EXCOLO

It's a thick sort of day, water in the air just waiting to come pouring down. A waiting sort of day, I think. It's too muggy-yucky to wear my rain coat on the way over, yes, but I'll need it on the way home so I fold it neat over my arm.

Playing in the rain is a very child thing to do, you know, not like a lady at all. Ladies go to the store by themselves and remember everything on the list and they do not track mud in the house.

The shopkeeper is already outside when I get there, lap full of clothes and all the clouds in the sky hanging over her head too. "Good afternoon, Ms O'Hara!" I say, bright as can be to send the clouds away.

From:

"Hello, Alice," I say, smiling. She looks quite grown up now, not at all like the poor bedraggled creature Valmont and Hermia took in all those weeks ago. I think she's still not quite right in her mind, but she's better than she was. "How are you today?"

From:

"I'm good! I get to do the shopping today," I say, still smiling big and pulling the folded bit of paper from my dress pocket. "All by myself." I look down at the list I wrote before I left - nice big printed words neat down the paper - and then back up. "You think you... You think you could help me, maybe?" Oh right. "Please?"

From:

Haven't needed my coat much, of late, but think today's been the first day since winter where I've hated the idea of using it. Went out late to the far end of the graveyard and spent a little time tidying and rather more sitting and listening. It's its own stillness, here, the grass lying low and still in the swelter of the day, and I dig my fingers down into the earth, the promise of cool darkness around the dead.

Heading back up along Main Street once I'm done, the air in the distance glittering and grey. Kate's on the porch of the store, and as I draw closer I see her talking to a girl, not one I'm quite placing though she seems familiar. May be one as comes in with her family to market more often than not...

"Afternoon," I say, drawing up to the two of them.

From:

Alice looks so anxious to do things right.

"Well," I say. "Normally the store's closed on Sunday, but..." I stand up and take the keys out of my pocket. "I'll help you. Just don't tell anyone else I opened the store specially or they'll all ask me to do it," I add conspiratorially, and smile at her. I imagine it's taken Alice some courage to decide to do this, given the nervous way she's holding the paper, and I don't want to put her off.

"Hello, Glass," I say as my friend comes up the street. "Alice, do you know Glass? Alice lives with Hermia and Valmont," I explain.

From:

I have to try very hard not to look down when Ms O'Hara says the shop is closed. I wanted so bad to surprise everybody and- and then she says she'll help so it's okay and my smile can come back. "Oh thank you!" But then I remember I'm supposed to be quiet, a secret she said and I can keep a secret thank-you-very-much. "I mean," I start again, whispering. "Thank you."

And it's a good thing I did whisper, because then somebody else is coming up. Dark, not too dark - not dark enough, something says, and tainted red besides - but familiar. "I know Glass," I say, nodding, because I do. I met her on the street, when the light was bright and the big man saved me, she was there too. It seems like forever and ever ago, maybe like a dream I had even though it was real and true, but I do still remember. "She's the big man's." Don't know how I know that, just now, but it's true and I do.

From:

"Hello, Glass," and I smile, murmur afternoon. "Alice, do you know Glass? Alice lives with Hermia and Valmont," and think I'm placing her, but--

"She's the big man's."

Well, then. "I belong no more to him," a little tiredness, there, at speaking of the Shuck, and something not quite anger, "than I do to my keys. I'm the quiet man's if anyone's, though couldn't say if you know him."

Shake it off as I come up to the door to stand with them. "We've met once, I think?" looking between them, answer to Kate and asking after truth of it from Alice. "Out on Silk, and John was there as well. Hope you and yours are well," I add politely to Alice. "How've you been?" Mean, hardly as if I've not seen Kate of late, but care to ask all the same.

From:

Alice whispers a thank you and I repress a smile.

"She's the big man's."

"I belong no more to him than I do to my keys. I'm the quiet man's if anyone's, though couldn't say if you know him."

I look at Alice thoughtfully. I wonder if she's heard people talk about Glass and Gaueko, or if she's able to see the relationship somehow. Well, there are stranger gifts in Excolo.

"Glass doesn't belong to anyone but herself," I say. "But he is her father, yes."

"How've you been?"

"Well," I say. "I went to the abbey this morning, there was a good crowd for services. Has been ever since we all slept for three days. I suppose people feel the importance of dreams more, now." I smile a bit and get the key in the door. "I was just going to help Alice with her shopping. Come in, both of you."

From:

Her colors go from light to dark and I look to my feet, the wooden porch under my shoes that isn't sore at me. Not the big man's, the quiet man's - wings and death things and I don't wanna die into the big man's jacket? - not daughter, though. No.

"I was still sick then," I say to my feet, to the mention of her and the big man and George (John?) and the night when the lights started to quiet down. "Before."

Then adults are talking, about going to church sounds like, and us all sleeping, and I don't interrupt because that's room, I don't look up either, until the key's in the door and Kate is back to shopping.

"I have a list!" And I do, I hold it up for them to see, paper still folded and in my hand. "I wrote it myself."

From:

"I was still sick then. Before." Looking down and gives me a chance to consider her a moment, what that means and what she saw, and what has or hasn't changed.

"Good enough you're better, then," I say, and not sure what else to call it. Don't think her shoes are that interesting, but cannot tell what'd've set her on edge.

"Glass doesn't belong to anyone but herself," Kate says, and look to her grateful. Then she's speaking of services for Nanshe, grown fuller of late and no surprise. "Saw folk leaving," I agree to matter of the crowd, "and there were rather more'n I'd expect a month afore." Count out the days in my mind, and yes, it is the Sunday next-to-last today, makes next week the lunch they give for those as care to come. "D'you suppose they'll need help, readying next week's meal? For having as many as they do."

Kate opens the door, and Alice looks up, showing the paper she's holding. "I have a list! I wrote it myself." Thinking suddenly of Fiona coming in to the Apothecary, far more sure in herself but not much younger.

"Sensible," I say as we enter, still feeling oddly as if I ought say something over earlier, but... well, can't guess at what, so speak what's true and leave it be. "You erranding for aught particular, or only keeping the house?"

From:

"D'you suppose they'll need help, readying next week's meal? For having as many as they do."

"I suppose they'll have enough people, but I know they're always glad of help," I say. "It's been a while since I helped out at the abbey, so I think I'll go along." I used to be at the abbey far more often, but life has so many more things in it lately... But I should make the effort.

"I have a list! I wrote it myself."

I smile at Alice.

"Well, this is how it works," I say, and I hand her a basket. "You can help yourself to a lot of things off the shelves," I say. "All the canned and bottled goods, for instance. If you want dry goods, you ask someone who works at the store to help you," I say. "And they will weigh out as much as you need. And if you need fabrics or tools, you ask for those as well - the tools are behind the counter, and the fabric is in rolls which we measure out for you and cut off. Why don't you see if you can find these cans yourself?" I say, handing her back her list, and I turn to Glass.

"Are things with you and Iago the same?" I ask quietly.

From:

"I'm helping with the house and tonight I'm gonna make a cake," I tell Glass, proud as can be. I told Mr Adam where I was going, in case anybody gets to worrying after me, but it'll still be a real good surprise for Valmont and Hermia, me doing errands by myself and making dessert for the night besides!

I nod along when Ms O'Hara explains how everything works, because maybe that'll be one of my chores later if I do it right this first time, and mostly because I don't want to mess it up too bad, besides.

I bet Hermia knows how to do all the shopping.

Most of the things on the list are right there on the shelves, just like Ms O'Hara said, and I pile it all in the basket and double (triple!) check with the list, mouthing all the words real slow just to be sure.

From:

"I suppose they'll have enough people, but I know they're always glad of help," Kate says, and then speaks of going along. Well enough, though it yet feels strange to think of going myself. "'ll see you there, then."

"I'm helping with the house and tonight I'm gonna make a cake," Alice announces, and I nod. Glad she's coming into herself, from being rattled as I remember, and mild relived that she's not sulking over household chores. Never quite know how to take those as do, really.

"My best to you in that, then," I say as Kate sets it out and sends her down the aisle, and I'm smiling faint, look over to my friend. "I ever tell you the time Fiona came into the Apothecary, setting out to make satchets for Wanda and Valmont?"

"Are things with you and Iago the same?"

Well, then.

"He minds what I'd care for," I say quietly. And I think he does, matter of finishing the crib, and cooking, and words spelt out in leaf and stem and bloom. I know he's trying, and that he's setting himself to these things himself, that rather weighs with me. And am sure he loves me, yes.

And against that Jarmyn, and Verdandi, and a gift of oranges from Verdandi's tavern, and I cannot see how he'd've thought I'd take such a thing. "But no mind to what I mislike," I finish. "It's... I think sometimes he does not mind what I'd not do, what ought not be done."

From:

"I'm helping with the house and tonight I'm gonna make a cake," says Alice, and I smile.

"Well, that is excellent," I say. "Have you baked a cake before? What kind are you making?"

She goes off to look for things, and I return Glass's smile.

"I ever tell you the time Fiona came into the Apothecary, setting out to make satchets for Wanda and Valmont?"

I laugh.

"I remember, back when it seemed so strange that Fiona and Valmont should be such fast friends. But look at him now - married man and, I suppose, almost a father," I say, glancing down the aisle at Alice. And then we turn to the matter of Iago, and Glass's smile melts away and I wish I could do something.

"It's... I think sometimes he does not mind what I'd not do, what ought not be done."

I sigh.

"I think Iago seems like he has more experience doing things to please people, rather than knowing how not to displease them," I say. "The knack of marriage is different from that of courtship." It's all very well bringing gifts, and those things are nice, but it takes time to learn what your partner needs. I wonder if Iago is too - careless, maybe, to learn. "I'm sorry things are still hard. I wish I had more advice to give."

From:

Smiling a moment over Fiona and Valmont, and counting out the changes. "Things changed, rather, the twelvemonth last," I say, and then because it's not all matter of me, dammit, "'re you and Tess doing well?"

"I think Iago seems like he has more experience doing things to please people, rather than knowing how not to displease them," she says, and it seems an odd distinction... not a wrong one, but not aught I'd ever thought of. "The knack of marriage is different from that of courtship."

"Knack," I echo thoughtfully, then shake my head. "He pleases. He's trying to help, as well, I know. It's only..." I think of the things he doesn't mind, piecing them out. "Not used to minding what he doesn't understand, may be. Hoping he's learning."

"I'm sorry things are still hard. I wish I had more advice to give."

"'m glad you--it helps to set it out," I say. Think about it a minute, arms light 'round myself, and add "We argued, last summer, day after you'n'I found Julian Parson. And he stayed with Dorian a night and a day, temper cooling," all fine, that, and I shake my head, brush fine details away. "Don't think he had the right of it but he was angry, fine, and we argued it out. I'm doubting, now, he'd do the same. I don't know if he's afraid of me being angry, but'm wishing he'd..." I trail off and sniff in disdain.

"'member how Wanda was over Lugh, seen excuses she makes over what she's wed to now," I say. "I'd not find myself wed to her. --she's well enough. I visited her and her child," I add, for sake of making mention of it.

From:

"'re you and Tess doing well?"

"Very well," I say, my smile lifting up. It's a steady sort of happiness we have. I suppose some people wouldn't find it very exciting, but that's their loss.

"He pleases. He's trying to help, as well, I know. It's only... Not used to minding what he doesn't understand, may be. Hoping he's learning."

I snort a little.

"Sometimes when you talk about Iago it sounds like you're talking about a child," I say. "His whims, his lack of attention..." I shake my head. "I hope he's learning too."

"Don't think he had the right of it but he was angry, fine, and we argued it out. I'm doubting, now, he'd do the same. I don't know if he's afraid of me being angry, but'm wishing he'd..."

I nod along with that.

"Some people are afraid of argument, even when it's better than staying quiet," I say, and then Glass is saying she visited Wanda and Rose, and I blink.

"You did?" I say. "You went to the house?" That surprises me. "I saw you speak to her at Hermia and Valmont's wedding, but I didn't think you'd want to cross her threshold again."

From:

Glad to see the happiness in her over matter of Tess, although I think there's some jealousy in the back of my throat, as well. "'m glad for you," I say quiet, glancing up though it's hardly as if I could see their home through stairs and ceiling. "Kate? How'd you come to terms with it, with her and Syl?"

"Some people are afraid of argument, even when it's better than staying quiet," she says.

"He used t'manage it," I say quiet, and now that I think on it he's fine with arguing with Dorian as well, did it to clear out the wound when there was some misery between it. "Didn't think I'd miss it. He's..." Alice is down the length of the store, and lower my voice a little still. "He was afraid I'd leave him t'raise my child with Dorian, of all things." Which I am managing not to laugh at, as there's more misery than humour, but... bloody hell.

Mention seeing Wanda, and thinking I can't recall Kate looking that surprised over aught else I've said of late. "You did? You went to the house?" and I nod.

"Stopped by at the Dormouse, found her in the kitchen," I say. Which I imagine sounds rather cosier than it was. "Think she was near as surprised as you." And wondering rather at my own sense in doing it. Count myself luckier than Rose, all told.

"I saw you speak to her at Hermia and Valmont's wedding, but I didn't think you'd want to cross her threshold again."

"Don't, particular." No secret to that, though it's not what she wed that had me done with speaking to her. And rather can't see how anyone that knows what she wed would care to come to its wife's house, but as I said to Lucien folk pay less mind to what they'll have as host. "I spoke with Nu, some weeks past. Was holding poor hopes over Rose seeing how anyone but Wanda carries on, and... well. He said that if everyone with some sense is avoiding her, that's sure to be true. So." Shrug awkward, and I'm guessing there're those as'd be better suited to this. Still, do what we can.

"She understands things, Rose," I add after a moment. "Moods or words, or little of both. Wanda was sore upset when I asked if she knew the thing from the tower hated her."

Edited Date: 2011-06-08 06:44 am (UTC)

From:

"He used t'manage it. He was afraid I'd leave him t'raise my child with Dorian, of all things."

I almost laugh at the idea of Dorian helping to raise anything.

"Have you heard from him? Dorian, I mean."

Glass sets out the matter of Wanda and Rose. "I spoke with Nu, some weeks past. Was holding poor hopes over Rose seeing how anyone but Wanda carries on, and... well. He said that if everyone with some sense is avoiding her, that's sure to be true. So."

"Nu sounds sensible," I say. "And right. She's innocent, whoever her father is, but I think growing up she'll find not many people judge her so, and so she might turn into what people fear..." I bite my lip, thinking.

"She understands things, Rose. Moods or words, or little of both. Wanda was sore upset when I asked if she knew the thing from the tower hated her."

"You never have been one to mince your words," I say, a little amused. "I wonder if he does hate her. Hates mankind, I know, but I wonder if Rose is human." The things Excolo makes me wonder. "I wonder if that means she'll grow as fast now as she did in the womb."

From:

See her take the matter of Dorian helping raise my child same way I did, coming up to the edge of laughing, and smile a little. "Have you heard from him? Dorian, I mean."

"Not of late," I say, and I'd have him here--times I wonder if Iago'd've taken up even as much as he did with Jarmyn if he thought I'd had another to turn to--but it's not something I'm particular bitter over yet. Thinking I may walk out to the land he gave me--us--one of these days, only to have some quiet and think on the matter without Iago shaking over my seeing some memory of him. "Swear if you'd told me eightmonth ago that I'd ever miss him..."

"Nu sounds sensible. And right," and I nod. "She's innocent, whoever her father is, but I think growing up she'll find not many people judge her so, and so she might turn into what people fear..."

"Luck, then, that most don't know what Wanda wed," and I'm touching the back of my knuckles to the wood of one of the shelves, old habit. "Think it'd be better if she wasn't so close to't. But at least it's leaving the raising of her to Wanda, and there's truth that a god for a sire won't always govern a child's nature," a truth I can swear to myself, "so say there's some chance for her."

Set out what I said, and smile a little at what Kate's to say over the edge of my words. Don't mind hearing it, it's truth and not said with malice either. What she goes to say, though, that startles me some. "I wonder if he does hate her. Hates mankind, I know, but I wonder if Rose is human."

"Taking answer for yes," I say quietly. "It's not seeming..." Stop and try and set it out, drawing aside my own mind on it, as I hardly had a chance to take it all in calm. And well enough that even thinking of remembering the shattering white of it that I saw leaves me wanting to scream, imagine another might take it differently, and yet--

"I'd call it hate and lies given a mind to plan with," I say, "and'm not guessing there's much it doesn't hate. Don't know if Rose is human or not," and shrug, because I'd not be swearing that it matters particular much, "but taking her for being a-- person, a self, and not thinking it cares much for any as are such, whether or not one'd argue human. Leah nor John nor Chester nor Nanshe nor Rose, not taking it for having aught but misery for them."

"I wonder if that means she'll grow as fast now as she did in the womb," and I wince.

"That might have folk taking after her for strange sooner, it's true," I say. "She didn't seem much more'n threemonth, but no saying it won't change." Sigh and lift the hair off the back of my neck; the weather's a sulk today, even indoors. "If Excolo grows thorns on the matter, suppose Wanda could always take them travelling."

From:

"Swear if you'd told me eightmonth ago that I'd ever miss him..."

Her tone's wry, but I touch her hand lightly all the same.

"Think it'd be better if she wasn't so close to't. But at least it's leaving the raising of her to Wanda, and there's truth that a god for a sire won't always govern a child's nature, so say there's some chance for her."

"Yes," I say, and I'm glad we're agreed on that. "Maybe I should go over there too." Wanda could use friends, but I don't know that I can be that. But I could help her child, maybe.

And then Glass is talking about the Devil (how is it that I can even think that? I have to slide away from it, most days, so I don't run mad), and I nod at what she says. I don't think it's particular about what it hates.

"If Excolo grows thorns on the matter, suppose Wanda could always take them travelling."

"If it lets her," I say soberly, and my skin crawls. "Alice," I call out, to change the mood, "are you finding what you need?"

From:

Grown folks are talking and as much as I'm older myself - of an age and even doing the shopping myself! - I leave 'em to it. It wouldn't be right, to interrupt, and I have to pay special attention to the list besides. It's still not so easy, putting all those letters together and making their sounds and then the words from that.

I've never alone anyway, not really, maybe lonely sometimes (especially when Valmont and Hermia are busy together, or the big man isn't around), but not alone.

"I need flour," I say when I'm finally done with everything from all the shelves, standing with my basket turned heavy in my arms. "And sugar. I'm making a cake."

From:

"Maybe I should go over there too," and I nod.

"Think you're better suited to it, some ways," I say. "You've more sense than Wanda, and you're kinder'n me." Said again without an edge to it, as calling it true. "Not that I'd stop going, for that."

Didn't think there'd be much to say against Wanda leaving, but Kate's of a different mind. "If it lets her," she says, less than glad.

"Surely--" I begin, and then catch myself. Wouldn't've taken it for caring, but it's some settled in here, and might not suit it to have her leave. And for all the trouble could come I can't swear that it'd not see any of that visited on Rose. You can do worse than do misery to a child, you're trying to have them grow up cruel...

Find my arms have broken out in gooseflesh, all the heat of the day aside, and I hold myself a moment as Kate calls out to Alice.

"I need flour. And sugar," she answers, coming back and laden down. "I'm making a cake."

"Recall you mentioned," I say, trying to set out lighter matters of discussion. "Did you say what kind? I may've missed it."

From: