(voice)

[likeboudica]

I have not been to the library today, and yet I seem to carry the smell of books, of old pages and ink, with me wherever I go today.

Strange, perhaps, but it makes me think of long days in the library with a heavy book in my lap and sunshine barely filtering through the windows. The scent reminds me of peacefulness and thoughtfulness and— maybe even contentness. So it is not wholly unwelcome, truly.

Are others experiencing the same? Is it a curse, then?

Comments

[likeboudica]

And why do the men drink it?

[feigns]

Because the women make it, and it tastes infinitely better than coffee.

[likeboudica]

In later times, it will not only be the women making it.

[feigns]

And it is not truly only women who make it even now. Honestly, Tessa, I'd have thought you'd have been slightly familiar with hyperbole.

[likeboudica]

It may have been hyperbole now, but it will change so that it will be both, quite equally. Perhaps not in our world, that I do not know, but it seems that in most worlds it does.

[feigns]

Does it surprise you, oh she-that-was-shocked-by-Boudicea? That perhaps one day the majority will not view women as Jessamine views herself?

[likeboudica]

I hope that the day will come sooner rather than later.

[feigns]

The City has changed you, somewhat.

[likeboudica]

I have been here for nine months. Is it so strange that I would change? [ Hesitating. ] For the better, I hope.

[feigns]

No, it's not strange. [ or for the worse, but will has something of a dislike of change; it rarely works out for the better for him, and he rather liked tessa how she was. part of him is afraid that she'll become that content in the city that she won't have any want or need of his company, and whilst he'd have wanted that once, it's not something he wants now. ]

[likeboudica]

No, I did not think that it is, either. I have learnt so many things here, and I continue to learn more still. [ and yes, that includes learning that she cannot be the one to save him from himself, that she deserves someone who is kind to her rather than someone who uses cruelty to push people away and who— even now— is more likely to insult than to compliment her. she wants to be friends with will, but she is no longer the same girl as she was when she fell in love with him, his beautiful face and his darkness. he saved her, but that does not make him her prince and she is learning to see that. ]

[feigns]

[ it occurs to will occasionally — infrequently — just how little he's grown over the years — mentally, emotionally. sometimes his penchant for childishness was commented on, but he rarely thought of it as especially disparaging, not when he considered that it was (supposed to be) an act. it was only when faced with situations like this — tessa being different in subtle ways to the tessa he remembered and imagined, to realising he'd never truly considered jem's happiness — that he was aware as to how much he risked being left behind in ways he hadn't considered or expected.

he supposed it was somewhat ironic. ]

What a shame it is that you shan't remember them when you're returned.

[ he doesn't bother tacking 'home' on the end, for tessa had made it clear that she didn't consider the institute home, and referring to it as such would be somewhat disingenuous. the comment itself is uttered without any discernible emotion, and it's not clear as to whether he means it sarcastically or not.

(even he's not sure how he means it.) ]

[likeboudica]

[ that— his words may not have carried much discernible emotion with them in terms of infliction, but tessa has begun to assume, perhaps unfairly, that will uses sarcasm more often than not, even now that it is no longer necessary for him to push people away. even now, he still pushes her away with words and with infliction more often than not when all she wants (or wanted, perhaps, she is not so certain anymore) is to get to know him, for them to grow closer, to be friends at least. what she has learnt of will is this: he does not seem to wish for her to be close to him and he continues to be sarcastic, at times even hurtful still.

this may well be one of those times, even though his words are the truth.

her own answer, when it comes, is almost toneless. ] At least during my time here I will know these things.

[ she doesn't wish to return, though she knows that she must— it is her world, after all, the one where she belongs and the City is nothing more than a fantastical place that should not even exist for all that she knows, fantastical and impossible; it may well be a lie and her world the reality, and she will face the reality as she has done with Nate, as she will always do. that does not mean that part of her does not wish things were differently. ]

[feigns]

[ it's a defence mechanism, and although he's fond of considering it to be one he adopted in order to prevent others being hurt, it's one that's proved essentially more effective — in light of the truth — at preventing himself from being hurt. it had been easy to consider it an act, all of it — the cruelty, the flightiness — until it was no longer considered necessary.

it was hard realising — coming to terms — with the fact that it had been a part of him for so long that it was who he was. (galton, nature or nurture; evidently it was nurture, as much as he wished it was nature that won out.) ]

A blessing.

[likeboudica]

I think that it is.

[ and it pains her that he may not agree with it, that he does not share her contentness, the relative peace she has found here, that he does not seem to appreciate the way in which she is learning and growing.

she understands the need to keep a close eye on reality, certainly, especially in one such as herself who is more of a dreamer at times and lost in books, but that he must always remind her of the harsher aspects of it— she is not so certain that it is something she can appreciate, or of the necessity for it. ]

[feigns]

[ it's not that he disagrees — he'd fully embrace the city if he could, but he can't divorce himself and his thoughts from the institute, from everyone who isn't here; he envies tessa, and it's because of that that he can't help but fall into something resembling his old self (pretended self). ]

I'm glad you're happy here.

[likeboudica]

[ those words, while innocent in themselves, spoken as he does remind her only of his past cruelties and where formerly her defenses would have crumbled and she would have wished for him to make things right, she now grows angry instead. perhaps her time in the city has hardened her as well.

her voice is cool, though still polite. she would not wish to take the same tone as he does, though perhaps he would deserve it ] As am I.

[feigns]

[ he'd meant the remark sincerely — he was glad she's happy here — and he can't help but be surprised at her response (although, he supposes, he shouldn't have expected her to reply in any other way. it seemed to be something he had to remind himself of with an alarming degree of frequency.) ]

It would be rather odd if you were not — unhappy with happiness, though I'm sure someone's experienced it.

[likeboudica]

[ it is not hard to believe that his remarks, even though he claims there no longer is a necessity for it, are still driven by sarcasm rather than sincerity when he so often proves just that.

still, he does not seem hurtful now, and tessa forces herself to let go of the anger. it is not becoming, though certainly easier at times than the pain she would have previously felt. ] I would only wish that everyone were as content as I, here.

[feigns]

I think I'd be afraid of forgetting.

[likeboudica]

Why is that? And of forgetting what, specifically?

[feigns]

Home. Why would I have cause to think of it if I was truly content and happy here?

[likeboudica]

I have found plenty cause and opportunity to think of it despite my relative contentness here.

[feigns]

I didn't say it'd be absolute, or that it'd happen immediately.

[likeboudica]

No, that is true. Still, if you would not wish to forget it, then surely you would no more than if you were unhappy here.