(no subject)
Who: Regina Brennan (BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS), Miles Brennan (GLINDA), and Jacob Anser (MOTHER GOOSE)
What: Anser stops by to tell Regina that she's a Tale. Miles is there. It is v. awkward.
When: February 16. Afternoon/evening.
Where: Regina's apartment.
Rating: PG-13/R for excessive Brennan swearing. And also hilarity.
Miles: Though Miles tried really, really hard to give his little sister her space, the urge to find his way downstairs and poke into Regina's business was sometimes just too much to bear. The fact that Daddy Brennan called his son once a week to "check in" didn't help, of course - Miles found that it was better to brave Regina's irritation than H. Martin's. "I don't know what she's up to, I haven't been down to see her lately" was not the kind of statement that Miles liked to utter during the 'father/son chats.'
At least Miles managed to play it casual; he'd gotten pretty good at crafting excuses. For example, tonight: it was the birthday of one of their mother's friends' daughters, there was to be a big party, and Miles needed gift advice. He wasn't about to pressure Regina to come - these things were dead boring, and if Miles could've politely excused himself, he would have - but he did want to know what one bought for a 20-year-old nutrition major that one barely knew.
"I honestly have no idea what to buy, and the clock is ticking. The party's at eight." Miles had passed exasperation hours ago, and had settled into a state of quiet resignation. "I suppose it would be tacky to stop by Williams-Sonoma on the way? They had a nice Le Creuset Round Dutch Oven."
Regina: When Miles stopped by for his gift advice, Regina was in the middle of some very important homework. Well, less homework and more 'research.' And by 'research' we mean she was lounging on the couch in pink flannel jammies and fuzzy bunny slippers flipping through the latest issue of Vogue Paris. She had a plastic cup sitting on the nearby table with, of all things, a swirly straw in it. One could assume that the light orange beverage contained therein was less 'orange juice' and more 'screwdriver,' judging by the bottles on the back of the counter in the apartment's small kitchen.
"Tacky would be a gift card," Regina said without even glancing up. "The Crescent oven thing sounds good, I think." She was only half-listening really, her tone somewhat distant. Of course, then she looked up at her brother with rapt attention. "Wait, whose party are you going to? Is it Louise or Tricia?" To clarify, she added, "One has a really bad perm and the other one has one of those little purse dogs." A beat. "Or maybe it was the dog that had the bad perm..."
Regina's train of thought was quite swiftly derailed, however, by someone buzzing her doorbell. She looked over in mixed confusion and suspicion and then got off the couch and made her way over. One hand slipped into a pocket on the fuzzy bathrobe she had on over her PJs to dig out her Blackberry and see if maybe someone was texting her about plans she forgot about. "Did I order food?" she asked her brother. It had happened before: Reggie got hungry and ordered takeout and then forgot while waiting for it and wound up ordering again from somewhere else. At the door, she peered through the peephole and made an almost comical face. She turned and called over her shoulder, "Did you order an Encyclopedia or something?" Because 'Encyclopedia Salesman' was really the first thing that came to mind when she spotted the man who was on the other side of her door. Nevertheless, Regina undid the chain and pulled it open, though only a bit.
"Yes?"
Anser: Encyclopedia Salesman indeed. Upon opening the door Regina will find herself face to face with one Jacob Anser, soaking wet. Apparently the temperature has dropped enough for the snow to merge into a wet sleet, which Anser's small black umbrella seems to have offered little protection against. His worn brown overcoat is practically soaked through, and if he looks grumpy under normal circumstances, he appears fit to kill at present.
When presented with the bundle of blonde fluff that is Regina, Anser reacts instinctively - he shoves the wet leather attache case that was in one hand into her arms, using the force of the gesture to all but steamroll through her and push his way into the room. He proceeded to drip all over the floor, as well as giving his umbrella a good shake as he collapsed it, which further served to wet everything in his general vicinity.
"Miles." The strange man said flatly, in Miles' general direction. There was certainly nary a hint of warmth in the acknowledgment, but there certainly was a familiarity. Regina, for his part, was completely ignored, other than the fact that the moment she managed to rid herself of his attache case she found the wet umbrella shoved into her hands, and once that was gone, his entire overcoat tossed upon her as though she were a coatrack.
Miles: "Bad perm." Miles replied. "Tricia, I think. I'd remember a purse dog, and..." And the doorbell was ringing. Miles stopped and stared at the entrance for a few seconds, before it occurred to him that he probably should head over and open the door. Regina had already gotten there, though, so he took a few steps forward and stopped. "Encyclopedias? No. People don't actually sell those door-to-door anymore - I mean, even Britannica's online now."
And then Anser was pushing his way in, dripping on the carpet and looking every bit as grumpy as the last time Miles had seen him in passing in the Pentamerone hallway. Miles was stunned. His mind immediately began racing through scenarios that could've brought the European Librarian to a Brennan doorstep, and none of them were good. "Ah, Professor Anser. My apartment is upstairs, if you're..." Miles managed to spit out, before he went back to gaping. The fact that Anser might be in Regina's apartment to see Regina never even occurred to him; after all, she wasn't a Tale, and she wasn't one of his students. Right? It did occur to him, however, that Anser was busy treating his little sister as something between a hotel bellhop and a wooden coatrack. "Oh, I'm sorry. Professor Jacob Anser, my sister Regina. Regina, this is Anser." There. At least now Anser would be reminded that Regina was a person, not an inanimate object.
Regina: It was a testament to Jacob Anser's steamrolling skills that he got into the apartment because Regina really wasn't one to be pushed around. Generally, she liked to do the pushing. Instead, she was suddenly holding an armload of wet things that were cold and getting her robe wet. And just when she managed to balance the attaché case and the umbrella, she found herself with a wet coat draped over her arms as well as her head. She stood there for several moments blinking from under the shadow of the draped coat, looking like a very wet, very drab ghost.
And then things started flying. With a thump, the case and umbrella fell to the floor and after some annoyed fumbling, the coat went flying away too, landing against the door with a wet plop and sliding its way down, leaving a streak of water. "Who- What- How- Why-" she started to stammer. Her eyes were wide and she managed to sputter an indignant, "GET OUT BEFORE I CALL-" and then Miles was talking to the guy. And it's enough to get Regina to just stare with one hand up and locked in the finger-pointing 'Bad dog, don't go on the carpet' pose.
And then, of course, there were introductions. But no worries: Regina was sure to be polite and give the sort of first impression her parents would be proud of.
"A professor? That's funny, I didn't think you could get a degree in 'dickwad.'"
Anser: Jacob Anser is nothing if not a master steamroller, much like he has pretty much perfected the aloof, disdainful air that he currently donned. While Regina fumbled with his possessions and sputtered her indignation, he continued to outright ignore her, busily brushing traces of water off of his sleeves and blazer. Miles' effort to hurry him upstairs is met with a dismissive flutter of his hand, and a distasteful expression that seemed to suggest that Miles wasn't actually expected to talk any further.
Finally, when Miles made the introduction and Regina her subsequent insult, Anser turned the full weight of his gaze on her like a ton of bricks; that critical, disapproving look of an exasperated professor that had been cultivated to silence the most uppity of students. She received a slow up-and-down look that only garnered further disapproval, though there was the faintest twitch of Anser's lip at the little zinger she threw his way.
"Regina, is it?" He asked tersely, "Hrm. What an unfortunate rhyme scheme. Tell me, Regina: were you aware that your brother has spent years keeping a deep, dark secret from you?" Again his lips twitched in personal amusement at the anxiety he was clearly endeavoring to stir in Miles, "Indeed, your brother isn't at all what he seems. As a matter of fact," here Anser swung around with all the pomp and melodrama he was capable of, casting an accusatory finger at Miles and announcing with all the fire and brimstone of a Puritan preacher, "HE'S A WITCH."
Miles: Okay. What. The Hell. The dismissive hand flutter inspired an immediate arching-of-brows in reply, as Miles's expression went from flabbergasted to absolutely indignant in 0.2 seconds. "Can I just remind you that you're in Regina's apartment?" He started, preparing to quickly segue into a furious tirade. "And that you're a guest, which means..." Wait, secret? The reaction on Miles's end probably wasn't what Anser was hoping to incite; no hint of worry, no nervous wringing of hands. He might have been feeling it, but he grew up in casinos. He had a damn good poker face, and there was no way that Miles was going to give the other guy the satisfaction of seeing him twitch, even if something completely, unexpectedly bizarre was happening. Instead? He folded his arms over his chest and put on a face he'd borrowed from his father; it was stern, skeptical, and clearly said 'you're wasting my time.' It stayed put all through the ranting and raving, the accusatory finger-pointing, and then? When Jacob had reached the climax of his dramatic performance and declared Miles a witch in a scene fit for The Crucible? Miles tilted his head to the side.
"You are out of your fucking MIND."
And people said Moderns were psychotic drama-queens. Miles rolled his eyes. "Are you actually here for a reason, or did you pay subway fare solely to drip on my sister's carpet and act out your Broadway ambitions?" No, he wasn't going to deny it. He'd just question Anser's sanity instead; what could the European Librarian hope to gain from all of this?
Regina: Blink. Blink. Regina's poker face was pretty much on par with her brother's, though that wasn't really hard: after all, she wasn't just acting unimpressed, she was unimpressed. The initial part where this guy was saying that Miles kept some kind of deep dark secret form her? Yeah, sure, that got her attention. But as for the nature of said secret? Regina's look was clearly one of 'Yeah, whatever.'
Still, the thing that did shock her was Miles actually using profanity! That never happened. Well, almost never. She gave him a surprised look and couldn't help but say, "Miles!" in a very good impersonation of their mother. She said, "Look, clearly your Professor friend just got some bad crystal meth." With that, she turned her attention back on the old man and got rather indignant.
"Um, for your information?" she said, folding her arms and adding a bit of neckwork for emphasis, "We're Presbyterian." As though that should settle the matter quite nicely. That said, she reached over and opened the door to the apartment, then resumed her arms-folded stance. "I think you can show yourself out?"
Anser: Anser let his finger hover in the air dramatically for a moment, but when his little show elicited nothing more than Miles' poker face, he let it drop with an expression of flat disappointment. "Oh, you Moderns are supposed to be more fun than that." He moaned with sarcastic petulance, giving Miles a disappointed shake of the head. "Although for the record, if I had inducted you, I probably would have used that line."
He seemed to have gone back to outright ignoring Regina, and kept his back to her throughout her little spiel. Once she had opened the door, however, he turned to face her, and even leaned down to place his hands on his knees in the way people do when speaking to small children. "Hey Rajayjay, can you give us a moment? The grownups have to have a little grownup talk now. Why don't you go find a coloring book or something, mmkay?" He layed it on extra thick too, even cocking his head to the side and scrunching up his nose at the 'mmkay'.
With that he turned back to Miles, and the apartment proper, which he sauntered right into. When he passed Miles he snapped his fingers a few times, as if to make him heel, and proceeded into the living room area to drop himself comfortably (and wetly) onto the sofa. "Now Miles, you know that I have as little to do with your kind as possible, but I'm here for another reason tonight. See, you might have gotten the short end of the stick in the reincarnation lottery, but Little Princess Pinky Poo back there?" A thumb was jerked in Regina's general direction, and he continued to speak as though she were absent whether she were right beside him or not. "Well, the lucky girl is all European, homeboy." He even pumped a fist, as if to celebrate this little victory - though whether it was for him or for Regina seemed vague.
Miles: For a moment, when Regina said his name, Miles looked mildly chastised. It was only for a second, though, and then the full weight of his unamused, irritated glare had settled back upon Anser. He would’ve contented himself with glaring, too, if the European Librarian hadn’t pulled the condescending adult act.
“Okay. She’s not four, you don’t have to be an asshole.” In terms of stature, Miles was not an imposing man. He approached six feet in height, but had missed the mark by an inch or two, and his wiry frame wasn’t exactly the stuff of wrestling legend. He was stronger than he looked, but any muscle was hidden beneath shirt-sleeves.
“Out. Now.” And Miles moved towards Anser, with every intention of throwing him out. Bodily, if need be. It did him no good; Anser strolled past as if he owned the place, and Miles realized that he really would have to pick up the Librarian up if he wanted to remove him. Miles rolled his eyes up at the sky - or rather, the ceiling - and then turned to follow Jacob into the living room. Was he going to haul him out by the collar? Only time would tell.
“I’m not joking, Anser. I will call the police. OUT.” He began to unbutton his shirt cuffs. Hey. It was a very expensive shirt. He didn’t want to lose buttons in the inevitable scuffle.
A scuffle which, luckily (for Regina’s furniture), did not occur. “…wait, what? She’s European?” Now Miles was angry and stunned. It was like he only had two emotional switches, and he just kept trying new combinations. He put a hand to his temple, took a few breaths, and added, “Why the hell are you telling me? Isn’t that news for HER?”
Regina: Oddly enough, Regina didn't seem quite as annoyed by Anser's 'treat her like a toddler' schtick as her brother was. Mostly, she was too busy being confused. Modern? Miles? Clearly this guy had never seen the man's CD collection, because it's hardly what Regina would call modern. And what exactly was 'Your kind' anyway? Did this guy have a problem with Republicans or something? Still, for all the confusion that was going on, there were seriously more important issues going on right now. Like, for example:
"Okay, that is a six thousand dollar couch," Regina said, shaking an 'uh-uh-uh' finger at Anser and his couch antics. Miles may have been hesitant to get physical with the guy, but that couch survived a two thousand mile trip in the back of a moving van and a harrowing trek up the apartment elevators exceeding maximum weight capacity and it did not go through all that just to be ruined by some crazy bum. So Regina grabbed a nearby throw pillow and whacked Jacob Anser in the back of the head with it.
Then, of course, things got confusing. Having the Crazy Man say things that she didn't understand was pretty much par for the course, so Regina wasn't too worried when the dude called her European: whatever, it was the drugs. But then Miles started doing it too which was enough to make her go, "Huh?" She looked at Anser and said, "What the fuck are y-" before she stopped herself. Yeah, because getting answers from this guy has worked so well so far. Instead, she turned her attention to her brother. "What the fuck is he talking about? And what are you talking about?" She stepped over to her brother and placed her hands on his shoulders so that she could look him square in the eye and very carefully explain something to him, using the same Very Clear Tone and Very Slow Tempo that had been used on her countless times by their parents, tutors and mailmen throughout the years.
"We're from Nevada, Miles. Not Europe."
Anser: Anser, unsurprisingly, was doing an admirable job of completely disregarding both Miles' threats and Regina's objections. He entertained himself by perusing the contents of the coffee table, at one point plucking up the plastic cup of 'orange juice' and sniffing it skeptically. However, he didn't seem to mind what he found, and subsequently plucked out the swirly straw, flicked it aside, and lifted the cup to his own lips. Of course, before he could take a sip he felt the admonishing fwump of a pillow against the back of his head, and with a grimace, put the cup back down.
At Miles' question he lifted his hands and brought them down on his knees decisively, "Well," he began with a sort of faux pleasantness, "As you can imagine, I do a lot of this. It gets tiresome. And while I can't say I approve of one of mine being related to one of you, it does provide me with the convenience of a pinch hitter, so to speak." As if on cue Regina gave up on throwing questions at him, which were ignored, and shifted her attention to Miles - to which Anser responded with a theatrical there you go! gesture. He sat back and seemed completely content to let Miles do the explaining, busying himself with pulling his discarded attache case to himself and unbuckling the clasps.
Miles: Wait, what? First more insults about being a Modern, and then suddenly Miles is supposed to do the introduction? “Oh, fuck you, Anser. If you think I’m doing your job for you, you’re sadly mistaken.” Miles managed to keep his volume down, but there was nothing calm or restrained about his voice. He was all set to go on, to give Anser a piece of his mind, but Regina had come over and taken his shoulders and used her best “speak slowly and maybe he’ll understand” voice. This was why he’d do Anser’s job for him - because he was fucking Glinda and Regina was his sister and as much as he’d love to refuse and spite Anser? He couldn’t do that to her.
Miles took a deep breath, exhaled, and looked away for a moment. He needed the seconds to compose himself, to find an answer that wouldn’t sound completely crazy. “Yes, we’re from Nevada. That’s not what he means.” He’d managed to calm down a little, but at this point, the muscles in his jaw tightened back up and he glanced over his sister’s shoulder at the literature professor lounging on the sofa. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. I don’t even know which Tale she is, for God’s sake.”
Regina: The petite blonde looked from Miles to Anser a few times and her annoyed look from earlier faded somewhat and was replaced by one of concern. She took a step away from the couch and closer to Miles, possibly afraid of whatever Anser had in that attaché case. "Okay, look," she said, doing her best to sound annoyed and assertive at the same time. "I don't know what either of you are talking about. And if you," she smacked the back of the couch with the pillow for emphasis, "Don't start explaining yourself or being nicer, then I'm going to buzz down to the doorman and have you removed. And the doorman? Is freaking big. And I bring him coffee in the mornings sometimes and ask him about his wife and kid, so he really likes me, and will have no problem throwing you out on your wrinkled butt, okay?"
Of course, the tough talk didn't really work because she looked up at Miles and her face was very concerned and even a little afraid. "Miles," she said quietly and through her teeth, "What are you talking about? How do you even know this guy? And what do you mean you don't know which tail I am? I don't have a tail." Granted, she has been called a nice piece of tail, but she's not exactly comfortable hearing that from her brother of all people.
Anser: At Miles' capitulation, Anser flashed a smug smile and said, "I knew they didn't give you the fluffy pink dress for nothing, you old softy." At which point he found himself chastised by Regina, who received a wholeheartedly sarcastic look of repentance and a scout's honour of good behavior. He immediately dug back into his attache case, pausing to answer Miles' question offhandedly. "The 'Beautiful' Princess." He explained, putting heavy air quotes around the B word. "From Ricky on the Tuft. Quite the looker, but dumb as a post." He moved to return to rifling through his attache case, but paused, and added to Regina, "And he's Glinda. Trust me, you'll thank me for that tidbit when all this sinks in."
He made an encouraging - if patronizing - gesture for Miles to continue, and dove back into his bag. After further rifling he pulled something out triumphantly - a small, leatherbound journal. He wagged it in the air, seemingly to catch Miles' attention, before tossing it gracelessly into the man's lap. He then sat back to watch, for this clearly amused him to no end.
Miles: "It was white in the book. Red hair, white dress. You're the literature professor; don't you read?" The jibe was kept at a low grumble, not because Miles was any less angry, but because Regina was clearly looking freaked out and the brotherly/Glinda instincts were starting to supersede the urge to strangle the Professor. "Tale as in story, Regina. As in 'fairy tale.' We're reincarnated fairy tales." Pause. Yeah, that didn't sound crazy at all. "It's a really long story and you'll never believe me if I just tell you, because I didn't believe Patricia - my Librarian, I'll explain what that means in a moment - when she came to tell me."
He knew he was pushing too much information at once. Miles ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, and glanced over to the man still lounging on the sofa. "That's her Compendium?" He waited a second, then added, in a voice too restrained and nicey-nice to be genuine, "Then I don't think there's anything else for you to do, then? You can go, you know. I'd hate to keep you."
But he wasn't going to waste time on shoo'ing Anser out, which was probably exactly what Jacob had been intending; you can't just drop news like "hi, fairy tales" on someone and then stop explaining, not even for the short time it would take to toss an unwanted guest through the exit and slam the door behind him. If Anser didn't show himself out, Miles wasn't going to force him. Yet. "Okay. Uh, have you been having any dreams lately? Weird ones, like you're someone else, and it feels incredibly real? Or sudden flashes of memory that you know aren't yours?"
Crap. Miles didn't know what he was going to do if Regina hadn't been having any dreams. He hesitated for a second, then rushed on. "That's the Tale - your story. And at some point you start to realize who you are, so a Librarian - Librarians are the people in charge of the different groups of stories, called 'Tale-groups' - comes by to answer questions." A pause. "Well. Usually your Librarian would do it, but you're from Ricky of the Tuft, which is European, so you have Anser. Most of the time he's completely useless for anything besides sarcasm and put-downs, so now that I know you're a Tale, I'll answer your questions."
Regina: "We're rein-what?" Regina just double blinks at her brother and looks at Anser. "Is your crazy contagious?" she asks. Because if that's the case, she will go and whip out the Febreeze STAT. Nothing about today was making any sense, and Regina was starting to wonder if someone put LSD in the water. Still, she did her best to follow along.
"Yeah, I've been having weird dreams I guess, but it's not a big deal. I mean... they're dreams. Dreams are always weird." At least hers are. Still, she thinks back for a few moments, trying to pinpoint something that might have seemed extra strange or out of the ordinary. "Like... I had this one where I was being followed around by this really gnarly looking guy with bad hair and some serious skin issues. And you're saying that's from a fairy tale?"
She wrinkled her nose up at the mention of Ricky of the Tuft. "I've never even heard of that. Can't I be Cinder- no, she has to do floors. Can't I be Sleeping Beauty or someone instead? And what do reincarnated fairy tales do anyway? And if my librarian guy's such a bum, can I just transfer over to yours?" Apparently, Regina did have a lot of questions, though after a moment, she realizes that she missed a very, very important one.
"What's this talk about you and a dress? Is your tale a girl?" In spite of all the weirdness that was just dropped on her lap, it's clear that Regina will still be able to take time out of her schedule of freaking out to make fun of her brother for being a reincarnated chick.
Anser: Should Regina glance to him at any point during Miles' explanation, Anser would help out by bringing a finger to his temple and twirling it around in a conspiratorial 'yes, your brother has gone crazy' gesture. At the question about switching to Miles' Librarian, Anser actually threw his head back for a sharp, derisive laugh. "Oh Barbie, if you think I'm bad..." He teased, though he didn't bother to finish the sentence. He'd let Miles fill her in on Patricia at his leisure.
At Miles' urgings to be rid of him, Anser shrugged his shoulders and pulled himself heavily to his feet. "You're absolutely right, Brennan - this is in your hands now. I'm sure it gets pretty boring from here on out, anyways. Just whack her with the Compendium, that usually goes a long way to convincing. Alternatively, I'm sure you could conjure up a munchkin to explain it in nasal song and dance, or some other bit of hocus pocus." He went about retrieving his coat, umbrella and case, and readying himself to leave. "Don't forget to tell her about dues. Dues are my favorite part."
With his coat on and his umbrella tucked under one arm, he looked at the two Brennans and drew in a deep, satisfied breath through his nose. "Oh, look at me. Bringing families closer together." He said with sardonic self-satisfaction, "Just gives me a case of the warm fuzzies, it does. Well, you kids play nice. Welcome to the fold, Rajayjay. Glinda... Always a pleasure." He doffed an imaginary hat and, with an all-but-encouraging thumbs up to Miles, showed himself out of Regina's apartment, humming with satisfaction at a job well done.
Miles: "Unfortunately, we can't change stories. You're stuck as a Princess, and I'm Glinda." There. Confirmed: Miles's Tale was a girl. He did a remarkable job of not looking embarrassed - his expression, at least, remained earnest and sympathetic as he looked at his sister. He'd tucked his hands into his pockets, though, and for Miles, fidgeting had always been a sign of stress. "From Oz; that's why he called me a Modern. Moderns are the more recent stories to be reincarnated - it's our first time. You've probably been through a few already."
At the mention of the Compendium, Miles bobbed his head a few times, but didn't look over at the Librarian. "I can show you the Compendium if you want. That's what did it for me; it's a magical journal that... well, okay. It's like having an RSS feed of every blog for every Tale alive today. If they write in there, you see it - unless they private the entry, which I will definitely teach you how to do. And while I can't conjure a munchkin," Miles turned a glare in Anser's direction for a second, then continued on, "I could do a quick scrying or something. We could look in on the lobby."
"Mother Goose." Miles said in response to Anser's goodbye, and actually managed a semi-cordial nod. Now. He wasn't smiling and this tone wasn't exactly friendly, but at least he'd gotten over the urge to swear. "The doorman downstairs can call you a cab."
Regina: Regina has a seat on the arm of the couch while she tries to absorb all the information she's just been given. She gives Miles 'For serious?' face when he mentions fairy tale RSS feeds and is about to ask when the fact that this Anser guy is leaving finally registers. Not only that, but apparently he is Mother Goose? "He's Mother Goose?" she asks just around the time Anser's showing himself out. She turns and calls after him, "Hey, get stuffed, old man!" because hi: he was rude and now her apartment smelled like wet professor.
Still, she's able to focus, at least a little. "Okay, so... I'm some kinda reincarnated princess, and I have a magic book that lets me read what other reincarnated people are doing. Oh, and also my brother is a witch and can do spells? With munchkins?" She looks down at the floor and sighs as she works to try and process things. Eventually, she looks up at Miles and she actually looks hurt. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asks. "I mean, it sounds like you've had all this time to come to terms with it and now I"m just getting it all dumped on my lap for the first time. Do mom and dad know?"
Miles: A flicker of guilt crossed Miles's face as Regina asked him why he hadn't told her; it was honestly a regret of his, and had been ever since Patricia had come to see him almost six years earlier. He dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd propped himself against a wall after Anser left, and he crossed his arms tight across his chest. "It was against the rules. I'm sorry." He glanced up at that, attempting to meet Regina's eyes. "I didn't like keeping it from you. But there are strict rules against telling non-Tales about the community, reincarnation, magic... still. I might have done it anyway if I thought you'd believe me. But without permission to do any magic where you could see it, or anyone to back me up, I knew you wouldn't. So it wouldn't have mattered - you'd have thought I was crazy. Especially when I told you I was Glinda. Transsexual and crazy, instead of a reincarnated Oz character. But I promise: I don't have any other secrets, so if you need or want to ask me anything? Anything. I can give you an answer. Just ask."
The wall wasn't working. Miles straightened up and paced over to take a seat on the couch a cushion down from Regina. "Mom and Dad don't know either. And we can't tell them, which sucks, but think: I mean, this doesn't change who we are to them. We're still the same people we've always been."
Regina: The blonde sighed but she did understand where Miles was coming from with the not-telling-anyone. Still, it would have been nice to get a little heads up. She got up from the arm of the couch and picked up the book the Professor had left for her, then sat down next to Miles on the couch. "So what's this again? Compenawhatsit?" She eyed it for a moment like it was some sort of venomous snake - or perhaps a cheap purse from PayLess. With a sigh, she opened it and flipped through a couple of pages. "It's blank," she said rather redundantly: the parchment like pages inside were completely empty from beginning to end. Of course, as she was just about to close the book, she spotted something on the first page: it looked like the book was writing in itself.
"Okay, so that's pretty cool," she admitted. "And so... what, I write in this and everyone who has another book can see it?" She's not too sure about that, but still, it could be neat.
Miles: "Compendium. Mine's upstairs - when I head back up, I'll write something to you and set it private so that you can see how it works. You can set things private too - to a group of people or against, but you have to tell the book who you want to include or it won't work. It's... okay, I'll warn you, it's a lot like the Internet. There are great people on there, but there are a lot of jerks, too. People who'll lie to you and provoke you just to see you react, because they're sad, sad little people with nothing better to do. I can think of at least two guys who'll hit on you, because they hit on anyone female, and Sebastian - the Wicked Witch of the West - will come after you because you're my sister. And, I'm sorry to say, your name will show up. Full name, first and last. But not your Tale, so if you don't want anyone to know, you don't have to tell them."
Yeah, so it was a little scary, and yeah, maybe Miles shouldn't have given the 'full of psychos' warning while Regina was still getting used to the idea of Tales and magic. But. He couldn't really help himself; he didn't want her to get swarmed by the crazies while he was out at Williams Sonoma buying the birthday girl a gift. "But, you know, Quentin's a good guy. Richie's a good guy. C.J. Emerson's sweet. David and Isaac won't mean you any harm. You've seen them - they're the ones I have over for poker? And Noah Connell, who stays in the Vegas hotels sometimes."
(Aaaaand fade out. End log.)
What: Anser stops by to tell Regina that she's a Tale. Miles is there. It is v. awkward.
When: February 16. Afternoon/evening.
Where: Regina's apartment.
Rating: PG-13/R for excessive Brennan swearing. And also hilarity.
Miles: Though Miles tried really, really hard to give his little sister her space, the urge to find his way downstairs and poke into Regina's business was sometimes just too much to bear. The fact that Daddy Brennan called his son once a week to "check in" didn't help, of course - Miles found that it was better to brave Regina's irritation than H. Martin's. "I don't know what she's up to, I haven't been down to see her lately" was not the kind of statement that Miles liked to utter during the 'father/son chats.'
At least Miles managed to play it casual; he'd gotten pretty good at crafting excuses. For example, tonight: it was the birthday of one of their mother's friends' daughters, there was to be a big party, and Miles needed gift advice. He wasn't about to pressure Regina to come - these things were dead boring, and if Miles could've politely excused himself, he would have - but he did want to know what one bought for a 20-year-old nutrition major that one barely knew.
"I honestly have no idea what to buy, and the clock is ticking. The party's at eight." Miles had passed exasperation hours ago, and had settled into a state of quiet resignation. "I suppose it would be tacky to stop by Williams-Sonoma on the way? They had a nice Le Creuset Round Dutch Oven."
Regina: When Miles stopped by for his gift advice, Regina was in the middle of some very important homework. Well, less homework and more 'research.' And by 'research' we mean she was lounging on the couch in pink flannel jammies and fuzzy bunny slippers flipping through the latest issue of Vogue Paris. She had a plastic cup sitting on the nearby table with, of all things, a swirly straw in it. One could assume that the light orange beverage contained therein was less 'orange juice' and more 'screwdriver,' judging by the bottles on the back of the counter in the apartment's small kitchen.
"Tacky would be a gift card," Regina said without even glancing up. "The Crescent oven thing sounds good, I think." She was only half-listening really, her tone somewhat distant. Of course, then she looked up at her brother with rapt attention. "Wait, whose party are you going to? Is it Louise or Tricia?" To clarify, she added, "One has a really bad perm and the other one has one of those little purse dogs." A beat. "Or maybe it was the dog that had the bad perm..."
Regina's train of thought was quite swiftly derailed, however, by someone buzzing her doorbell. She looked over in mixed confusion and suspicion and then got off the couch and made her way over. One hand slipped into a pocket on the fuzzy bathrobe she had on over her PJs to dig out her Blackberry and see if maybe someone was texting her about plans she forgot about. "Did I order food?" she asked her brother. It had happened before: Reggie got hungry and ordered takeout and then forgot while waiting for it and wound up ordering again from somewhere else. At the door, she peered through the peephole and made an almost comical face. She turned and called over her shoulder, "Did you order an Encyclopedia or something?" Because 'Encyclopedia Salesman' was really the first thing that came to mind when she spotted the man who was on the other side of her door. Nevertheless, Regina undid the chain and pulled it open, though only a bit.
"Yes?"
Anser: Encyclopedia Salesman indeed. Upon opening the door Regina will find herself face to face with one Jacob Anser, soaking wet. Apparently the temperature has dropped enough for the snow to merge into a wet sleet, which Anser's small black umbrella seems to have offered little protection against. His worn brown overcoat is practically soaked through, and if he looks grumpy under normal circumstances, he appears fit to kill at present.
When presented with the bundle of blonde fluff that is Regina, Anser reacts instinctively - he shoves the wet leather attache case that was in one hand into her arms, using the force of the gesture to all but steamroll through her and push his way into the room. He proceeded to drip all over the floor, as well as giving his umbrella a good shake as he collapsed it, which further served to wet everything in his general vicinity.
"Miles." The strange man said flatly, in Miles' general direction. There was certainly nary a hint of warmth in the acknowledgment, but there certainly was a familiarity. Regina, for his part, was completely ignored, other than the fact that the moment she managed to rid herself of his attache case she found the wet umbrella shoved into her hands, and once that was gone, his entire overcoat tossed upon her as though she were a coatrack.
Miles: "Bad perm." Miles replied. "Tricia, I think. I'd remember a purse dog, and..." And the doorbell was ringing. Miles stopped and stared at the entrance for a few seconds, before it occurred to him that he probably should head over and open the door. Regina had already gotten there, though, so he took a few steps forward and stopped. "Encyclopedias? No. People don't actually sell those door-to-door anymore - I mean, even Britannica's online now."
And then Anser was pushing his way in, dripping on the carpet and looking every bit as grumpy as the last time Miles had seen him in passing in the Pentamerone hallway. Miles was stunned. His mind immediately began racing through scenarios that could've brought the European Librarian to a Brennan doorstep, and none of them were good. "Ah, Professor Anser. My apartment is upstairs, if you're..." Miles managed to spit out, before he went back to gaping. The fact that Anser might be in Regina's apartment to see Regina never even occurred to him; after all, she wasn't a Tale, and she wasn't one of his students. Right? It did occur to him, however, that Anser was busy treating his little sister as something between a hotel bellhop and a wooden coatrack. "Oh, I'm sorry. Professor Jacob Anser, my sister Regina. Regina, this is Anser." There. At least now Anser would be reminded that Regina was a person, not an inanimate object.
Regina: It was a testament to Jacob Anser's steamrolling skills that he got into the apartment because Regina really wasn't one to be pushed around. Generally, she liked to do the pushing. Instead, she was suddenly holding an armload of wet things that were cold and getting her robe wet. And just when she managed to balance the attaché case and the umbrella, she found herself with a wet coat draped over her arms as well as her head. She stood there for several moments blinking from under the shadow of the draped coat, looking like a very wet, very drab ghost.
And then things started flying. With a thump, the case and umbrella fell to the floor and after some annoyed fumbling, the coat went flying away too, landing against the door with a wet plop and sliding its way down, leaving a streak of water. "Who- What- How- Why-" she started to stammer. Her eyes were wide and she managed to sputter an indignant, "GET OUT BEFORE I CALL-" and then Miles was talking to the guy. And it's enough to get Regina to just stare with one hand up and locked in the finger-pointing 'Bad dog, don't go on the carpet' pose.
And then, of course, there were introductions. But no worries: Regina was sure to be polite and give the sort of first impression her parents would be proud of.
"A professor? That's funny, I didn't think you could get a degree in 'dickwad.'"
Anser: Jacob Anser is nothing if not a master steamroller, much like he has pretty much perfected the aloof, disdainful air that he currently donned. While Regina fumbled with his possessions and sputtered her indignation, he continued to outright ignore her, busily brushing traces of water off of his sleeves and blazer. Miles' effort to hurry him upstairs is met with a dismissive flutter of his hand, and a distasteful expression that seemed to suggest that Miles wasn't actually expected to talk any further.
Finally, when Miles made the introduction and Regina her subsequent insult, Anser turned the full weight of his gaze on her like a ton of bricks; that critical, disapproving look of an exasperated professor that had been cultivated to silence the most uppity of students. She received a slow up-and-down look that only garnered further disapproval, though there was the faintest twitch of Anser's lip at the little zinger she threw his way.
"Regina, is it?" He asked tersely, "Hrm. What an unfortunate rhyme scheme. Tell me, Regina: were you aware that your brother has spent years keeping a deep, dark secret from you?" Again his lips twitched in personal amusement at the anxiety he was clearly endeavoring to stir in Miles, "Indeed, your brother isn't at all what he seems. As a matter of fact," here Anser swung around with all the pomp and melodrama he was capable of, casting an accusatory finger at Miles and announcing with all the fire and brimstone of a Puritan preacher, "HE'S A WITCH."
Miles: Okay. What. The Hell. The dismissive hand flutter inspired an immediate arching-of-brows in reply, as Miles's expression went from flabbergasted to absolutely indignant in 0.2 seconds. "Can I just remind you that you're in Regina's apartment?" He started, preparing to quickly segue into a furious tirade. "And that you're a guest, which means..." Wait, secret? The reaction on Miles's end probably wasn't what Anser was hoping to incite; no hint of worry, no nervous wringing of hands. He might have been feeling it, but he grew up in casinos. He had a damn good poker face, and there was no way that Miles was going to give the other guy the satisfaction of seeing him twitch, even if something completely, unexpectedly bizarre was happening. Instead? He folded his arms over his chest and put on a face he'd borrowed from his father; it was stern, skeptical, and clearly said 'you're wasting my time.' It stayed put all through the ranting and raving, the accusatory finger-pointing, and then? When Jacob had reached the climax of his dramatic performance and declared Miles a witch in a scene fit for The Crucible? Miles tilted his head to the side.
"You are out of your fucking MIND."
And people said Moderns were psychotic drama-queens. Miles rolled his eyes. "Are you actually here for a reason, or did you pay subway fare solely to drip on my sister's carpet and act out your Broadway ambitions?" No, he wasn't going to deny it. He'd just question Anser's sanity instead; what could the European Librarian hope to gain from all of this?
Regina: Blink. Blink. Regina's poker face was pretty much on par with her brother's, though that wasn't really hard: after all, she wasn't just acting unimpressed, she was unimpressed. The initial part where this guy was saying that Miles kept some kind of deep dark secret form her? Yeah, sure, that got her attention. But as for the nature of said secret? Regina's look was clearly one of 'Yeah, whatever.'
Still, the thing that did shock her was Miles actually using profanity! That never happened. Well, almost never. She gave him a surprised look and couldn't help but say, "Miles!" in a very good impersonation of their mother. She said, "Look, clearly your Professor friend just got some bad crystal meth." With that, she turned her attention back on the old man and got rather indignant.
"Um, for your information?" she said, folding her arms and adding a bit of neckwork for emphasis, "We're Presbyterian." As though that should settle the matter quite nicely. That said, she reached over and opened the door to the apartment, then resumed her arms-folded stance. "I think you can show yourself out?"
Anser: Anser let his finger hover in the air dramatically for a moment, but when his little show elicited nothing more than Miles' poker face, he let it drop with an expression of flat disappointment. "Oh, you Moderns are supposed to be more fun than that." He moaned with sarcastic petulance, giving Miles a disappointed shake of the head. "Although for the record, if I had inducted you, I probably would have used that line."
He seemed to have gone back to outright ignoring Regina, and kept his back to her throughout her little spiel. Once she had opened the door, however, he turned to face her, and even leaned down to place his hands on his knees in the way people do when speaking to small children. "Hey Rajayjay, can you give us a moment? The grownups have to have a little grownup talk now. Why don't you go find a coloring book or something, mmkay?" He layed it on extra thick too, even cocking his head to the side and scrunching up his nose at the 'mmkay'.
With that he turned back to Miles, and the apartment proper, which he sauntered right into. When he passed Miles he snapped his fingers a few times, as if to make him heel, and proceeded into the living room area to drop himself comfortably (and wetly) onto the sofa. "Now Miles, you know that I have as little to do with your kind as possible, but I'm here for another reason tonight. See, you might have gotten the short end of the stick in the reincarnation lottery, but Little Princess Pinky Poo back there?" A thumb was jerked in Regina's general direction, and he continued to speak as though she were absent whether she were right beside him or not. "Well, the lucky girl is all European, homeboy." He even pumped a fist, as if to celebrate this little victory - though whether it was for him or for Regina seemed vague.
Miles: For a moment, when Regina said his name, Miles looked mildly chastised. It was only for a second, though, and then the full weight of his unamused, irritated glare had settled back upon Anser. He would’ve contented himself with glaring, too, if the European Librarian hadn’t pulled the condescending adult act.
“Okay. She’s not four, you don’t have to be an asshole.” In terms of stature, Miles was not an imposing man. He approached six feet in height, but had missed the mark by an inch or two, and his wiry frame wasn’t exactly the stuff of wrestling legend. He was stronger than he looked, but any muscle was hidden beneath shirt-sleeves.
“Out. Now.” And Miles moved towards Anser, with every intention of throwing him out. Bodily, if need be. It did him no good; Anser strolled past as if he owned the place, and Miles realized that he really would have to pick up the Librarian up if he wanted to remove him. Miles rolled his eyes up at the sky - or rather, the ceiling - and then turned to follow Jacob into the living room. Was he going to haul him out by the collar? Only time would tell.
“I’m not joking, Anser. I will call the police. OUT.” He began to unbutton his shirt cuffs. Hey. It was a very expensive shirt. He didn’t want to lose buttons in the inevitable scuffle.
A scuffle which, luckily (for Regina’s furniture), did not occur. “…wait, what? She’s European?” Now Miles was angry and stunned. It was like he only had two emotional switches, and he just kept trying new combinations. He put a hand to his temple, took a few breaths, and added, “Why the hell are you telling me? Isn’t that news for HER?”
Regina: Oddly enough, Regina didn't seem quite as annoyed by Anser's 'treat her like a toddler' schtick as her brother was. Mostly, she was too busy being confused. Modern? Miles? Clearly this guy had never seen the man's CD collection, because it's hardly what Regina would call modern. And what exactly was 'Your kind' anyway? Did this guy have a problem with Republicans or something? Still, for all the confusion that was going on, there were seriously more important issues going on right now. Like, for example:
"Okay, that is a six thousand dollar couch," Regina said, shaking an 'uh-uh-uh' finger at Anser and his couch antics. Miles may have been hesitant to get physical with the guy, but that couch survived a two thousand mile trip in the back of a moving van and a harrowing trek up the apartment elevators exceeding maximum weight capacity and it did not go through all that just to be ruined by some crazy bum. So Regina grabbed a nearby throw pillow and whacked Jacob Anser in the back of the head with it.
Then, of course, things got confusing. Having the Crazy Man say things that she didn't understand was pretty much par for the course, so Regina wasn't too worried when the dude called her European: whatever, it was the drugs. But then Miles started doing it too which was enough to make her go, "Huh?" She looked at Anser and said, "What the fuck are y-" before she stopped herself. Yeah, because getting answers from this guy has worked so well so far. Instead, she turned her attention to her brother. "What the fuck is he talking about? And what are you talking about?" She stepped over to her brother and placed her hands on his shoulders so that she could look him square in the eye and very carefully explain something to him, using the same Very Clear Tone and Very Slow Tempo that had been used on her countless times by their parents, tutors and mailmen throughout the years.
"We're from Nevada, Miles. Not Europe."
Anser: Anser, unsurprisingly, was doing an admirable job of completely disregarding both Miles' threats and Regina's objections. He entertained himself by perusing the contents of the coffee table, at one point plucking up the plastic cup of 'orange juice' and sniffing it skeptically. However, he didn't seem to mind what he found, and subsequently plucked out the swirly straw, flicked it aside, and lifted the cup to his own lips. Of course, before he could take a sip he felt the admonishing fwump of a pillow against the back of his head, and with a grimace, put the cup back down.
At Miles' question he lifted his hands and brought them down on his knees decisively, "Well," he began with a sort of faux pleasantness, "As you can imagine, I do a lot of this. It gets tiresome. And while I can't say I approve of one of mine being related to one of you, it does provide me with the convenience of a pinch hitter, so to speak." As if on cue Regina gave up on throwing questions at him, which were ignored, and shifted her attention to Miles - to which Anser responded with a theatrical there you go! gesture. He sat back and seemed completely content to let Miles do the explaining, busying himself with pulling his discarded attache case to himself and unbuckling the clasps.
Miles: Wait, what? First more insults about being a Modern, and then suddenly Miles is supposed to do the introduction? “Oh, fuck you, Anser. If you think I’m doing your job for you, you’re sadly mistaken.” Miles managed to keep his volume down, but there was nothing calm or restrained about his voice. He was all set to go on, to give Anser a piece of his mind, but Regina had come over and taken his shoulders and used her best “speak slowly and maybe he’ll understand” voice. This was why he’d do Anser’s job for him - because he was fucking Glinda and Regina was his sister and as much as he’d love to refuse and spite Anser? He couldn’t do that to her.
Miles took a deep breath, exhaled, and looked away for a moment. He needed the seconds to compose himself, to find an answer that wouldn’t sound completely crazy. “Yes, we’re from Nevada. That’s not what he means.” He’d managed to calm down a little, but at this point, the muscles in his jaw tightened back up and he glanced over his sister’s shoulder at the literature professor lounging on the sofa. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. I don’t even know which Tale she is, for God’s sake.”
Regina: The petite blonde looked from Miles to Anser a few times and her annoyed look from earlier faded somewhat and was replaced by one of concern. She took a step away from the couch and closer to Miles, possibly afraid of whatever Anser had in that attaché case. "Okay, look," she said, doing her best to sound annoyed and assertive at the same time. "I don't know what either of you are talking about. And if you," she smacked the back of the couch with the pillow for emphasis, "Don't start explaining yourself or being nicer, then I'm going to buzz down to the doorman and have you removed. And the doorman? Is freaking big. And I bring him coffee in the mornings sometimes and ask him about his wife and kid, so he really likes me, and will have no problem throwing you out on your wrinkled butt, okay?"
Of course, the tough talk didn't really work because she looked up at Miles and her face was very concerned and even a little afraid. "Miles," she said quietly and through her teeth, "What are you talking about? How do you even know this guy? And what do you mean you don't know which tail I am? I don't have a tail." Granted, she has been called a nice piece of tail, but she's not exactly comfortable hearing that from her brother of all people.
Anser: At Miles' capitulation, Anser flashed a smug smile and said, "I knew they didn't give you the fluffy pink dress for nothing, you old softy." At which point he found himself chastised by Regina, who received a wholeheartedly sarcastic look of repentance and a scout's honour of good behavior. He immediately dug back into his attache case, pausing to answer Miles' question offhandedly. "The 'Beautiful' Princess." He explained, putting heavy air quotes around the B word. "From Ricky on the Tuft. Quite the looker, but dumb as a post." He moved to return to rifling through his attache case, but paused, and added to Regina, "And he's Glinda. Trust me, you'll thank me for that tidbit when all this sinks in."
He made an encouraging - if patronizing - gesture for Miles to continue, and dove back into his bag. After further rifling he pulled something out triumphantly - a small, leatherbound journal. He wagged it in the air, seemingly to catch Miles' attention, before tossing it gracelessly into the man's lap. He then sat back to watch, for this clearly amused him to no end.
Miles: "It was white in the book. Red hair, white dress. You're the literature professor; don't you read?" The jibe was kept at a low grumble, not because Miles was any less angry, but because Regina was clearly looking freaked out and the brotherly/Glinda instincts were starting to supersede the urge to strangle the Professor. "Tale as in story, Regina. As in 'fairy tale.' We're reincarnated fairy tales." Pause. Yeah, that didn't sound crazy at all. "It's a really long story and you'll never believe me if I just tell you, because I didn't believe Patricia - my Librarian, I'll explain what that means in a moment - when she came to tell me."
He knew he was pushing too much information at once. Miles ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, and glanced over to the man still lounging on the sofa. "That's her Compendium?" He waited a second, then added, in a voice too restrained and nicey-nice to be genuine, "Then I don't think there's anything else for you to do, then? You can go, you know. I'd hate to keep you."
But he wasn't going to waste time on shoo'ing Anser out, which was probably exactly what Jacob had been intending; you can't just drop news like "hi, fairy tales" on someone and then stop explaining, not even for the short time it would take to toss an unwanted guest through the exit and slam the door behind him. If Anser didn't show himself out, Miles wasn't going to force him. Yet. "Okay. Uh, have you been having any dreams lately? Weird ones, like you're someone else, and it feels incredibly real? Or sudden flashes of memory that you know aren't yours?"
Crap. Miles didn't know what he was going to do if Regina hadn't been having any dreams. He hesitated for a second, then rushed on. "That's the Tale - your story. And at some point you start to realize who you are, so a Librarian - Librarians are the people in charge of the different groups of stories, called 'Tale-groups' - comes by to answer questions." A pause. "Well. Usually your Librarian would do it, but you're from Ricky of the Tuft, which is European, so you have Anser. Most of the time he's completely useless for anything besides sarcasm and put-downs, so now that I know you're a Tale, I'll answer your questions."
Regina: "We're rein-what?" Regina just double blinks at her brother and looks at Anser. "Is your crazy contagious?" she asks. Because if that's the case, she will go and whip out the Febreeze STAT. Nothing about today was making any sense, and Regina was starting to wonder if someone put LSD in the water. Still, she did her best to follow along.
"Yeah, I've been having weird dreams I guess, but it's not a big deal. I mean... they're dreams. Dreams are always weird." At least hers are. Still, she thinks back for a few moments, trying to pinpoint something that might have seemed extra strange or out of the ordinary. "Like... I had this one where I was being followed around by this really gnarly looking guy with bad hair and some serious skin issues. And you're saying that's from a fairy tale?"
She wrinkled her nose up at the mention of Ricky of the Tuft. "I've never even heard of that. Can't I be Cinder- no, she has to do floors. Can't I be Sleeping Beauty or someone instead? And what do reincarnated fairy tales do anyway? And if my librarian guy's such a bum, can I just transfer over to yours?" Apparently, Regina did have a lot of questions, though after a moment, she realizes that she missed a very, very important one.
"What's this talk about you and a dress? Is your tale a girl?" In spite of all the weirdness that was just dropped on her lap, it's clear that Regina will still be able to take time out of her schedule of freaking out to make fun of her brother for being a reincarnated chick.
Anser: Should Regina glance to him at any point during Miles' explanation, Anser would help out by bringing a finger to his temple and twirling it around in a conspiratorial 'yes, your brother has gone crazy' gesture. At the question about switching to Miles' Librarian, Anser actually threw his head back for a sharp, derisive laugh. "Oh Barbie, if you think I'm bad..." He teased, though he didn't bother to finish the sentence. He'd let Miles fill her in on Patricia at his leisure.
At Miles' urgings to be rid of him, Anser shrugged his shoulders and pulled himself heavily to his feet. "You're absolutely right, Brennan - this is in your hands now. I'm sure it gets pretty boring from here on out, anyways. Just whack her with the Compendium, that usually goes a long way to convincing. Alternatively, I'm sure you could conjure up a munchkin to explain it in nasal song and dance, or some other bit of hocus pocus." He went about retrieving his coat, umbrella and case, and readying himself to leave. "Don't forget to tell her about dues. Dues are my favorite part."
With his coat on and his umbrella tucked under one arm, he looked at the two Brennans and drew in a deep, satisfied breath through his nose. "Oh, look at me. Bringing families closer together." He said with sardonic self-satisfaction, "Just gives me a case of the warm fuzzies, it does. Well, you kids play nice. Welcome to the fold, Rajayjay. Glinda... Always a pleasure." He doffed an imaginary hat and, with an all-but-encouraging thumbs up to Miles, showed himself out of Regina's apartment, humming with satisfaction at a job well done.
Miles: "Unfortunately, we can't change stories. You're stuck as a Princess, and I'm Glinda." There. Confirmed: Miles's Tale was a girl. He did a remarkable job of not looking embarrassed - his expression, at least, remained earnest and sympathetic as he looked at his sister. He'd tucked his hands into his pockets, though, and for Miles, fidgeting had always been a sign of stress. "From Oz; that's why he called me a Modern. Moderns are the more recent stories to be reincarnated - it's our first time. You've probably been through a few already."
At the mention of the Compendium, Miles bobbed his head a few times, but didn't look over at the Librarian. "I can show you the Compendium if you want. That's what did it for me; it's a magical journal that... well, okay. It's like having an RSS feed of every blog for every Tale alive today. If they write in there, you see it - unless they private the entry, which I will definitely teach you how to do. And while I can't conjure a munchkin," Miles turned a glare in Anser's direction for a second, then continued on, "I could do a quick scrying or something. We could look in on the lobby."
"Mother Goose." Miles said in response to Anser's goodbye, and actually managed a semi-cordial nod. Now. He wasn't smiling and this tone wasn't exactly friendly, but at least he'd gotten over the urge to swear. "The doorman downstairs can call you a cab."
Regina: Regina has a seat on the arm of the couch while she tries to absorb all the information she's just been given. She gives Miles 'For serious?' face when he mentions fairy tale RSS feeds and is about to ask when the fact that this Anser guy is leaving finally registers. Not only that, but apparently he is Mother Goose? "He's Mother Goose?" she asks just around the time Anser's showing himself out. She turns and calls after him, "Hey, get stuffed, old man!" because hi: he was rude and now her apartment smelled like wet professor.
Still, she's able to focus, at least a little. "Okay, so... I'm some kinda reincarnated princess, and I have a magic book that lets me read what other reincarnated people are doing. Oh, and also my brother is a witch and can do spells? With munchkins?" She looks down at the floor and sighs as she works to try and process things. Eventually, she looks up at Miles and she actually looks hurt. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" she asks. "I mean, it sounds like you've had all this time to come to terms with it and now I"m just getting it all dumped on my lap for the first time. Do mom and dad know?"
Miles: A flicker of guilt crossed Miles's face as Regina asked him why he hadn't told her; it was honestly a regret of his, and had been ever since Patricia had come to see him almost six years earlier. He dropped his gaze to the floor. He'd propped himself against a wall after Anser left, and he crossed his arms tight across his chest. "It was against the rules. I'm sorry." He glanced up at that, attempting to meet Regina's eyes. "I didn't like keeping it from you. But there are strict rules against telling non-Tales about the community, reincarnation, magic... still. I might have done it anyway if I thought you'd believe me. But without permission to do any magic where you could see it, or anyone to back me up, I knew you wouldn't. So it wouldn't have mattered - you'd have thought I was crazy. Especially when I told you I was Glinda. Transsexual and crazy, instead of a reincarnated Oz character. But I promise: I don't have any other secrets, so if you need or want to ask me anything? Anything. I can give you an answer. Just ask."
The wall wasn't working. Miles straightened up and paced over to take a seat on the couch a cushion down from Regina. "Mom and Dad don't know either. And we can't tell them, which sucks, but think: I mean, this doesn't change who we are to them. We're still the same people we've always been."
Regina: The blonde sighed but she did understand where Miles was coming from with the not-telling-anyone. Still, it would have been nice to get a little heads up. She got up from the arm of the couch and picked up the book the Professor had left for her, then sat down next to Miles on the couch. "So what's this again? Compenawhatsit?" She eyed it for a moment like it was some sort of venomous snake - or perhaps a cheap purse from PayLess. With a sigh, she opened it and flipped through a couple of pages. "It's blank," she said rather redundantly: the parchment like pages inside were completely empty from beginning to end. Of course, as she was just about to close the book, she spotted something on the first page: it looked like the book was writing in itself.
"Okay, so that's pretty cool," she admitted. "And so... what, I write in this and everyone who has another book can see it?" She's not too sure about that, but still, it could be neat.
Miles: "Compendium. Mine's upstairs - when I head back up, I'll write something to you and set it private so that you can see how it works. You can set things private too - to a group of people or against, but you have to tell the book who you want to include or it won't work. It's... okay, I'll warn you, it's a lot like the Internet. There are great people on there, but there are a lot of jerks, too. People who'll lie to you and provoke you just to see you react, because they're sad, sad little people with nothing better to do. I can think of at least two guys who'll hit on you, because they hit on anyone female, and Sebastian - the Wicked Witch of the West - will come after you because you're my sister. And, I'm sorry to say, your name will show up. Full name, first and last. But not your Tale, so if you don't want anyone to know, you don't have to tell them."
Yeah, so it was a little scary, and yeah, maybe Miles shouldn't have given the 'full of psychos' warning while Regina was still getting used to the idea of Tales and magic. But. He couldn't really help himself; he didn't want her to get swarmed by the crazies while he was out at Williams Sonoma buying the birthday girl a gift. "But, you know, Quentin's a good guy. Richie's a good guy. C.J. Emerson's sweet. David and Isaac won't mean you any harm. You've seen them - they're the ones I have over for poker? And Noah Connell, who stays in the Vegas hotels sometimes."
(Aaaaand fade out. End log.)