wanderinghamsa (wanderinghamsa) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-09-25 14:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | una nicnevin, zipporah bakst |
Who: Zipporah and Una
What: A chance run-in, followed by tea and conversation
Where: A clothing shop, and then Clarige's
When: 25 September, 1888
Rating: PG
It was a lovely fall day, with just a hint of snap in the air, a welcome shift from the sometimes oppressive heat of summer, and Zipporah was enjoying it. She and her aunt had carefully set aside most of their recent windfall (currently stashed in their cookie jar) and had rationed their expenditures to what they deemed essential (they’d made a list over several bottles of wine) -- first, a re-stock of supplies, then, a few additional comforts about the home -- a nice pair of chairs they could sink into at the end of the day, new mattresses and bedding, and an icebox that didn’t leak -- and lastly, a small allowance for an improvement in wardrobe. Not ridiculously so, she wasn’t a macher -- she still wanted to walk the streets of Whitechapel without some amoretz deciding to try his luck at robbing her -- not that he’d succeed, poor fool, but it would be a hassle.
She’d already invested in a smart pair of new shoes -- shoes that were cunning little pretty things, and comfortable, with a supple leather that fit her feet rather than the practical boots she’d had before that’d made a racket as she’d clumped down the street. Now that the weather was turning a touch chilly, she’d started looking much more closely at winter dresses, hats, and coats -- something that would wear well, and would be warm, of course, but a little color wouldn’t go amiss, and neither would a flattering cut. (There were tailors aplenty in Whitechapel, but now, she could afford their services, and not simply make do with ready made and her auntie’s stitching -- far better suited for surgery than fashion.)
She was currently looking calculatingly at a window display of a rather handsome coat and matching hat in a deep berry red -- no longer simply longing for it, but weighing whether it would be worth the investment, a welcome change.
“Hm,” she said, looking up at Ach, her arm threaded through his. She supposed it was high time he got a new suit as well -- it helped that he didn’t perspire, but his clothes did rub raw at the elbows and knees, and if he got measured properly for one, it wouldn’t pull so badly at the shoulders.
"You should consider it. It would very much suit your colouring." The voice behind Zipporah was sharp, self-possessed, and had a definite touch of Scottish under the crisp tones of cultured English.
Una had come round the corner to see the lovely young woman and her guardian admiring the coat, and stopped to admire the admirers. Beautiful objects, and beautiful people, were always of interest to her. That she was Summer-like in her interest in mortals was meant to be an insult; Una considered it merely a truth and one more reason she was happy to be here and not at Court.
Today Una was dressed in blues and blacks; not so much wintry colours as those that concealed some of the grime of London's airs. For all that she could glamour her garments white as snow in the eyes of onlookers, Una felt it bad form to give extra work to her household servants when she didn't have to.
But, manners. "I," she told Zipporah, "am called Una Nicnevin, and it is very much a pleasure to see someone so lovely as you clothed as befits your beauty." She gestured at the coat and hat displayed in the window to reinforce the point.
Zipporah turned, at first surprised, but soon the surprise was replaced with a pleased flush that appeared in her cheeks at the compliments being given so freely by such a lady. She laughed a little, tickled, and the introduction was disarming enough that it took her a beat to look properly at the woman, and then Look.
She blinked a little, the color still high on her cheeks and her lips tugging upwards despite herself, and dipped into a brief bobbing curtsy. “Lady,” she said, “I am Zipporah Bakst, and I am pleased for to be making your acquaintance. You are quite kind.”
"It is my nature and my pleasure to encourage beauty and art. And on occasion, Art." Una took Ach's nature in at a glance with her own Sight. Since Una intended no harm to Zipporah, she did not fear Zipporah's protector. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. Would you like to go in and try it on? I would be honoured to accompany you."
The sheer amount of power emanating from the woman and the somewhat amused expression she had reminded Zipporah of Mac -- there were times when he looked at her that she felt impossibly young.
She tossed her head, grinning, and patted Ach’s arm so that he’d stay out front, before nodding to Una. “Why not,” she said. “I was already considering it, and I should be glad for the opinion of a woman such as yourself.” She offered her elbow a little cheekily as they walked into the store.
Zipporah’d found that shop owners tended to behave slightly differently towards her now that she actually had some money. She supposed it was due to a few reasons -- the nicer shoes, perhaps, helped, but she figured she held herself a little differently now too -- maybe she was more confident and relaxed and less defensive. That, and Zipporah knew full well the power of intention in her magical training -- walking into a store intending to purchase something most likely was not so very different.
It also helped that she was walking into the store with a woman whose taste was evident in the cut of her coat, the fineness of her gloves, the way her outfit complimented the icy blue of her eyes.
Una took Zipporah's arm as if they were in court (if not Court) and fell in with her as they entered the store. While the tailor wasn't magical enough to see Una for what she was, or Zipporah or Ach for that matter, he and his seamstresses recognised the quality of Una's clothes. They were deferential to Una, but she directed them to wait on Zipporah while they brought out tea for the ladies and the screen so that one of the seamstresses could take Zipporah's measurements in decent privacy.
The seamstress quickly stripped her of her light fall jacket and began holding measuring tape up to various parts of her body with an efficiency that was quite intimidating, and for all her bravery, Zipporah wasn’t used to being handled or scrutinized quite so closely by someone of such short acquaintance. “I am curious,” she called out from behind the screen as the seamstress wrapped the tape under her bust, more to give her something else to think about than anything, “when you say you encourage art, are you yourself an artist? Or a…” she wrinkled her nose, digging for the right words. “A muse, perhaps? A… a sponsor?” The seamstress’s tape moved to the swell of her bust, and Zipporah was itching to smack her fingers away, but she looked up at the ceiling instead. “And what sort of art?” She added.
"Whatever art people around me want to make. I serve as muse, sometimes by choice, and other times simply by my presence. In these times where artists must secure patronage to live, I also provide that for some. Artisans as well: the crafts that create our homes and furnishings deserve honour as well as painting and sculpture, or poetry and music. Also clothing, which enhances the glory of the body," Una added with a nod to one of the seamstresses emerging from behind the screen. The girl blushed, all pink, and Una gave her a good-natured smile.
"I can see part of the practice that you spend your time on. Sometimes I can assist or teach a little of that, but not always easily. Much depends on the nature of the student." That was, from the tone, an invitation to Zipporah to reveal as much or as little about herself as she was comfortable giving out in the shop, especially while she was having her measurements taken.
“I hadn’t thought of what I do as art,” Zipporah replied, as the seamstress came back with the model jacket, and a great number of long pins sticking out of her mouth. “I suppose it could be, though -- even though it has utility, and is not always seen so… directly, there is a certain craft to it as well.” She paused at Una’s offer as the seamstress fiddled with the shoulders and cuffs, the pins flashing between her teeth.
“There is much I have yet for to learn,” she said, calling over the screen. “What I do know is particular to my faith, to my language, my family, but that is not to say I would not wish to learn more from elsewhere, if given the chance.”
The seamstress smoothed down the shoulders and nodded for Zipporah to step out from behind the screen.
“Well?” She said, looking over at Una and biting her lip a little. “What is the verdict?”
"The colour suits and the front fit will be admirable based on this pinning." Una rose and came to feel the material on Zipporah, running her fingers up and down Zipporah's forearm and then at the end of the sleeve to get a good sense of the quality of the material. Then she circled Zipporah to get a better look at the rear. "Does it feel comfortable to you? If it does, you should have it."
“Well, with that endorsement, I shall have to,” Zipporah replied, grinning, giving herself a quick an appraising look in the mirror. It did indeed suit, and the tailoring was more than flattering to her figure -- she was, as her auntie Miriam would call it, ‘gifted,’ and said gifts often weren’t suited for ready-made clothing, and while her auntie could take up a hem, and did her best to nip in the waist some for her workdresses, blouses, and jackets, altering coats was quite beyond either of their talents, and since she’d come into her ‘gifts,’ her winter coats had been quite shapeless as a result. But this? This was quite a welcome change -- with a row of black buttons, and black velvet cuffs, she very nearly felt fashionable, and she couldn’t help but preen just a little in the mirror before nodding to the shopkeeper. “Very well,” she said, nodding her head.
The purchase was dear -- one pound seventeen for the coat and hat combined (plus, presumably the tailoring) -- but the coat would wear well, and gaining the favor of the lady who recommended it was an additional bonus. After hearing the final cost, which only caused a moment’s pause, Zipporah put down a deposit, and was told she could come back the next day for a final fitting and pay the remaining balance then.
She looked over at Una, the color high in her cheeks still from the thrill of it all. “May I treat you to some tea?” She asked, “or do you have pressing matters elsewhere?”
Una had seen the narrowing of Zipporah's eyes at the price of the coat, which seemed trifling to Una. She could hardly let the poor girl worry about the cost of a meal of the sort to which Una might be accustomed. "I am free this afternoon. But let it be my treat, given freely and without obligation." Which was the proper ritual wording to tell Zipporah that she offered out of desire for Zipporah's company, and not because she wished to put the mortal in her debt. It seemed the most courteous way to resolve that potential conflict.
Zipporah could hardly refuse such a request from such a woman, and soon found herself whisked away to a restaurant with high ceilings and waiters in tuxedos, a place where the menus had dishes in French and no prices listed, and where she felt distinctly underdressed -- but her dining companion gave an air of utter nonchalance, as if Zipporah’s being there was the most natural thing in the world, and so Zipporah swallowed her own uncertainty, and when the waiter came over, said, “I’ll have whatever you’re having” to Una with what she hoped was an adequately casual air. After a pause, she raised her chin. “Except for no pork,” she added. “Or shellfish.”
"Is salmon permitted?" Una didn't quite know what geas Zipporah might be under, but of course she wanted to honour her guest's requirements.
“Salmon? Yes,” Zipporah replied, with a nod and a grateful smile.
"Very well," Una said, and ordered a proper afternoon tea, Cornish Earl Grey for them both, with crustless sandwiches and scones and pastries and all sorts of delicious things on the towering tiers she always felt was wasteful to order alone, but could share with Zipporah. The waiter scurried off, anxious to please the Baroness as they always were at Claridge's, and noting that they should omit the ham sandwiches and the shrimp butter on the salmon.
Zipporah couldn’t help but widen her eyes a little as the service began in earnest -- it was a truly epic amount of tiny foods all beautifully presented on delicate china, and delicate cups of tea, and she very nearly didn’t want to spoil it by doing anything so vulgar as eating them, but it was far too tempting not to, and she laughed a little as they were left to their small mountain of food.
“So this is Tea,” she said, grinning. “It is quite lovely. I must admit, when I first came here, I was surprised at the preparing of the tea in English shops -- I was used for to have it be brewed quite strong, in a samovar, and adding the extra water depending on taste, and when I was a little girl, I liked for to add the jam in as well, but no-one does that here.” She laughed again. “My bubbe, my grandmother, she would drink her tea with the sugar held between her teeth.”
The thought of her grandmother taking her tea that way here, with the fine bone china, made her shake her head fondly.
"Tea is one of the modern luxuries I truly adore. I will say this for the Queen's reign: her subjects can eat well. And if you like yours stronger, we can let it steep." Una had no objection to strongly spiced food and drink at all; sometimes she found modern food quite bland compared to how mortals had taken it in days of yore. "I don't think there's any jam in this tea service, but I know in Devonshire they bring the scones with cream and jam." She leaned in and added, quietly, "It's delicious. I can imagine drinking the tea that way would be delightful too."
There were a multitude of tiny cakes, all beautifully decorated, and Zipporah couldn’t help but admire them before popping one into her mouth -- lemon, and wonderful, and she rolled her eyes and covered her mouth with a hand as she grinned around the cake.
“I can see why you like it here,” she said, leaning back conspiratorially, “even if they do not have the jam.” She looked over at Una. “Tell me more?” She asked. “About this teaching of which you speak. I am curious about it, and you,” she added.
"I've taught mortals things in the past. Helped them with their seeings and their magics, where I can. Most of what I can do is innate to my nature and person, which most do not see except where I permit. As a--muse, I think is the word we settled on--I give inspiration to the artists around me. That's not something I can control easily, and I don't always try. The music and the poetry and other things mortals create in my wake are their own. I simply unlock what is already there."
Her gaze rested off in the distance behind Zipporah for a moment before focusing back in on her. "Sometimes, though, I unlock things in people that are better left fettered." She forced a smile, then, and added, "Otherwise, I am as you see me: a woman of mature age, a courtier in two courts. And, oh, I am engaged to be married, to the Earl of Ravensworth, in a few weeks." Zipporah was a worker, even if not in the traditions Una knew. She would understand the date. "And what of you, Miss Bakst? How did you and your bubbe arrive on these shores?"
Zipporah could feel a prickle on her spine and goose pimples on her arm as Una spoke of unlocking and unfettering, and she resolved to ask Mac about her later -- he seemed to know every creature in London, after all. “Many congratulations and Mazel tov,” she said, nodding her head.
When Una asked her about her past, she shrugged, and put an egg sandwich on her plate. “My family lived outside of Cherkasy for generations, a long line of witches, but there was a pogrom, my father was killed, and my village was no longer safe. So I came here with my auntie and grandma, and I made Ach for to keep us from harm along the way. The four of us walked to France, and then took a boat here.” She shrugged, and added a chicken sandwich for good measure. “I have been here for five years, and now it is just my auntie and Ach and me, but we make do.”
"I am so sorry for your losses." The story was familiar in its overall arc, if not the specifics; Una had heard the like many times from the Scots and the Irish. Losses in wars, pogroms, and forced migrations were staples in the history of the islands. Pogrom was a word that Una had heard before, though, and it took her a moment to make the connection: Zipporah and her family were of the Hebrew tribe that had such complex relationships with the mortal Crown over the years. "I hope that Britain has proved safer for you than your homeland. I know your kin have had difficulties here in the past, but I believe things are better now."
“Oh, much,” Zipporah replied, happily enjoying the chicken. “There are ...challenges, of course, but so many opportunities too, and I am glad we came here. A place where one of my people would be Prime Minister not once but twice. And safe, yes, well…” she shrugged a little. “Safer,” she qualified. “Your police, your soldiers, they are better. And your free press. I like that very much.” She grinned. “Regardless, I can take care of myself,” she added, “and this place has been good to me, and I think I should like for to stay.”
"It's a better place than many for ladies alone in the world, and a better time than others I've seen," mused Una. She had been making short work of little cucumber sandwiches and the occasional salmon, and eyeing the lovely pastries, carefully waiting for her guest to take first pick. "Even for those of us with gifts and powers of one kind or another, though, there are limitations. Without considering problems of mortality and--" Una paused to think of the correct and polite word "--kinship," was what she finally settled on. "Improving our state is, I think, key to all our safety."
“Oh, I agree,” Zipporah replied, before looking over at Una cautiously, testing the waters a little. “I should like for women to have the vote,” she said, keeping her voice low, but her chin high. “Among other things,” she added.
She bit her lip a little, and looked down at the pastries, nervously taking a tart before looking back up at Una. “And my auntie and me, we… we specialize in the women’s health,” she said, far more quietly, but resolved. “I believe the family planning is important for improving our state too,” she said, stoutly, although she was trembling a little in her boots at essentially admitting to a Baroness that she was an abortionist.
It was a decided risk, but the woman seemed to value truthfulness, and had been a receptive audience thus far.
She took a bite of the tart for courage. It was, naturally, very good.
The vote was not something Una considered much, but she came from a Court with a level of deference to the Crown--save when treason was afoot--that mortals of this day and age could hardly imagine. There was no reason that Una could see for women not having the vote; suffragism simply hadn't impinged on her consciousness. But the other confession, that caught her attention, and she nodded gravely.
Una's voice lowered to match the tone and volume of Zipporah's. "Any woman who has had feminine difficulties understands how important the health of women is. I find that modern times lack the wisdom that mortals once had on this subject, though a thorough discussion of such matters is probably not fit for table. It's not a matter for men to interfere with."
“Oh, I could not agree more,” Zipporah replied with no small degree of warmth, relieved she hadn’t misjudged. She nodded, and took another mouthful of tart. “You are a most fascinating individual, Una Nicnevin,” she said, looking over at her dining partner. “I am quite glad to have met you, and should like for to know you better.”
She was on slightly firmer footing here -- this was how she’d been introduced, after all, so regardless of the title the waiters were tossing about, she stuck with what she’d been told.
On that point, Una and Zipporah were in easy agreement. Una smiled, pleased at sincere interest she could not read as flattery or desire for some gift in Una's possession. "I should like to get to know you better, too, Miss Bakst."