Conall the Red, aka 'Mac' (ruadh) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-08-14 20:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | mac, zipporah bakst |
Who: Mac and Zipporah
What: A walk and thoughtful conversation
Where: Central London
When: 11 August 1888
Ratings/warnings: PG
Zipporah wanted to stretch her legs a bit. Whitechapel was in a tizzy over the murder of a poor woman -- the deed had been done a few blocks from Zipporah’s home, and after walking past George Yard every day for the last few days, she’d wanted a change of scene. So she hired a hansom cab (which was still a novelty), and took it in the direction of the Lionhart, while Ach stayed with her auntie.
She hadn’t been expecting much -- perhaps she’d get lunch there, and then wander around the surrounding area to see the sights -- but she’d been quite pleased (and more than a little gratified) when the proprietor had not only greeted her warmly, but, upon finding out her tentative plans for the afternoon, had tossed his barcloth to an employee and said he’d join her, offering to purchase lunch at a food stand while they were out and about.
“I imagine you know quite a lot of the city,” she said to him, slipping her hand through his arm as they left the Lionhart, pink-cheeked at his flattering offer. “What was it like when you first came here?” She asked, a little daringly, but she was deeply curious.
Mac peered over at her, not surprised at the young witch’s question. She'd been bursting with curiosity about him since the day they'd met, the only surprise was she'd waited as long as she had.
There was a refreshing energy about this mortal. So young, so full of life and determined to make a place for herself and her family in this new country. Everything she looked at was new and strange to her eyes.
“The first time I saw it or when I first came here tae stay?” There was quite a difference. “The first time I came tae th’ area there wasnae but a few tiny settlements scattered here and there, nay that could even be described a proper village, much less a town or city ye ken.”
Zipporah looked around them at the teeming city, so seemingly permanent, and tried to imagine what it must’ve been like -- a swathe of green, a few low, simple buildings. She laughed a little at the thought, and looked up at the Sidhe -- he didn’t look much older than thirty, and a well-made thirty at that, and the notion that he could’ve seen so much was a little baffling.
“I can hardly picture it. What made you want for to stay?” She asked. “There is so little fresh air and green -- and so many people. It is quite overwhelming at times, I can only imagine what it must be like for someone such as yourself.” She didn’t know much of the Forest Folk beyond the stories she’d heard growing up -- her grandmother had met one in the woods by their house when she was a girl, and when they’d left their home, they’d left an offering as a parting gift -- but from what she’d heard, they were rooted to the land, to the soil and growing things, and this city was all soot and cobblestones.
A laugh escaped his lips at the question and he regarded her with a fond smile. The girl was fearless, he enjoyed that about her. “Yer nay wrong lass, there are times ye’ll nae find me in th’ city when the urge tae get away is overwhelming. But my duties tae my people require my presence in th’ city more often than no, ye ken. Especially the last few centuries.” He got to take the occasional sabbatical when things were quiet, but since the French Revolution a century before things had been moving at too fast a pace for him to spend more than a few weeks at a time away from London.
“It wasnae so bad until th’ last century or so, it was much smaller before. Easier tae get out intae the country.”
“The way you think of time… it takes some getting used to,” Zipporah replied. “Such a difference in scale. When I am an old woman of ninety, you’ll still think me young,” she added, grinning. “Promise me you’ll tell me I’m just as pretty then, if I’m lucky enough for to live that long?” She said with a tilt to her chin and a laugh.
Meeting people like Mac, Chiara, and even Peter had made her infinitely aware of how fleeting her life was in comparison to people like them. It was a healthy dose of humility, that was for certain.
“Have things always advanced this quickly?” She asked. “Coming here from my village in Russia, seeing the electrical lights, the airships, the height of the buildings, it was like leaping a century in a year.” She shook her head. “And it seems as though every month there is a new discovery, a new device, a new invention…”
“If ye still have th’ same bonny spirit then aye lass, I will. I willnae even be lyin’.” He winked at her as they neared the shadow of the Abbey, stretching out over the courtyard almost to the street. “O course fer a Sidhe, ninety is considered barely an adult.”
He considered the question with a seriousness it deserved while they walked along the street. “I'd say speedin up, especially th’ last two generations. It used tae be much slower tae spread information, ken, then humans invented th’ printing press and that sped things along. Then th’ Enlightenment sprang up, and now th’ last generation things really started movin’ double quick. Humans are untyin’ themselves from th’ natural world, nobody knows what that’ll do tae them or us.”
Zipporah frowned in thought. “I hadn’t thought of it in that way before,” she said, looking up at him. “As an… uncoupling.” She looked up at Westminster Abbey, holding onto her straw hat as she tipped her head up to see the top of it, the grandeur of it beautiful.
“I wonder where faith plays a role in all of this,” she said, quietly. “As a way for to keep one grounded, connected to something bigger and deeper and mightier than we could ever achieve or comprehend as mortals.” She looked over at him, shrugging a little. “It may be a simple way of seeing things, and I am not sure whether it will continue to have a place in a world changing so quickly, but I know that I draw great strength from it.”
“Faiths change.” Mac shrugged. The fae themselves had been worshipped as divine beings once upon a time. “There was a temple devoted tae the god Mithras not two miles from here once upon a time. The Romans and th’ tribes that were here before them worshipped many gods, then th’ Christian God came along. How long he’ll be dominant I cannae say, but mortals have tae believe in something greater and more powerful than themselves. I dinnae see that changing even with everything else.”
“So faiths change, but the need for belief does not?” Zipporah replied, musingly. “I can see that, yes.” She shrugged. “My people were expelled out of our home and scattered to the winds, and we carried our God with us as we went -- it is a way for to remember our heritage, where we came from, even while we continue to wander. I do not know if He is the only God, but He is mine, and when I pray to heal, to protect, I feel His power working through me.” She tipped her head playfully in the direction of the Abbey. “The Christians may claim Him, and be quite large in number and adoring in their attentions, but we loved Him first.”
She turned to him. “And what of those who are not mortal?” She asked, looking up into a pair of eyes that had seen centuries pass before them. “Do they have the same need?”
She realized a little belatedly, after she’d said it, what a personal a question she was asking, and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “I am a curious soul,” she said, self-deprecatingly. “I would beg your patience with my impertinence, and if you would rather not say, I will certainly not take offense.”
Mac shrugged. “Power comes from the act o’ worship itself. The old gods still exist, ye ken. They’re nay th’ same as what they were an’ they were an’ are different from ye’re Abrahamic God, but no less real.”
He turned his eyes up at the spires of the Abbey contemplatively. “Perhaps.” He said eventually, in response to the actual question. “But it’s no quite the same.”
“I would imagine not, no,” Zipporah replied, quietly. The church was indeed beautiful, and they were quiet for a little in its shadow, and as they made their way around the side of it, she could see the impressively long structure of spires and towers across the street, set against the river, with an enormous clocktower perched at the end. “I know he is Big Ben,” she said, “but what is the rest of it? That is not where the Queen is -- that is at Buckingham, I know that much,” she added.
“Oh aye, not anymore.” Mac nodded. “Though ye’ll not spot Her Majesty at Buckingham any more than she can help it either, ye ken. Big drafty place, and th’ roof leaks, no she’s much more likely tae be at Sandringham or Osbourne if there’s a choice in the matter. But once upon o’ time the Kings and Queens o’ England lived at Westminster, though th’ buildings werenae th’ same ones there today. Now Parliament sits there, most o’ th’ members o’ which aren’t worth th’ money they were bought with.” His voice dripped with scorn and contempt, unusual for the fae.
“Democracy, bah.” It was a bit ironic coming from him, considering he was technically a member of that body, but it was a much different animal today than when Edward had tricked him into agreeing to join it. Damn the bloody bastard, friend that he was.
She laughed at his dour look. “Money is always corrupting, regardless of the century we’re in. Besides, it is hardly democracy when over half the citizens cannot vote,” she added, with a cheeky grin.
“...And it is far from perfect, but for all that, it could be worse,” Zipporah remarked cheerfully. “The newspapers here, they speak their minds without fear, and while protest can be met with arrest, it is far less likely to be met with death. And that one of my people would be Prime Minister not once, but twice over gives me hope.”
“Women voting?” Mac shuddered, but his eyes twinkled at his young companion. “Next thing ye know they’ll be abolishin’ the monarchy and makin’ the isles a Republic!”
He hummed thoughtfully as they continued down the street. “I’ve nae love fer th’ Romans, but I think they had a good system fer a bit, rule by a competent man who finds another tae be his successor and so on. It worked well until one o’ em had a son who inherited th’ throne an’ it all went downhill for em after that.”
“That does seem a touch more sensible than simply praying one’s children are capable,” Zipporah replied, grinning a little.
The gossip about the playboy prince wasn’t hard to pick up; the newspapers were always going on and on about the latest mistresses and affairs.
“And then there is the politics that are all hidden from view,” she added, “the things most people never hear of.” She looked up at Mac, biting her lip. “Can you tell me of the war and treaty? The one with the wolves and alushka? I do not know much, I was not even aware there had been a war, really.”
“Aye.” Mac’s response was droll. “Though t’would help if Her Majesty actually gave th’ man something tae do, but she doesnae ask me fer advice on her family life.” It had been a long time since he’d been an actual friend of any mortal royal, and Victoria had only seen him as an asset when she wanted the war to end.
“The war. It wasnae a war like ye’d see described in th’ papers. It was fought in th’ shadows: ambushes, assassinations an raids. Things change over time, aye? Th’ wolves had grown in number an th’ vampires more stubborn, twas bound tae be a fight sooner or later. Th’ stakes kept gettin’ raised, more an more pickin’ sides until it spilled intae th’ open at th’ end.”
Zipporah pondered -- in the last few weeks, she’d gained a patron -- an alushka -- and a lover -- a wolf -- and while she knew what Peter had gotten up to during the war, what he was currently wrapped up in as a result of it, she wondered whether it would start up again, and whether she’d be stuck in the middle of it.
“That must have been difficult for you,” she said, looking up at him. “I can see the great value of having a neutral ground -- a sacred space -- given such tensions, but neutrality cannot be an easy balance to strike.”
She knew he had great power, and he spoke with authority -- as fantastical as it was, she believed he wasn’t quite joking about when he’d gotten annoyed at the Queen for not asking his advice.
“Are they natural enemies, then?” She pondered. “...Is that sort of conflict an…” she wrinkled her nose, digging for the right word. “An inevitability?” She finally managed, and looked inordinately pleased with herself.
“It isnae easy,” He agreed. “But ‘tis what th’ Queens of both th’ Summer and Winter Court require o’ me in this capacity, and I am their obedient vassal.” He personally preferred the wolves, but even with that personal preference he saw value in maintaining the neutrality of the Fae and enforcement of the Queen’s peace. It made sense, even beyond the desire not to raise the ire of any of the Queens involved.
They walked along a bit further as he considered her question with the seriousness it deserved. “I dinna ken I would say ‘natural’ enemies,” the Fae lord said eventually, slowly, as if he was still pondering it. “But it hasnae been in their interests to work together either, mostly. It doesnae help that the Vampires wilnae die unless killed, where th’ wolves eventually do grow old an’ die like any other mortal. There’s always been a...tension, fer lack o’ a better word.”
“You serve many mistresses,” Zipporah replied, tipping her head. “No wonder you do not want the women to vote,” she added, with a touch of a tease. “You have your plate quite full already.” She cackled a bit at that before her thoughts returned to his assessment.
“It seems as though they balance one another out,” she said, pondering, “the greater numbers on the one hand, the longer life on the other, but it is a pity that such balance can lead to tension. A vying for power. I suppose that is the part that is inevitable -- not being satisfied with what one’s neighbor has, wanting it for yourself.”
“Oh aye,” He agreed readily, chuckling. “That’s th’ story o’ life right there lass: th’ struggle over who gets what. Not even Sidhe are immune entirely.” Which was why the power switched back and forth between Summer and Winter every year, and he knew it wasn’t always harmonious back across the veil in Fae. There were those who resented the handover on both sides.
She could see flashes of green through the side-streets -- a park, presumably -- and pondered the scope and scale of what he’d experienced as they walked.
“I admit,” she said, grinning, “my own life and aims seem more than a little small against that backdrop. It has a way of… placing things in perspective.” She shook her head. “It’s freeing, in a way.”
Zipporah looked up at him. “I am glad you took the time for to walk with me,” she said, leaning up again to kiss him once more on the cheek. “You are quite a paradox, you know. An ancient, powerful being who has seen so much, and yet spends his days serving beer, and is incredibly tolerant of curious, silly young things pestering him. I find you remarkable.”
“Silly young things pesterin’ me keep me from becomin’ a fossil.” He rejoined with a smile, pleased at the affection shown by the young witch. Besides, the bar was a good source of information. That wasn’t something he planned on telling her, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t work out on her own given enough time to think on it.
“Besides, there isnay much call fer fairy godfathers in this day an’ age. Nor sorcerers puttin’ swords in stones fer impressionable young lads tae try an pull out.” Let her try and figure those two out! And whether he was being serious or not.
She laughed heartily by way of reply. “I shall be certain for to let you know if I encounter swords, sorcerers, or young lads.” She grinned, patting his arm. “And should I require a godfather, you shall be the first I ask, but I believe I like you as a bartender just as well.”