there & back

6.21.18

fey. (sp?) exist among us. -- slane.

smallest rock slightly smaller than my fist. turquoise? green? glows within. physical contact imparts ‘feeling of glow.’ 

release - all-nighter x 5

but why?

proof of magic -- slane.

n at cafe says: connected to guastavino. brother on stage > met at beltaine, “forest.” n is not a fey--i believe. brother involved? nature cult? nature names? renamed himself.

connected to the grass. contact somehow with grass = hungry. not every one? not tiger.

sleep. omg sleep

7.2.18

names:

tiger (o)

forest (?)

oleander (?)

frost? (r)

roe (roe deer? extreme tenuous) (?)

camellia (?)

aster (r)

rot & rotten. -- aster

7.5.18

known E:

10 - happy 18 - calm others mentioned at B, frost

magic. 

i would give a lot to know if the magic was source of feeling (e.g. not triggering appr centers but inciting feeling anyway) or magic stimulates brain in same manner as drug. which arm or leg do you want

naming scheme -- number of attempts? scale of some kind? number of discovery/creation?

7.7.18

connected to oakenfold casino -- rather, multiple connections to

adare -> owner, friend to T. Speaks (?) Irish, recognize F breed. all this in june.

old money. doesn’t own a bar, not connected to R or E.

so gold. something to do with fey? aware? 2. forest (o) 8. hazel (? common given name) (o)

7.15.18

more magic that E and rocks and grass.

illusion power? only to eye. can feel difference with touch. how? perception-based? 

which arm, which leg? i will give so much for proper equipment.

they perceive the same thing as outside witness. so complete. 

grass interferes. human (me) = hunger. fey (T) = loss of perception-based magic. 

definitely connected to oakenfold. adare = aware of this. how much?

tiger fairfield is her real name. 

yvette fairfield

7.28.18

malachite.

alchemist at rookery. alchemy -> elixirs, obv. 

more rocks, more grass. all over coney. didn’t see these before june and i have lived here my whole life. something happening? i shouldn’t assume it is because somehow i’m involved! something else happened. 

inciting incident -> creation/introduction/multiplication of grass/rocks. 

they seemed to scare her in june. at least seemed unexpected. risks obvious. T wants to blend, doesn’t want to have ‘questions asked.’ do fey know? must by now, but it is not ideal circumstance, can’t be.  

slane? slane showed me us the grass first, drew my attention to it first. to rocks. how long have people at maynooth been studying? just slane, or all of them? 

they will tell me when they want me to know. all i can be is honest. 

8.1.18

perception-based magic has a name. glamour. n is already aware of it. maynooth thing for lughnasadh (checked sp!!)

E, 99 -> not a feeling but a perception magic glamour. Shortage, of some kind. connected to grass?

“it went away.” why hunger? energy-related, as per rocks?

grass gives nothing back. rocks give pleasant/good sensation, “feeling of magic”

grass takes away sense of satiation/magic? rocks take away energy?

all contact based. it needs to touch? give/take

E, 99. this is a new variable. transference of perception-based magic not emotion/feeling. magic confirmed as transferable. 

emotion transferred? what else? is this transference = alchemy? 

give/take, transference. magic does something to the brain! 

Now, it felt like it was Aster’s turn to be the curious one. So Malachite had talked to her about elixirs, but what about them? What had he said, specifically? He wanted to ask everything, but he knew, it was different with a human, then a fey. With fey, often, if you pressed with specific enough questions, you’d get an answer. But humans, well, they could lie. Lucky them.

“Oh,” He said, doing his best to keep his voice light. The elixir running through his own veins helped, at least a little. “So, you’ve tried more now?” There was a note in his question that might make it sound like he thought he already knew the answer, although honesty, he had no idea. You never could tell with humans. “Which ones, then?” What else did she know? 

“Just one,” Yvette said. She held up a finger. “Number eighteen. But I think I’m gonna ... well, I’m gonna take it easy on them for a while.” 

Saying it out loud like that made her feel more certain about her conviction, even as she thought to herself: there are more. She knew about ten, eighteen ... Ro had mentioned a sixty-nine, now that she thought of it, and Nadia a ninety-nine. There was some kind of shortage of that one. 

“I’ve heard of others, though,” Yvette added. “The one called ninety-nine--I mean--” 

She lowered her voice to a hush. “How does that even work?”

Yvette glanced down, alarmed. She set about trying to shush Fido, who had started barking and now for some reason refused to stop. “C’mon, Fido,” Yvette muttered, peering into her messenger bag for a treat. “What it is, boy?”

She glanced briefly in the direction of Fido’s barking. Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, sorry--sorry. Don’t mind him.”

“Yeah, my aunt taught me when I was young and it just sort of stuck. I’ve been practicing with the reeds since I was ten.” His stomach rolled at the mention of his Aunt Maeve. He could remember the first time she had introduced him to ogam. It’d been close to the autumn equinox, when the sky was dark and the wind was high. There’d been something in the air - something he couldn’t quite explain but it had left him with both a chill and a feeling of intense wonder. Witch weather, his aunt had teased him. They had sat where the festivities were occurring behind Maynooth now but it had just been the two of them then. Emmet had listened as she divined the staves to him, patiently explaining each of the meanings to him. With her help, he had carved his own staves the next day. Feel them, imbue their energy in each one, Aunt Maeve had whispered, creation is magic itself. 

Years later, only the staves had told him the truth about his aunt’s fate. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you a reading for free if you tell a story. Doesn’t even have to be in front of everyone, you can practice on me first.”

She had no idea that reeds were involved. She briefly imagined slender reeds like she’d seen poking out of a river on a class trip as a child, like fingers of a skeletal hand. Or emerging from of the snow, the stark, dark gray of dormancy, the color of a plant that slept until it died...

She practiced speaking with Fido all the time--he was an adoring, if mostly silent audience--but she had noticed that her ability to give a presentation mostly faded after that first perfect demonstration. Yvette overthought and overcorrected. Something that would have been perfectly acceptable she wondered and worried about. Her most common criticism was that she gave too much unnecessary information, because Yvette, concerned she had not made her point the first time, tended to pack in more the second time around. She ‘destroyed the grace of her argument with her enthusiasm.’  

“I’ll go up,” Yvette said, trying to build up a little courage. “I mean ... no one else really seems to want to follow her, and it seems ... I don’t know. The point is to share, right? I shouldn’t come and just ... mooch.” 

She smiled weakly. She had to circle into it--but hadn’t she made all sorts of presentations? How different was this? Yvette didn’t have a real folktale, but surely her dreams ... she could get close, she thought. A little tweaking could be done. Brielle would be the only one who might recognize how the pieces had been refashioned. Yvette was not afraid of Brielle seeing what was true and what was not.

“I’ll go up,” she repeated, gathering strength. A quick smile tugged at her lips, and she started, nervously at first, toward the mic. “And then I’ll hold you to that reading!” 

“Wow,” he replied with a scoff, sipping at his drink. “That’s garbage. We pay enough as it is to attend one of the highest rated schools in America. Someone should complain.” And then, just like that, he realized he sounded a bit too much like his father, and he winced. “You know what, never mind. I take it back. That’s something my father would say—and I’m lawyer not a politician.” 

He threw her a grin. Sure, lawyers complained all the time—they don’t take anything lying down, and they don’t take no for an answer. But ‘someone should complain’ was a bit less Harvey Spector and a bit more Donald Trump. Trump would complain and tell someone to do his bidding. Spector would say nothing, finish his drink, and walk out the door to go fix whatever someone else had fucked up. 

He considered her distinction about the way people think; hummed in thought. “You know, that’s a really eloquent way of putting it, well done. And now that you mention it—I guess I would be the opposite, in a sense. The details of why a person thinks the way they do, knowing that like the back of my hand—crucial in my career. But the science involved—which neurons are where… not really relevant in my case. That said… “ he threw her another look, amused, his lips in a pressed lopsided smile. “I suppose I could learn a lot from you, Miss Taylor. Perhaps we should make a point of studying together from time to time. “

It was just like Benji to turn a casual party into a discussion about academics and study groups. If Tyler were here, he’d be having a conniption fit. 

At least she was discussing something she knew intimately well. It was a balm to talk about something that was familiar but safely removed from anything specifically personal. Benji was someone who lived in her other life, the one where she cared about deadlines more than leylines. 

Yvette flushed. She would have been secretly pleased to hear that kind of compliment if her pleasure wasn’t already visible on her face. This was probably how Benji meant that comment, why a person thinks the way they do. It was a skill, she thought, to be able to read people so fluidly. Coming from anyone else, Miss Taylor might have sounded strange or overly pretentious or even mocking. But in the context of the conversation, the formality actually sounded playful.

“Oh--of course, I’d love that,” Yvette said, still beaming. “Whenever you’d like to know what neurons are up to! I mean--well, I could tell you. Not in an immediate sense, but generally. I’ll be starting my own research in September, actually, if you’re interested ...”

“What? Never? Well, we’ll have to change that, I suppose.” Aster smiled. He couldn’t help but soften, just a bit at her apology. “I mean, yeah, he’s like.. My boss. That’s all.” Finishing the dregs of what was left in his cup, he looked at her a bit curiously himself. “What about him, though? What did he say to you?”

Aster’s boss. Aster was a bartender, by his own admission. Yvette felt silly, casting her mind back to their very first meeting, when she’d asked for a #10. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. That makes sense! I mean--well, it’s not like ... we just talked about ... you know. The elixirs. He asked me a lot of questions, about what I thought of them.”

And he’d given her her very first taste of #18. She sighed, thinking of the sudden wash of clarity, of ease. Yes. Tiger had been right to be worried. Yvette liked this kind of poison a little too well. 

It had taken her longer than he anticipated.

It was a good thing Malachite was immensely distracted, having plenty on his mind to induce stress-related wrinkles he usually concealed with a glamour. The lack of glamours was grating on him, because it was a responsibility easily placed on his shoulders. The Alchemist was supposed to fix these things. Or at least take everyone’s minds off of the issue.

When he’d handed Yvette his card, he expected her to arrive within a week. A month, at most. September marched along, and he stopped wondering when she would stop by, nerves frayed by his #99 clients and lessons with Aster. The lessons he was supposed to be having with Aster, that was.

Three small vials were placed on the desk before him, testers for this particular Runner who’d offered his services. Practice ones from his latest burst of creativity. Malachite was frazzled enough to have trouble defining the emotions he’d infused them with; he was hoping a fresh set of nerves would have better luck than him.

A muffled knock startled him, and the Runner automatically walked to the door as Malachite muttered something in an unintelligible ancient language that he knew the Runner (barely one hundred-and-thirty-five) would not understand. Half the words, even, were strung in ways that didn’t make sense grammatically: he was out of practice with it, being a dead tongue and all.

Malachite paid little heed to the person entering, assuming it to be Gale or another Runner. “I only have enough for one person, unfortunately for you.”

Yvette slipped inside slowly, as if moving through water. She let the door drift shut with her fingers lingering on the handle, pushing it all the way closed with a soft click. Malachite did not look at her. Again, she was reminded for coming in for review. The professor was slightly too engrossed in their own studies to pay attention to a needy student, coming in on the tail end. 

“I don’t ... I mean, that’s okay,” Yvette said, stammering a little. She knew that sometimes, particularly when she was nervous or excited, her speech turned into a little labyrinth. She walked the same phrases multiple times, in different ways. Her voice was small. “I don’t think I’m the person they’re meant for.” 

She counted her breaths. There was slight outdoor dampness that clung to her skin. The Rookery smelled musty--she had never put her nose to an old brick, but she imagined that they must contribute. The floor beneath her feet was solid. She was awake. She always knew when she was awake. She was on the verge of understanding something vital, but it was impossible to know if imminent was a matter of moments or days.

“I’m sorry,” Yvette added, clutching the strap of her messenger bag. “I had to ...”

Make up my mind? Work up the courage? Give reason a chance to win out in the end?

“It just took me a little while,” Yvette concluded. 

Her exclamation pulled a grin from him, oddly genuine considering who he was. He had a soft spot for this particular brand, had always favored it, but there was something about drinking something that had been aged nearly two hundred at the bottom of the sea that made it taste better. Her amazement over it made him enjoy it that much more. 

He did, however, feel his expression grow more serious and focused as Yvette began talking about Tiger. Yvette was smart, but more importantly, she was inquisitive; it made sense that she had picked up the little details that others might turn a blind eye to when they discovered it was something that wasn’t easily explainable. Not in this day and age, anyways. At her question, Adare furrowed his brows. “Fey? It’s like fairy, isn’t it? Or another word for it.” He took a sip of champagne and then set it aside. “You’re gonna have to give me something more than that, I’m afraid. What did Tiger tell you, exactly?”

Revealing their conversation to Adare would not be the same as recounting it, with the names taken out, to Nadia. He was not a stranger to Tiger. He was her closest friend, by their mutual account. There was a glass of antique champagne in her hand, something that on its own would be astounding to the point of being miraculous. She would have thought about this for weeks.

“Back in June, I was with her when I encountered ... some strange grass,” Yvette said. She’d been over this experience maybe a hundred or so times in her head, but as she recounted it she stared at the bubbles rising in the champagne, concentrating on rendering it concisely. “And I ... well, I was so hungry, but Tiger--Tiger changed. Her eyes. Her hands. In July, I asked her why that was, and she told me it was magic. And I ... I still believe her.” 

Yvette felt vaguely guilty or ungrateful, as if she were challenging Adare, daring him to mock or disbelieve. Especially guilty, too, after accepting such a wildly opulent gift. “I asked her if you knew about it--and she said yes, but ... I ... I don’t know.”

“Atta girl. New York pride.” Again she found herself raising her glass in appreciation. Her next question was strange but it caused her to chuckle, shaking her head. “No, I can’t say I’m what people expect.” She was an accident. “But then again, I find it better to be what people don’t expect. Makes that surprise all the more satisfying.”

Momentarily distracted by Mac’s return, Ember listed off the order. Her stomach rumbled with the displeasure of not being fed all day. “A plate of nachos and the wing sampler platter. Oh, and another drink for me.” She glanced at Yvette, gesturing slightly with her right hand and pushing the menu closer to her with the left. “Anything else, Yvette? Feel free.”  

“I work in security, sometimes for people and sometimes for businesses depending on what my boss tells me what to do.” Interest flared in Ember’s eyes at the mention of school. For all her long years, Ember had never tried to attend university besides the cursory fey classes. Oleander had taught her what she could with the patience of a saint. She leaned a little closer, giving the human a playful little nudge. “Isn’t that a good thing? I hear college is the best time of your life.”

“I’ll have an iced tea, please? Um, yes--I mean, it is,” Yvette said, still pink-cheeked. She’d known Em for only a few moments, but Yvette found herself wanting to know more about her. Em said security in a way that made Yvette picture something a little more involved than just strolling around a department with a flashlight. A professional bodyguard? Yvette, whose career experience had always been squarely in the realm of academia, couldn’t even begin to imagine who or what sort of business would require security. She sank, momentarily overwhelmed by the thought of everything left to do. “It just gets to be a lot--even though, I do love it! I love the research and the work.”

She paused, weighing the decision to clarify her previous question. It felt awkward, in verbal conversation; perhaps they’d moved past that already. It was like sending a follow-up email to something you’d submitted several days ago with an asterisk and a corrected spelling, wondering if it was more courteous to let the error stand.

“I meant--before--if you were from New York, too,” Yvette said, picking at the damp edge of a coaster. “Though, I ... well, I don’t know what to expect from you, really--I mean that in a good way! I promise. Technically, everything has been a surprise and it’s all been--uh--really satisfying!”

“I mean as flavors in general. Although, alright together, too.” He was prepared to keep talking about cocktails, about seasons, the weather - Small talk. He was alright at small talk, he thought. But then, of course, she had bigger questions. Malachite. Aster laughed, he couldn’t help it.

“Do I know Malachite?” He repeated, it was almost funny to him, although likely the elixir had some effect on that. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I’ve never actually had bourbon,” Yvette said, in a small voice. She crinkled her nose. She laid her hands in her lap. She’d give a lot for Brielle’s easy manner, or for Nadia’s straightforward dignity. 

“I ...” Yvette tried to interpret that laugh, the echo of her comments. “I’m sorry, I, uh ... you must work together.”

“Personally, I really like anything with cider-y flavors, you know. Apple and bourbon, I’d say are my favorite fall drink flavors.” He said, taking another sip of his drink. “Personally, I think pumpkin spice is a bit over rated, but if that’s someone’s favorite thing, there are plenty of things you can do with that. For winter, I love an Irish coffee, but I wouldn’t go for that for fall.  If you’re looking specifically for something seasonal, that is.” He wondered what sort of information Yvette had found on elixirs, because surely, with all her questions, she’d have found out something - But he’d stick to cocktail talk unless she changed the subject herself.

“Apple and bourbon? Like--together?” 

Yvette pushed back from the bar, her fingers lacing into knots. Vera, her longtime study partner and closest school friend, loved pumpkin spice everything; Yvette liked it every now and again, though she tended to prefer actual pumpkins. He seemed happy to keep the conversation here forever. 

She needed to be more strategic. She needed a better plan of attack. Yvette sucked in a breath, steadied her nerves. There was one person here that she would give anything to know more about. “Oh, I ... one of the times I was here, I met someone--not that I found out their name till later--I mean--have you ... do you know someone named Malachite?”

Of course it was the lavender martini, still, Aster thought. He was great with drink recommendations, even if he wasn’t as much with elixirs. Everyone had skill sets, and that was just one of his. “Of course. Floral flavors are more for summer, definitely, maybe spring, but I’d say lavender season particularly.. That’s a summer thing.” He nodded. Maybe that had been one of his problems, in school, he’d never really bothered giving up going out to commit to academics.

“What do you recommend for fall?” Yvette rested her chin on the heel of her palm, the fingers of her other hand in the crook of her elbow. “I mean--I know it’s pumpkin spice season--oh, and cider, too. And hot toddies ... is mulled wine too wintery ... ?” 

She might as well list everything else that was drinkable and not an elixir. 

“Maybe they can,” she allowed. Money was nice, hell money was more than nice and she could use an influx to keep herself in ninety-nine, but it wasn’t the real point. It wasn’t her ultimate goal. “God only knows what they’re capable of, really. Good and bad.” 

Nadia allowed herself to speculate along with Yvette, but the answer to whether or not the grass and the ninety-nine shortage were connected was far above her pay grade. She wasn’t a scientist or a scholar or a well reasoned thinker. While she hoped she didn’t truly match the stereotype of a dumb model, she also knew herself well enough to recognize that she was of average intelligence at best. If someone was going to figure it out, it probably wasn’t going to be her. 

“I don’t know,” Nadia answered honestly. “None of it makes sense from a non-magical standpoint. And introducing magic makes anything possible, doesn’t it? The rules go out the window. If they said that there was an elixir that made it possible for people to fly, giving a big fuck you to the laws of nature or whatever, would you doubt it?” She sighed, shaking her head. Her words had to be chosen carefully. Not that she expected Yvette to blab her secret to everyone, but why risk it? “I don’t know of an elixir that makes you fly, by the way, and I don’t know of any that are similar to ninety-nine. I have used it, though – please don’t tell the paparazzi. It’s…interesting.” 

There. Hopefully that was enough to make it seem like Nadia had only sampled the elixir, no that her life depended on the tiny bottles of golden liquid. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Yvette said, meaning it. Up until now, no one had explicitly said to her, this is private. It had all been ... implication and diversion. The suggestion that if she made it known, it would all turn to smoke. But perhaps because Nadia was also--her mind still tripped over this, she was getting better, but still, still the thought caught her, made her stumble--human, Yvette could respect a certain wish to conceal an interest in the elixirs.

“Anything’s possible right now, but it’s only because we don’t know what isn’t possible ... I mean, it’s not so different from, um, something more mundane that we don’t understand. I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’ve been just ... throwing stuff at the wall. Trying to figure out what sticks.”

Yvette pursed her lips, realizing how slapdash and scattershot her initial attempts had been. “It’s not a very organized approach, is it?”

Brielle treasured the times Yvette allowed her to peer into the ever-evolving life she led. Though it was evidently stressful and a clear weight on her shoulders, there was beauty to be found in the complexities of it all and, in turn, Yvette’s dedication to her work. Where anybody else in her position might have quit by now, she’d remained strong, determined to reach the end goal that’d seemed so out of reach for so long.

It was an inspiration just as much as it was a curse to be faced with Yvette’s gradual breakthroughs while Bri remained at a standstill within her own cause. She was intelligent enough not to hold that fact against anyone but herself, but that only made it sting more. At the end of the day, when she was left alone to her thoughts, the only person to point a finger at was the stranger in the mirror. So, sure, Yvette may have stood as a difficult reminder of all she was yet to accomplish, but she also stood as a testament to the fact that if you truly cared about something, it would come to fruition.

Even if there were a few bumps in the road.

“Hey, you know you never have to thank me. I’m always here to listen. You are in the thick of it.” She reached out, allowing her hand to ghost over Yvette’s for a fleeting moment before her fingers returned to tap quietly at the bottom of her glass. “And… hey, I can’t say I have much experience with everything you’re studying, but I do know what it’s like to feel… stuck. Even when things seem like they’re laid out perfectly in front of you.”

“But if there’s anyone that can find a way through it and come out the other side better than ever, it’s you, girl!” At least it’ll be one of us, came the unwanted thought. She pushed it down, down, down, and pretended it never existed. “You’ve been through so much in the last few months that all this? The pressure, the uncertainty, the financial stuff… they picked the wrong lady to mess with.” A playful expression tugged her eyebrows upwards, shoulders raising into a shrug. She knew better than to think just words would soothe Yvette’s anxieties, though, and quickly followed up on them. “But if you need anything - if I can… do anything to make it easier? I’m so here for it. I’ll be the best guinea pig you ever had.”

Shifting where she sat, Bri finally took a moment to peer down at a menu she’d seen many, many times before, still smiling. “You hungry?”

None of her problems had really gone away, but at least she had affirmed their existence. Yvette was a nascent psychologist. She knew what she was doing when she did it. Like everyone else, she had her bad habits, her ruts. Brielle was somehow always so warm. If Yvette’s inclinations had run toward that kind of psychology, she would have stood to learn a lot from Brielle’s manner, open and inviting, safe and supportive ... but if Brielle’s sympathy proved anything, it was that she knew what it was like to be in a similar position. Yvette hesitated to pry. “I like the nachos,” Yvette offered. “They give you enough to split them ... oh, and the wings, too.” 

She flipped through the menu, looking for other shareables.

“I’ll have to check--I think I could probably expand the study to include non-students. I think they just have a system in place to, you know, protect people while also providing us with, um, subjects for research,” Yvette said. She quirked her brows. “It’s dream recall stuff. It’s paid, too--not a lot of money, but, y’know, compensation. I think the pool of data could always be bigger.” 

 There was a lapse of speech for a moment. Yvette gathered her courage, and then, in one rush, asked, “What do you feel stuck about?” 

Benji: Something like that.

Benji: But that sounds fine, thank you.

Benji: So, I'm in. What do I have to do? Does it present an excuse to go grab a coffee because I could use one.

Yvette: When you sign up, I'll send out a scheduling email. It'll be pretty soon. It'll include building and the room but you could honestly just meet me outside and we could walk there.

Yvette: We could probably get a coffee afterward?