Psyche answered with a similar species of smile. "No, I suppose it doesn't. Sorry about that." She put her chin in her hand. "I'm not even sure that my perspective isn't just a little skewed, you know, by wanting to believe the best of people. By believing in their complexity before I believe in their evil. And I can't...read minds, you know. Just...see souls. Which encompass more than...might be consciously or unconsciously present at any given moment. They're sort of...outside of time...oh, now I'm just talking shop about things I can't articulate at all."
"And I can't tell you what to do. I just think...you can stake your life, you know. You can even stake your heart...no, no, I'm not saying that's something you're doing at the moment...but." Psyche rubbed her face, exasperated at her own lack of eloquence. "Look. You don't need to be ashamed of things that you can't control. No matter what anyone else says or thinks. You shouldn't be ashamed or afraid of being whatever you are. Because if you are...then you might try to betray yourself. And that would be shameful."
She paused, then reached for the wine bottle. "I think I've either had too much to drink, or far, far too little."
"I don't think I've had enough," Susan said, setting down her half-empty glass. "But I ... I think I see what you mean. I've been ... yes, ashamed. Afraid. In my bleaker moments, disgusted at what I wanted. So it was much easier to pretend I was gaming the system, as it were." She shook her head. "Seeing it clearly doesn't make me any happier ... but it does make me feel a little more internally consistent."
"I like your perspective, I have to admit," she added. "It's not that I believe the worst of people, in general; I just ... don't really have very high expectations. Of course, I also tend to believe that I can actually do something to improve things despite said expectations ... and there's the optimism talking again."
"Silly optimism. Making us believe in things." Psyche made a rueful face, topping up Susan's glass and then her own. "I am exactly the wrong person to be talking to if you want to be dissuaded from taking mad chances, you know. Almost all the mistakes I've ever made were made out of fear. It's the mad things that actually worked. So...take all of this under advisement."
She held a sip of wine in her mouth for a moment, till the cold of it and the fumes made her tongue slightly numb, and then swallowed. "I think...that internal consistency you're talking about is the most important thing for you, right now. Your instincts are good, and you should never ignore them...because then you become more reckless than you should be, out of sheer contrariness. Which is something other people can, and will, take advantage of. And then next thing you know, you're standing there with a knife and an oil lamp, about to ruin your life because your sisters played on your doubts." She smiled a crooked smile. "Or what-have-you."
"'Be bold, be bold, but not too bold/Or else your heart's blood shall run cold.'"
"I'm not much on poetry, but I appreciate the sentiment," she said, smiling. "I've done some reading since we last talked, incidentally, so I've read about -- you, and all of that. Dear gods, that mother-in-law of yours is a piece of work. I missed it when she showed up, and that's probably just as well."
She sipped her wine. "It's always the mad chances that make the stories happen, isn't it? There's a kind of ... narrative causality in the air back home; sometimes things happen -- or don't happen -- sometimes because that's the way the story would work. I think that one's not quite so subject to it here, but you do learn to get a feel for certain ... pressures, as they happen."
"Those lines were from a story, actually. A rather grisly English folk tale called 'Mr. Fox,' or sometimes 'The Robber Bridegroom.'" Comically rueful look at Susan. "I tend to pay attention to folk tales and fairy stories, you know, being, according to many people's thinking, a story myself."
She sipped her wine again, and looked thoughtful. "As a matter of fact, I think I know...somewhat what you mean about narrative causality. And feeling its pressures. I always have liked stories, you see (as well as poetry, and clearly you just haven't been reading the right stuff)," fierce mock-glare, "and I realized, for example, when people started, well...worshipping me, a mortal...that that couldn't bode well. I just didn't have the faintest idea how to stop it. And then, once things started...happening, well, I was caught up enough that I couldn't really guess which...pattern of story to follow." Another sip of wine. "And...yes, Aphrodite is a piece of work. A nice way of putting it. I'm afraid I...lost my temper with her a bit, when she arrived her. That is...I know I lost my temper. And I would be sorry, normally, but I'd had two thousand six hundred years of not losing my temper with her, and it just...felt like time."
"Speaking as one whose temper goes tearing off rather more than is politic, I can say that there are times when it not only necesary, but good for you." Susan grinned. "Two thousand years and change is admirable restraint in my book."
"I shall have to look up this folktale ... so many children love the grisly ones, after all, no matter what their parents say. As for narrative causality, you've put your finger on one of the things some people never quite see -- even when you know you've fallen subject to it, you're still not absolved of responsibility. You still have to decide."
((Have you read the A.S. Byatt short story about the princess who is entirely aware that she's inside a fairy tale? Title escapes me ... I think it was in the collection The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye.))
((I have! I've read a few stories with that idea taken with varying degrees of seriousness - the opening to the book "Howl's Moving Castle" comes to mind, where stubborn Sophie's managed to convince herself that since she's the eldest of three sisters nothing interesting should happen to her, and so she ought to just concentrate on giving her sisters the right lives. I love good fairy tale metafiction..."Into the Woods," of course, and...do you know the webcomic "No Rest for the Wicked"? It's amazing.
"Mr. Fox," though, always reminds me of Neil Gaiman's version, which plays up the idea of him being a fox, and what he might be trying to say just before he's killed. It makes some seriously dark implications about what the story's themes are...kind of the same thing he does in "Snow Glass Apples," really, though this one isn't as well known. But then, Disney's never made a movie out of "The Robber Bridegroom." XD And now we're back to disturbing Disney movie ideas...))
"Yes. And really, I think, your decisions always come down to who you are. Because no matter how clever you are about trying to figure out what story you're in, and how you can come out with a happy ending...your understanding will be shaped by who you are. And so will your choices."
"To which I must just add: bloody Apollo and his bloody Oracle. That god is far too enamoured of irony. I'm dear friends with the Muses, and I get along with Apollo reasonably well...well, actually, he has a tendency to hit on me every time we meet, but then the boy's got a bit of a problem with attractive mortals...and at least from me he has to take 'no' for an answer, if not a permanent one. But I really want to smack him sometimes, for all the trouble he causes while looking down on the avowed troublemakers like Hermes and Eros."
((Will check out that webcomic. And somehow I don't think I've ever read the Neil Gaiman version of that story. Must remedy!))
"I must say, that was something I didn't quite get in my reading -- the whole thing about the Oracle, I mean. Does he really just enjoy setting people up for a fall that much? It just sounded like the kind of god-behaviour that really, really gets right up my nose."
"He'd tell you that it was necessary, to quell the hubris of mankind and teach them how little they really understood about Fate." Psyche rolled her eyes. "Honestly? I think he just likes stories a little too much, and does what he can to inspire them. Which is all well and good when it comes to being the patron of the Nine, but, speaking as someone who was the subject of one of those prophecies..." she lifted her hands in a clawing gesture, and curled her lip, before subsiding.
"Part of the problem, I think, is that Apollo's so given to taking over spheres of influence. The Oracle, for example, originally belonged to Gaea. And of course he's got to be the god of the sun, and the god of poetry, and the god of science...on and on..." She sighed, then grinned. "I actually did a bit of digging (literally as well as figuratively - archeology's a bit of a hobby of mine) and from what I understand, the first historical mention of Apollo is from a minor cult of mouse-worshipping physicians. Someday, I swear, I'm going to be annoyed enough with him to actually ask him about that."
"But then, he might not remember. Everyone in my husband's family seems to have a dozen different origins, and none of them seem to remember things factually. I've asked Mnemosyne about it, but she just smiles, and says they're all true." Psyche laughed. "One of the reasons I like being here at Hogwarts is I don't feel so alone in being baffled by all the different versions of people, from all the different worlds."
"Mouse-worshippers?" Susan laughed. "That sounds like something that could have come from my home, practically. I think there probably are mouse-worshippers, somewhere, and their mouse-god is probably hard at work trying to accrue more belief. He'd consider your friend Apollo a role-model."
"This place, for me, is just absurd enough that it almost feels like home. As best as I can tell, the Disc seems to occupy a section of reality, time, and space where all kinds of things are ... stretchable. Divinity, belief, magic, all of that. Hogwarts is a lot more like that than I realised at first. Well, the fact that there are so many post-dead people running around should have been an indicator. We've got post-dead people at home, but at least they have the grace to merely be zombies rather than fully functional people." The words were out before she quite realised how it sounded, particularly in light of her current situation, and she felt her ears burn.
Psyche, herself, had the grace to let the slipup, and the burning ears, go by without comment. "I know there was at least one zombie, actually, but I think he was more the mindless kind that groans 'braaaaiiins," than the type to make a solid citizen. There's a subject for a long and maundering conversation...which would ultimately be mostly pointless: what does the word 'zombie' mean, or imply. and how are they made?"
"In relation to the...'post dead' members of our little community...well. It's a bit tricky, isn't it? Because some of them are here, to all intents and purposes alive, and some are in some kind of in-between state. But no matter what they are here...would they continue to be that, if they tried to leave, and go back to their homes? Or would they disappate or fall down lifeless as soon as they tried to cross that border?"
"I've wondered aobut that a great deal ... for obvious reasons. It's not just the castle magic; we know at least some of them can leave the grounds and whatnot, which implies that whatever allowed them to return here is in effect everywhere." An idea about dimensions and realities slipped through her head and back out before she could quite get a handle on it.
"As to what would happen if they tried to go home ... I wonder if it would even be possible? Would they know the way? Would someone have to take them?" Half to herself, "I wonder what Jonathan Teatime's lifetimer looks like? Or even if he has one anymore?" Because he had died, after all.
"It's interesting that there is a way," said Psyche, and then bit her lip and frowned for a second, before going on in a tone that wasn't so much lighter as more directed. "That...the lifetimer thing...might be something you could check, you know. Have you considered going home yourself for a little while...a week or so...to clear your head a bit?"
"I hadn't, actually." Susan looked mildly embarrassed by this fact. "I've been so wrapped up in, well, just trying to stay alive that it never really occurred to me that even a brief holiday could be arranged." She pondered for a moment. "Going back to the Disc would probably not be a good idea; it'd be too tempting to stay, and that would have its own repercussions, as we discussed. But ... Granddad's house is, in its own extremely peculiar way, rather restful. Provided I can stay out of Albert's way, but that's not hard. And there is, of course, the, er, research opportunity."
"You should probably ask the Hat, and contact all your teachers and friends...and prominent enemies...to let them know when you'll be back, but I know a few people have taken a bit of time off." She smiled. "Restful might be helpful. That's one thing Hogwarts seldom is."
"No. It is certainly almost never that. Thank you for the suggestion; I daresay I'll follow up on it soon." She smiled warmly at Psyche, and reached over to take her hand. "Thank you. For listening, and for being patient, and, well, for understanding. It really ... it's --" Word failed her, and she felt tears pricking at her eyes.
"And I can't tell you what to do. I just think...you can stake your life, you know. You can even stake your heart...no, no, I'm not saying that's something you're doing at the moment...but." Psyche rubbed her face, exasperated at her own lack of eloquence. "Look. You don't need to be ashamed of things that you can't control. No matter what anyone else says or thinks. You shouldn't be ashamed or afraid of being whatever you are. Because if you are...then you might try to betray yourself. And that would be shameful."
She paused, then reached for the wine bottle. "I think I've either had too much to drink, or far, far too little."
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"I like your perspective, I have to admit," she added. "It's not that I believe the worst of people, in general; I just ... don't really have very high expectations. Of course, I also tend to believe that I can actually do something to improve things despite said expectations ... and there's the optimism talking again."
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She held a sip of wine in her mouth for a moment, till the cold of it and the fumes made her tongue slightly numb, and then swallowed. "I think...that internal consistency you're talking about is the most important thing for you, right now. Your instincts are good, and you should never ignore them...because then you become more reckless than you should be, out of sheer contrariness. Which is something other people can, and will, take advantage of. And then next thing you know, you're standing there with a knife and an oil lamp, about to ruin your life because your sisters played on your doubts." She smiled a crooked smile. "Or what-have-you."
"'Be bold, be bold, but not too bold/Or else your heart's blood shall run cold.'"
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She sipped her wine. "It's always the mad chances that make the stories happen, isn't it? There's a kind of ... narrative causality in the air back home; sometimes things happen -- or don't happen -- sometimes because that's the way the story would work. I think that one's not quite so subject to it here, but you do learn to get a feel for certain ... pressures, as they happen."
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She sipped her wine again, and looked thoughtful. "As a matter of fact, I think I know...somewhat what you mean about narrative causality. And feeling its pressures. I always have liked stories, you see (as well as poetry, and clearly you just haven't been reading the right stuff)," fierce mock-glare, "and I realized, for example, when people started, well...worshipping me, a mortal...that that couldn't bode well. I just didn't have the faintest idea how to stop it. And then, once things started...happening, well, I was caught up enough that I couldn't really guess which...pattern of story to follow." Another sip of wine. "And...yes, Aphrodite is a piece of work. A nice way of putting it. I'm afraid I...lost my temper with her a bit, when she arrived her. That is...I know I lost my temper. And I would be sorry, normally, but I'd had two thousand six hundred years of not losing my temper with her, and it just...felt like time."
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"I shall have to look up this folktale ... so many children love the grisly ones, after all, no matter what their parents say. As for narrative causality, you've put your finger on one of the things some people never quite see -- even when you know you've fallen subject to it, you're still not absolved of responsibility. You still have to decide."
((Have you read the A.S. Byatt short story about the princess who is entirely aware that she's inside a fairy tale? Title escapes me ... I think it was in the collection The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye.))
Reply
"Mr. Fox," though, always reminds me of Neil Gaiman's version, which plays up the idea of him being a fox, and what he might be trying to say just before he's killed. It makes some seriously dark implications about what the story's themes are...kind of the same thing he does in "Snow Glass Apples," really, though this one isn't as well known. But then, Disney's never made a movie out of "The Robber Bridegroom." XD And now we're back to disturbing Disney movie ideas...))
"Yes. And really, I think, your decisions always come down to who you are. Because no matter how clever you are about trying to figure out what story you're in, and how you can come out with a happy ending...your understanding will be shaped by who you are. And so will your choices."
"To which I must just add: bloody Apollo and his bloody Oracle. That god is far too enamoured of irony. I'm dear friends with the Muses, and I get along with Apollo reasonably well...well, actually, he has a tendency to hit on me every time we meet, but then the boy's got a bit of a problem with attractive mortals...and at least from me he has to take 'no' for an answer, if not a permanent one. But I really want to smack him sometimes, for all the trouble he causes while looking down on the avowed troublemakers like Hermes and Eros."
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"I must say, that was something I didn't quite get in my reading -- the whole thing about the Oracle, I mean. Does he really just enjoy setting people up for a fall that much? It just sounded like the kind of god-behaviour that really, really gets right up my nose."
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"Part of the problem, I think, is that Apollo's so given to taking over spheres of influence. The Oracle, for example, originally belonged to Gaea. And of course he's got to be the god of the sun, and the god of poetry, and the god of science...on and on..." She sighed, then grinned. "I actually did a bit of digging (literally as well as figuratively - archeology's a bit of a hobby of mine) and from what I understand, the first historical mention of Apollo is from a minor cult of mouse-worshipping physicians. Someday, I swear, I'm going to be annoyed enough with him to actually ask him about that."
"But then, he might not remember. Everyone in my husband's family seems to have a dozen different origins, and none of them seem to remember things factually. I've asked Mnemosyne about it, but she just smiles, and says they're all true." Psyche laughed. "One of the reasons I like being here at Hogwarts is I don't feel so alone in being baffled by all the different versions of people, from all the different worlds."
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"This place, for me, is just absurd enough that it almost feels like home. As best as I can tell, the Disc seems to occupy a section of reality, time, and space where all kinds of things are ... stretchable. Divinity, belief, magic, all of that. Hogwarts is a lot more like that than I realised at first. Well, the fact that there are so many post-dead people running around should have been an indicator. We've got post-dead people at home, but at least they have the grace to merely be zombies rather than fully functional people." The words were out before she quite realised how it sounded, particularly in light of her current situation, and she felt her ears burn.
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"In relation to the...'post dead' members of our little community...well. It's a bit tricky, isn't it? Because some of them are here, to all intents and purposes alive, and some are in some kind of in-between state. But no matter what they are here...would they continue to be that, if they tried to leave, and go back to their homes? Or would they disappate or fall down lifeless as soon as they tried to cross that border?"
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"As to what would happen if they tried to go home ... I wonder if it would even be possible? Would they know the way? Would someone have to take them?" Half to herself, "I wonder what Jonathan Teatime's lifetimer looks like? Or even if he has one anymore?" Because he had died, after all.
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