undergrounds | [Open] I'm Not the Same Kid From Your Memory

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[Open] I'm Not the Same Kid From Your Memory

Date: Catch-all for February
What: A crisis of conscience. But what can someone as separated from politics like her do?

How humiliating.

Elizabeth had known from the start that she wasn't fit to be Maiden, and yet she'd let Norrell and Sylvia talk her into being paraded around as a possibility, not thinking about what would happen when she-- surprise surprise!-- wasn't. Landing in the water after being harassed hadn't been so great either, and Norrell's reaction (or really, lack thereof) spoke volumes. He probably would have preferred that she'd drowned quietly, wouldn't he?

She's been staying away from the circle, embarrassed and feeling betrayal she probably had no business feeling. And used, that was the worst feeling of all. They'd used her. Just like in Virginia.

But what was she supposed to do? These were the people who were supposed to protect her, and instead they're parading her around like a show pony with a big 'KILL ME' sign around her neck. Leaving would be suicide, and who else would teach her how to use her power? Not Circle Midnight, obviously. So she had to, somehow, make her own situation tenable.

[A - Early February]

But how? She didn't know anyone, she intentionally stayed out of things if she could help it, unless it involved keeping people alive. February is still freezing by her standards, but the only way to get her mind quiet is to run. So she starts jogging at the park near her dorm-- she's pretty fast on her own, even when she's dressed for the cold weather. As she runs, she goes back and forth in her head. How fast, realistically, would she be crushed if she actually stood up to Norrell?

[B - Mid February, for Illya]

As much as she thought about it, she could really only speculate about the outcomes. She needs someone who will be painfully blunt with her, and fortunately she actually knows someone like that. Who she just happens to have a certain potion for-- at least something good came from assisting Norrell at Croydon again. Elizabeth sends Illya a text and waits at the deli they'd last met at, mostly staring out the window and waiting instead of drinking her coffee.

[C - Late February]

It's really the only option available to her, she thinks as she downs another shot. Elizabeth is young and inexperienced, but she isn't dumb. Norrell assured her assistance at first because she thought the same kind of loyalty would be extended to her, and the second time he'd bought her fair and square. But the incident on the boat is decidedly unforgivable. He's a jackass is what he is. What kind of leader just watched his student struggle to not drown?

Not again. She'd be damned if she let herself be moved around a board like a chess piece by Gilbert Norrell again.

...Not that she is one-hundred percent sure of what she's going to do or how she's going to go about it, but that's something for a night that's not the one she's decided to quietly rebel against her mentor. Right now, she's enjoying some drinking and dancing away from her roommate. Just remembering what it's like to live free for a night.

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Finnick doesn't find himself in these types of places very often, but his new role of lord comes with a few annoying responsibilities, including the fact that he is now a recognizable face to be called on whenever someone in the Seelie court has a petty problem that needs solving. That somehow leads him here, to this bar, completely at the end of his patience.

He does a quick survey of the room and doesn't see anyone at first glance, and the nearest person is a young witch putting down a shot glass at the bar. He braces himself for the incredibly dumb question he's about to ask, putting on a smooth smile and tapping her on the shoulder.

"Pardon me," he says, in that voice he uses, "I'm sorry to bother you, but have you seen a man come through here in a three-piece fuchsia suit?"

Elizabeth turns around when she feels someone tap her shoulder, expecting it to be someone who just needs to get the attention of the bartender, but-- wow. Of course, everyone's voice sounds attractive to the very drunk, but there's still something about it that has her staring dumbly for a second.

"...sorry-- yes, fuchsia suit. I... did see someone like that, horrific tie too? Looked like it had tiny Scottie dogs all over it?"

He gives her a sweet smile, nodding slightly in thanks. "That should be him. At least, I hope there's only one man in a fuchsia suit wandering around in this part of town tonight," he says. This whole thing is so dumb but he knows how valuable a good first impression is, no matter who this witch is.

"You didn't happen to see where he went, did you?"

"Ah..." Elizabeth turns around a looks over the crowd. It had been a while since she'd seen the man, maybe forty-five minutes, but she had a clear view of the door and hadn't seen him leave. "He had a corner booth for a while, then I think I saw him talking to another man in a fur coat... That one!"

She points to a man down the bar a few stools in an oversized fur coat that seems to move like it's breathing. Elizabeth processes this and looks a little upset that she decided to be drunk tonight in this particular bar.

Finnick fixes his eyes on the man and his brows knit together. He manages another smile at her and says, "thank you," before he orders her another drink and wanders over to the man sitting there.

Their exchange seems to start off pleasantly - Finnick greets him like an old friend, but as he leans in the man in the coat seems to shrink a little. Anyone who can see Finnick's smile may see it go from friendly to vaguely threatening, and after a few minutes he holds out his hand, the man in the coat hands something small over, and Finnick straights back up as he slips it into his pocket. Job well done.

Now that he's finished he decides it's time for a drink, and confident that he'll be able to deflect the young witch's questions (because she's so drunk) and because the seat next to hers is the only free one at the bar, he sits down beside her.

"You seem to be drinking with a purpose tonight," he observes pleasantly.

Elizabeth isn't exactly sure what she's just witnessed, but it sure looked like Mr. Living-Coat just got shaken down for something by a deceptively friendly person. Should she even drink the drink he bought her? What is she thinking-- it came from a bartender.

She watches nervously as he comes back to sit next to her, her eyes flicking to his pocket. "Uh... yes, actually. I thought it was a nice Tuesday, deserved to be celebrated for not being a horrible Tuesday..."

"Ah," he says knowingly before he calls the bartender over and orders a drink. He gives her a wry smile once the bartender leaves to retrieve it.

"So most of your Tuesdays don't go this well, then?"

"Well I don't decide to celebrate being alive and free of... school obligations every Tuesday, but I was feeling it on this particular Tuesday I suppose."

She looks down into the drink he bought her before bringing it to her lips. "Wednesday is going to be a bitch, but I'll swear off drinking when I get there."

Finnick laughs smoothly, picking up his drink when it arrives and taking a sip. "I must have sworn off drinking a thousand times so far," he says, raising an eyebrow at her. It's conspiratorial, like they're sharing in a joke. "No doubt I'll do it a few more times before I'm through."

"Oh, so you've had at least a thousand wild, raucous nights worth instagramming," she points out with a raise of her own eyebrow and a smirk. "You still have your original liver?"

Maybe she can't tell what he is. Not all witches seem to have a good 'sense' for other supernatural types, after all. His is sharpened by years of meeting and being exposed to a range of powerful beings, but this witch is young. She still has a lot to learn.

"Well," he says, with a wry smile down at his glass, "I am nothing if not resilient."

He can say that again-- Elizabeth has much to learn. Also she's a little wasted. Dulled senses and all that.

"You sure look it." Whoops, that was her outside voice. Elizabeth immediately looks embarrassed. "I mean, ah, you really threatened that guy back there, didn't you? He looked like he was about to slither right out of his skin."

Finnick rolls his eyes a little. The dispute was so silly, he doesn't really want to talk about it, but he sighs and leans in to impart a little advice.

"When people know they're wrong, they do one of two things: either they crumble that much easier or they fight back that much harder."

"Oh." Elizabeth shrinks back just the slightest centimeter, looking up at him as she thinks about that. Yes, that does seem to be the case in her experiences too. Fight, or give up.

"I guess you're right, now that I think about it. So he must've been dead wrong," she suggests with a grin.

He shrugs. "He was wrong. It was a foolish dispute to begin with, and now it's resolved," he says, dismissive of the whole thing. He holds up his hand, gesturing for the bartender to make him a refill. The drink he had only a minute ago has disappeared.

...woah, yeah, where did that drink go? Into him, she guesses, and that's fairly shocking. He could certainly put away his liquor and liquids. Elizabeth is sure she'd slosh if she drank that much that fast and stood up.

"And now that business is concluded, you can relax?" she offers, nodding to the bartender and referring to his ordering a second drink.

He laughs half-heartedly. "I can try," he says. "I"m not very good at relaxing."

"You're not?" Elizabeth frowns and looks around, as though something she could see might indicate why he couldn't relax. "How come? Don't most people relax after a few drinks? You're on your..." Third? Second? She wasn't paying attention aside from that one he destroyed in a minute flat.

He gives a charming smile that almost looks genuine. "I've built up a tolerance," he says, before taking another long swig. "I'm much older than I look, you see."

She hadn't seen at first, though now that he says it, her mouth forms a little silent 'oh' in response. How does she keep meeting fae in bars? If she's not careful, they'll rub off and Norrell will catch the scent.

...wouldn't that be funny if actually could happen? She grins and snorts a little at the image.

"My mentor would be furious if he knew I kept running into people like you whenever I go out on my own. I don't even try and it just happens!" she laughs.

Ah, she gets it now. Finnick doesn't like having to drop too many hints, and usually he gives up if someone doesn't catch on straight away. He doesn't make it a secret, what he is, but he's not in the habit of shouting it from the rooftops either.

"Sounds like your mentor has a few outdated prejudices that he needs to work on," Finnick says casually. Of course he hates witches just for their simple ability to bind and use fae for their own magic, but life in this city would be easier if they weren't so hostile toward the fae either.

"Oh you think that's bad? He watched me get sexually harassed and then acted like it was my fault." She snorts and sips on her drink. "Believe me, it would give him a heart-attack, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be the first time I've 'utterly disappointed' the human time-capsule."

Finnick wrinkles his nose a little in disgust. "Then why do you follow him?" he asks, though it isn't confrontational. Yet.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Elizabeth says with a little rueful smile. "People do crazy things to keep breathing." Like follow Gilbert Norrell.

Well, he can't hold that against her. He's done a lot of things just to survive; you can't be criticized for those actions.

Finnick knocks back the rest of his drink and slips off his barstool, leaving enough money to cover his drinks and then some beside his empty glass. "I hope you won't have to bear it too much longer," he says lightly, and then he gives her a nod and a smile as he turns to go.

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[Open] I'm Not the Same Kid From Your Memory

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