire of his. But add your gift to the mix and the two of you will turn Fallowfell into a wasteland”, she scolds.
“What then?” Fenrir asks, frustration clear in his voice.
“I don’t know. But we’ll find a way. Between you and I, Perenelle Flamel and Corazon, Greyscale and Hermann there must be one way open.” “Hoping does not make it so”, Fenrir adds.
“No, but sometimes hope is all one has.”