Job Demands
Jan. 20th, 2012 04:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archiveofarethusa"You've caused me undue trouble already," Cygnelius said as Holly approached him, not looking up from his book. His voice was smoother and deeper than she'd remembered it, and spoke volumes on boredom rather than how much he'd love to be rid of her. "That old woman pestered me for fifteen minutes on the more banal points of my magical theory essays. Not even the new ones, or the vaguely old ones - the ones I wrote when I was fifteen. The middle-aged blonde hit on me by asking me if I was busy at three AM, and I had to resort to misusing magic for the little girl. So you'd better hear what I have to say, Holly Asher."
He'd also gotten glasses and, despite being tall and wiry like a scarecrow and having obviously received the Brand of the god of the underworld, become unfairly attractive. The dog collar, which did not entirely succeed in hiding the mark of Ibis on his neck, was no help. Holly was pretty, but she figured having divinely tattooed chains on her wrists, cheeks, and forehead probably put off anyone not looking for a cheap thrill. She had books for that, thank you.
"Yes, how very nice to see you again, too," Holly said. Cygnelius put down his book - gently, because he remembered Sofia's wrath years ago when he slammed a much newer book shut and didn't want to test the theory that age mellowed - and said, flatly, "Nice. Yes, how very."
"Ah, there it is. It's all coming back now," Holly said. "Now I remember why I tried to kill you. Thanks for that."
"Ah, yes. The spoon incident. I've heard that story," said the man next to Cygnelius. Holly stared at him. He had pale yellow hair, making him the weakest sort of mystic, but his eyes were pale, too. She'd never seen eyes like that, never read about it in any sort of fiction. Holly tried to recall if there was a god with a Brand that caused pale blue eyes, and came up with a god that also happened to cause a phallic facial tattoo. The man's face was clear of anything except the usual features and a largish, normally-shaped pimple at his temple.
"Yes, that's Valentio Melman," Cygnelius snapped, misinterpreting her lingering gaze. "Stop staring."
"Prince Valentio Melman?" Holly said, directing it to Cygnelius. Valentio gave an amused huff.
"That's Dr. Prince Valentio Melman, if you please," Valentio said, smiling. "I'm sort of right here, actually. If, you know, you want to direct your inquiries to me."
"Err, yes, I'll do that, then. Great. So, does that mean you're volunteering to tell me why you seem to have some business with me?"
"We're recruiting you," Valentio said. "You're the only non-sister or sister-in-training who is familiar with the books here, so that makes you expendable, to not put too fine a point on it."
"Uh-huh, right. I take it you didn't bother looking at my psych exam, then. I can't even kill a spider, and you want me to kill a human?"
"Of course not," Cygnelius snorted. "With those arms, you should be so lucky as to be able to lift a dagger. We're here to recruit you into the development team on a classified project at Volacoeur Castle. Don't look at me like that, it wasn't my decision. If I had a choice, I would have picked even the dizzy blonde over you. Magical theory is the key information we need, not - romance, or science fiction, or chick lit, or whatever it is you read here."
"Arnadia doesn't read non-fiction. As for me, I've read about 136 of the books we have on magical theory, nine tenths of one from the Black Gallery where we keep the dangerous books, and two we don't carry. Those two would be yours, by the way - the only book we have of yours here is your Rapture Codex, which is basically a harder way to perform the exact same spell as Ipslang Zamora's Crucifixus Revorsa except with 60% more smug. Thank you so much for inflicting that on the world, by the way."
"Good enough," Cygnelius said, scowling a little, because she was right. The Rapture Codex was written essentially for the money when he'd been out of a job and praying nightly for enough money to strike out on his own away from his mother and Frutsmoarg, and, while it covered some new ground, it was hardly as groundbreaking as his later work. Cygnelius regarded it with the same disdain he held his mother's reasons for giving him a name which meant young swan in modern Frutsmoargan while living in a village that spoke mostly modern Frutsmoargan. "You're on the development team for Project Parnassus starting right now. Pack whatever you need and say goodbye to your guardians, you're coming with us."
"Forgive my boss, he's a little...cantankerous when he's out of bed before four PM. Sometimes, he's even cantankerous in bed," Valentio said, smiling unaffectedly at Cygnelius, who had very audibly just stomped on his foot. "You have the right to refusal, of course. Just like the boss has the right to be a total jerkass about it and hound you for the rest of your natural life."
"I would never," Cygnelius said. "I'd get you to do it. Maybe then I'd be able sleep, shall we say, unmolested."
"God, climb into a sleeping man's bed totally bombed once and never hear the end of it," Valentio said. "But you kind of do have to decide pretty snappy, Holly, because time is money and money is the only thing holding this project together right now. It's also the only thing keeping me and the boss on the project, because paychecks, you'll soon find, are awesome. Really. Once you start getting them, you will literally not be able to live without them."
Holly thought about Sofia, Arnadia, and Inlarie, her surrogate mothers in a way; she thought about Rienne, who was bearable, and Ayella, who was not, but had somehow managed to become a close, dear friend. She thought about the books, all the characters she'd met and places she'd seen, all the wonderful things she'd learned, cried, worried, smiled, and laughed at. And the porn, which was amazing, even the purple prose.
And then she recalled just who had gotten the short straws on both latrine and babysitting duty for the next two weeks while Inlarie attended to her ailing grandchildren, and, well, there was really only one answer she could give.
"When can we leave?"
He'd also gotten glasses and, despite being tall and wiry like a scarecrow and having obviously received the Brand of the god of the underworld, become unfairly attractive. The dog collar, which did not entirely succeed in hiding the mark of Ibis on his neck, was no help. Holly was pretty, but she figured having divinely tattooed chains on her wrists, cheeks, and forehead probably put off anyone not looking for a cheap thrill. She had books for that, thank you.
"Yes, how very nice to see you again, too," Holly said. Cygnelius put down his book - gently, because he remembered Sofia's wrath years ago when he slammed a much newer book shut and didn't want to test the theory that age mellowed - and said, flatly, "Nice. Yes, how very."
"Ah, there it is. It's all coming back now," Holly said. "Now I remember why I tried to kill you. Thanks for that."
"Ah, yes. The spoon incident. I've heard that story," said the man next to Cygnelius. Holly stared at him. He had pale yellow hair, making him the weakest sort of mystic, but his eyes were pale, too. She'd never seen eyes like that, never read about it in any sort of fiction. Holly tried to recall if there was a god with a Brand that caused pale blue eyes, and came up with a god that also happened to cause a phallic facial tattoo. The man's face was clear of anything except the usual features and a largish, normally-shaped pimple at his temple.
"Yes, that's Valentio Melman," Cygnelius snapped, misinterpreting her lingering gaze. "Stop staring."
"Prince Valentio Melman?" Holly said, directing it to Cygnelius. Valentio gave an amused huff.
"That's Dr. Prince Valentio Melman, if you please," Valentio said, smiling. "I'm sort of right here, actually. If, you know, you want to direct your inquiries to me."
"Err, yes, I'll do that, then. Great. So, does that mean you're volunteering to tell me why you seem to have some business with me?"
"We're recruiting you," Valentio said. "You're the only non-sister or sister-in-training who is familiar with the books here, so that makes you expendable, to not put too fine a point on it."
"Uh-huh, right. I take it you didn't bother looking at my psych exam, then. I can't even kill a spider, and you want me to kill a human?"
"Of course not," Cygnelius snorted. "With those arms, you should be so lucky as to be able to lift a dagger. We're here to recruit you into the development team on a classified project at Volacoeur Castle. Don't look at me like that, it wasn't my decision. If I had a choice, I would have picked even the dizzy blonde over you. Magical theory is the key information we need, not - romance, or science fiction, or chick lit, or whatever it is you read here."
"Arnadia doesn't read non-fiction. As for me, I've read about 136 of the books we have on magical theory, nine tenths of one from the Black Gallery where we keep the dangerous books, and two we don't carry. Those two would be yours, by the way - the only book we have of yours here is your Rapture Codex, which is basically a harder way to perform the exact same spell as Ipslang Zamora's Crucifixus Revorsa except with 60% more smug. Thank you so much for inflicting that on the world, by the way."
"Good enough," Cygnelius said, scowling a little, because she was right. The Rapture Codex was written essentially for the money when he'd been out of a job and praying nightly for enough money to strike out on his own away from his mother and Frutsmoarg, and, while it covered some new ground, it was hardly as groundbreaking as his later work. Cygnelius regarded it with the same disdain he held his mother's reasons for giving him a name which meant young swan in modern Frutsmoargan while living in a village that spoke mostly modern Frutsmoargan. "You're on the development team for Project Parnassus starting right now. Pack whatever you need and say goodbye to your guardians, you're coming with us."
"Forgive my boss, he's a little...cantankerous when he's out of bed before four PM. Sometimes, he's even cantankerous in bed," Valentio said, smiling unaffectedly at Cygnelius, who had very audibly just stomped on his foot. "You have the right to refusal, of course. Just like the boss has the right to be a total jerkass about it and hound you for the rest of your natural life."
"I would never," Cygnelius said. "I'd get you to do it. Maybe then I'd be able sleep, shall we say, unmolested."
"God, climb into a sleeping man's bed totally bombed once and never hear the end of it," Valentio said. "But you kind of do have to decide pretty snappy, Holly, because time is money and money is the only thing holding this project together right now. It's also the only thing keeping me and the boss on the project, because paychecks, you'll soon find, are awesome. Really. Once you start getting them, you will literally not be able to live without them."
Holly thought about Sofia, Arnadia, and Inlarie, her surrogate mothers in a way; she thought about Rienne, who was bearable, and Ayella, who was not, but had somehow managed to become a close, dear friend. She thought about the books, all the characters she'd met and places she'd seen, all the wonderful things she'd learned, cried, worried, smiled, and laughed at. And the porn, which was amazing, even the purple prose.
And then she recalled just who had gotten the short straws on both latrine and babysitting duty for the next two weeks while Inlarie attended to her ailing grandchildren, and, well, there was really only one answer she could give.
"When can we leave?"