Soft October Night
Author: Amata le Fay
Title: Soft October Night
Story: Ether Lands (RP)
Flavor(s): Teaberry 24 (I have measured out my life with coffee spoons)
Toppings/Extras: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 498, 73 of which belong to T.S. Eliot
Notes: October (who would have thought?), 55 A.E. Just some character-developing stuff for a new RP. And may I just say that I think T.S. Eliot is amazing?
“Josu.”
“Come in.” The man didn't bother to turn away from his books to respond or welcome his guest, who was immediately upon opening the door seized in a fit of coughing. “Nai, cousin. There's enough ether in here for a merchant to feel insulted.”
“There was a gas mask on the hat rack, I assumed you'd remember from last time.” The dark-haired Josu stood, far smaller in statute than his visitor. He drew his black coat around him and added, “And I'll need practice with people calling me Asher Lang if I'm to start infiltrating the continent soon.”
“Ah, that's right. Your mission.” Josu did not overlook the condescension in his cousin's voice, but he made no comment. Kashri coughed again. “You know, you'll still retain scholar status in Oceniana. There's no need to condition yourself against ether smog.”
“Ether.” A smile tugged at the edge of Josu's mouth. “Did you know that, for a long time, the Ancient Greeks thought aether was the fifth element, the element of life? And that it was used for anesthetic during surgery? It's even mentioned in old poetry, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”
Kashri knew that if he didn't interrupt now, the scholar would start reciting the whole of that poem along with the annotations. “What are you even trying to find? Conspiracy investigation doesn't require exposing yourself to the untouchables' air, especially not the foreign untouchables' air.”
The man in the black coat sighed. “Science, cousin. This is a rare opportunity to study the different variations of ether amongst continents. Does it evolve or remain static? Is it a living occurrence or simple smoke? Produced naturally or manufactured? The more we find out about it, the more able we are to use it as a weapon against Eurasia.”
Kashri glanced around his young relative's room, noting the distinct lack of technology that, along with his white appearance, had made Josu an outcast in all but the academic community. The boy fancied things that no one would even take a second glance at. Poetry. Indistinguishable ether isotopes. Cats. And he was only twenty-five years old, and already one of the ten most prominent scholars on this side of the world...
“Farewell then, cousin,” said Kashri, nodding his head at Josu, who had already gone back to his reading. “New Year's coming.”
He exited, but stood by the door a moment to listen to the boy's mutterings. “The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, the yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, and seeing that it was a soft October night, curled once about the house, and fell asleep...”
One of Josu's cats, a black one with blue eyes, wrapped herself around Kashri's leg and did the same.