Post by Liessel on Mar 10, 2024 17:25:50 GMT -5
Tom's apartment was up some rather steep stairs. The name of his street was Parson Court. It was a two-floor apartment building-- 6 apartments total. Tom lived in left-most upstairs apartment. There were two entry-ways-- from the front, you could go up the stairs to the foyer which led either up or down. Or to the side from the back which had a steep staircase coming up the side of the building directly to his kitchen. As steep as these stairs were, it was no wonder that Tom had had to recuperate at the Knightsbridge house after Denver with his messed-up leg.
The exterior of the building was all brick, painted white, with tidy flower beds placed all around it. One could see Tom's influence on the living space-- there was a subtle but well-hidden American flag in the yard at the foot of his kitchen porch. Hidden neatly behind a bush. The other signs were more western looking decor-- an outline of a horse on the side of the staircase. The door to his apartment-- both kitchen and front door-- were painted an obscenely bright blue that could be seen from anywhere on the street. But in the dark, it'd have been as dark as night. It had a weird consistency to it.
It did not take long for Liessel to reach Tomlin's front door. She'd fixed her hat back into place before leaving Flynn and Flynn, then stepped out into London and hired a cab to get her where she needed to go. Once there, with the cabby paid and her nerves as soothed as she could make them, Liessel knocked on that bright blue door. She spared a moment to check the address against what Eli had written down while she waited.
The steps leading up to the foyer had two doors. One on the left, one on the right. The left said 391B Parson Court. The right said 391A Parson Court. 391B Parson Court was Tom's address. One could see the paint was relatively new, as were the iron wrought letters and numbers that were mounted on the doors themselves. It was the same to every door on this building, but none of the adjacent buildings. There was a heavy knocker on the door, done in the style of what looked to be a coat of arms with a heavy circle to knock against the door.
It would take about a minute for someone to answer-- it was Ethan's voice through the door that came. "Coming!" A few seconds later, the door opened-- and he drew up short to see her there on his doorstep. His eyes got really big. He'd been told she'd be coming, but it had somehow escaped his mind in the last few minutes. "Um. Miss Wickham. Hi." He swallowed a little. Was he a little paler than he'd been a moment before?
It wasn't too late to run. That thought came to her the moment she heard Ethan's voice. It wasn't too late at all, not until it was and the door was opening bringing her face to face with Ethan. "Mister McDowell," she greeted with a forward tip of her head, "You look well --" And pale, and like he wanted to go find a bed to hide under. She cleared her throat gently, "I called not too long ago. Mister Jefferson is expecting me."
"I... know," he said softly. He cleared his throat. "But before yo u go upstairs... I just wanna say I'm sorry. Its lousy timing and I deserved what I got, and I've been a coward avoiding you like the plague. But you're here right now and I needed to say it. I'll leave the two of you alone." He cleared his throat, stepped out the door, and left it open for her to go in and ascend the stairs.
She drew in a breath. She had to. It was the only way she could remind herself that she was, in fact, still breathing. His apology came, and Ethan stepped back. For a long silent moment Liessel didn't move.
She didn't do anything until she could squeeze the words, "Thank you for apologizing, Mister McDowell," from her tongue, "I -- I owe you one as well. I shouldn't have struck you. That was wrong of me."
That was when movement returned and she stepped in through the open door and past him.
He gave her an apologetic smile. Then he waited until she stepped inside and gently shut the door behind her, remaining outside. Up, at the top of the stairs, Tom stood with his hands in his pockets. He gave her a smile. "Come upstairs, Miss Wickham. I have tea waiting in the sitting room."
The door shut behind her, and she took another breath before looking up the stairs toward the sound of Tomlin's voice. It took her a moment to find her smile, but it was there by the time she started up the steps toward him, "Please, Mister Jefferson, its Erphale now. Liessel Erphale."
He bowed his head to her. "So it is,"He said. Internally, he talk to her. Mind to mind. Forgive me for speaking to you like this, Miss Erphale. I have taxed my voice quite a bit today.
Reaching the top of the steps, Liessel shook Tom's apology off by placing her right hand over her heart and telling him, "It is quite alright, Mister Jefferson. I know speaking outloud taxes you. Speak in whatever manner is most comfortable."
He led the way through the apartment. The opening area at the top of the stairs was like a receiving area-- there was a coat rack and a place for shoes. It led down a tiny hallway-- not more than 5 feet or so feet long-- before it opened up into the sitting room. Further down the hallway was the bedroom and bathroom. Here, in the sitting room, were two bookshelves of books. All of them occult in nature. Some, she might've even recognized, from her time spent in Oliver Tyson's house in World B2. There was a pallet on the floor in one corner of the room-- a good foot off the floor with several blankets, sheets, and pillows piled up. It was all neatly piled, clearly it was a makeshift bed for someone. And if the long red hairs across the pillows were anything to judge by, it was where Ethan slept.
Tom's home smelled faintly of the bitterness of coffee and also aromatic tobacco smoke. He took a seat in the sitting room, gesturing to the table that was placed perfectly distanced between four chairs. Beside the window overlooking the courtyard where the minimal garden was was a stand that had the phone connected to his place sitting. It was very obvious by the way that the books were laid out, the way papers were scattered, where his cane was placed, he spent the majority of his time right here.
Liessel followed along behind Tomlin as quietly as she ever could. Her steps made barely a sound behind him, while her eyes took in everything she could see about the place while being led into the sitting room. From the scent in the air: coffee and something reminiscent of the cherry-wood tobacco that she had become accustomed to. It wasn't exactly the same as what she was used to smoking with Gerold, but it was close enough that she recognized the scent of tobacco when she smelled it.
"You have a lovely home, Mister Jefferson," Liessel said as she slipped out from behind Tom to claim one of those seats. She was mindful of which one she chose, clearly seeing where his favored spot was by the location of the telephone and everything else that was spread around, "and thank you for allowing me to stop by. I would have this to Gerold, but he is -- away -- right now and my concerns won't hold until he returns."
He gestured towards the tea tray that was sitting on the middle table between all 4 chairs in his sitting room. He sat down and made himself comfortable-- a soft grunt of discomfort escaping him. He was not nearly as old as Gerold. Point in fact, he looked older than his 40 or 50 something years. He'd been graying since his 30's-- and now almost all white and silver. There was very little brown in his hair left to be seen. It had come on stronger after his ordeal in Denver, it had been about a 50/50 mix before Denver. Denver had left him a broken individual, both physically and mentally. He struggled daily to not let that depression win. He had not cracked. He took small pride for it. But he would be forever changed because of it all. He'd returned as a different person and had been unable to handle his duties as Seth's handler.
What questions did you have? I will answer what I can, of course.
The tea set was left unattended for the moment, Liessel putting her attention on how Tomlin moved when he sat. She had spent many hours seeing to what injuries she could after Denver, and those that she couldn't do anything for she had seen to whatever comforts that would lessen his feeling of them. She had not been alone in that care.
Now, sitting in his sitting room, she was watching for signs that something might have gotten worse. Prompted by his question, though, Liessel rose and helped herself to some tea, and then poured a cup for Tom before returning to her seat.
"I need to know about the oath that you and Mister Schoen took when you became Frontiersmen. While I was talking to Mister Whitmoor, it was speculated that it -- might well could --" She paused to take a moment, recalling Eli's exact phrasing, "Cause a person to be prone to blind devotion to The Arbiter."
The look of surprise on Tom's face was very apparent. Oh, no, he said. Young Eli must have a skewed view of things... We are loyal to the Arbiter because we believe in their cause. To protect our respective countries by studying and eliminating supernatural threats. They could order Seth and Ethan around because of the Strictures, but not Gerold or I.
Her relief was intense and immediate with that news. The huff of air that left her lungs as tension washed away was small, but to her it felt like that singular breath could have filled the envelope of an airship and then some.
Liessel had been braced for confirmation. She had readied herself to hear the worst. What Tomlin gave her was a lifeline to far more stable waters.
"Oh, thank goodness." Softly spoken those words were, riding the edge of that melting of worry. And then, after giving herself a moment to recover the best of her senses, Liessel told Tomlin, "He had me worrying for both Gerold, and you."
Tom shook his head a little. I can see why he might think that. Our Oaths are different, but doesnt bind us from being able to maintain our free will or anything like that. It is more a gesture of faith and devotion rather than a magically binding Oath.
He was silent for a few seconds, his expression turning bitter. Sometimes I wish it was. We wouldn't have that murderous coup if we did.
Her tea was suddenly the last thing in the world she wanted right then. At Tom's statement, Liessel felt her stomach turn. Her youthful hazel eyes settled on him steadily, as if trying to find some hint within him that he hadn't been serious. "How could you say something like that, Mister Jefferson? How could you want something like that? Free will removed, obedient servants to whatever cause you could be led toward? With Oaths like that, they could change you irrevocably. The potential there would be a loss of every aspect of you that makes you -- you. I could not think of a more horrible thing in this world, or any world."
He met her eyes evenly. I don't mean the removal of free will. I meant a magically binding Oath. It could've been something simple and seemingly insignificant. If there was treachery in the wings, the Arbiter might sense it. Not a binding like the Strictures.... As it were, we were completely unprepared and were blindsided.
Liessel leaned forward, sure now that she didn't want her tea at all and placed her cup on the low table between the chairs in Tomlin's sitting room.
"It still sounds like a very dangerous thing to ask a man, or a woman, to take onto themselves. Something like that might have been able to give warning of the deceit within your organization, but magic like that -- as I have come to understand it -- can easily be corrupted, and intentions easily shrouded by those who seem to be well-meaning.
"I am sorry that it happened, that it took so many lives and that it still continues to affect you -- you and Gerold both. But I think, even with something like a magically binding oath, the treachery would still have taken hold. I think it still could have happened."
His sharp gray eyes watched every move she made, but he did not move an inch. His expression hadn't changed from that polite impassivity. He leanedforward6, elbows resting on his knees. "I won't argue with you, Miss Erphale. I have my reasons. If you'd like to hear them, I will explain." His expression softened just a touch. "You're a good person, Miss. You have your morals, and you stick to them as best as you can. But sometimes... We don't get a choice in how or when hard decisions are foisted upon us.". He had spoken aloud for all of this for her to hear the sincerity in his tone. His tone was not one of condescension, if was a gentle reminder. He knew full and well she'd had to make some of those hard decisions herself. It was a reminder the world was not so black and white.
To the world, Liessel was a nineteen-year-old young woman. She looked every bit her age in the dress she had chosen. It had been designed well and tailored to hide the fact that she had not come from a London background. Her costume was one that was meant to fool the eye on first glance, and perhaps every glance afterward. The truth of her was not in what she was wearing, it rested in her eyes. It was there, beneath the brim of her hat, hidden well and out of sight.
I won't argue with you. Tomlin had said, and in response he got a soft nod from Liessel.
"No, you are right," She answered quietly, "Sometimes we do not get to choose. And I would like to hear them, your reasons, because I did not come here to argue with you either Mister Jefferson. My goal for coming was to get confirmation that Gerold wasn't tethered to something that could rob him further of his life."
He studied her face for a moment longer, then nodded and sat back in his chair. His tea was still untouched. He is safe from that, Miss Erphale. He visibly sighed. Having been someone who was possessed and had no control of my body, my mind, or-- I feel like, looking back-- my soul... I know what its like to have my free will taken. I would not wish that on anyone. Not even Seth.
He paused for a moment. Say, then, would it be morally wrong to cast perception spells on others? To maintain an... awareness of another? Their well being? Their status of living? To know when they were in pain or upset?
She could sympathize with those words that Tomlin had just spoken. Liessel had been hunted by men who had had their minds subverted, their wills bent to the worst degree. Their freedom of will: shattered. And she had had to free them all. Liessel did not tell Tomlin this because he had been there to hear her story as they sat around the Knigtsbridge table discussing possibilities. She didn't speak a word of it because there was no need. The important part came after that.
"Perception," Liessel answered, her voice still quiet. It was her natural state, that quiet tone, "does not need magical means to be successful. All you need to do is to pay attention to the world around you and the people within it. That, I know, is harder than it sounds, but everything you posed just now can be gotten from simply being aware of who is around you and knowing them. For perception magic, itself, I do not think I would want to rely on something like that myself. Magic is tricky, magic is hard. There are many ways that magic can go wrong, but such is the same with everyday life as well. Life is simply more controllable than magic."
"Magic," she continued after a breath, "Is a remarkable tool, but it should not be used as a means of control."
Even when the person in question is of higher rank or importance? Even if you're not allowed to question them? Even if they're trained to hide their true intentions and what they can do? Even if they have the means to magically keep people from observing them even in the physical sense? Even if the person you're trying to observe is entire continents away?
Even when the person is of higher rank or importance?
Giessler
Even if you're not allowed to question them?
Giessler
Even if they are trained to hide --
Giessler had not been trained to hide her intentions, but she had learned.
Liessel drew a soft breath and shook her head gently, "Magic, as an observational tool, can be quite useful. But that is far different than what you had originally posed by means of a magical oath. Oaths, by their nature, exert some means of control. And magic, whatever form it takes, as a means of control is dangerous."
I don't know how to defeat the violent without participating in violence.
The words of Gerold Schoen echoed up to her from the depths of memory. Painted around him were the dry shades of a desert mesa.
"That said," She continued after a moment, "I cannot tell you if there would be a better way to do it. My observations in this come from what I've been taught by the Flynns and Aurelia. They come from my own experiences here, in this world. So, I will not sit here, in your house, and tell you that you are wrong Mister Jefferson. I, myself, just simply have to believe that there is a way. And maybe that way is doing just what I think Gerold is out there doing with Mister Seth right now: going out, doing the work, hunting it down with real eyes and real hands. It is a lot harder, yes, and just as dangerous, but at least in this way you would not run the risk of becoming like that which you are hunting."
He listened to her talk. He nodded occasionally. But when she was done, he folded his hands against his stomach and sat back. As I said, he said gently. I don't mean the removal of free will. I'm not suggesting an all powerful oath that binds people unconditionally. Miss Erphale, I sincerely doubt that any Arbiter worth their salt would condone such a thing... What I meant was-- something built into the oath that we already have. Something as simple as a perception spell. Intentions go a long way. What if they erred on the way? Maybe give the Arbiter they awareness of what they were thinking or planning or feeling... and give them the chance to release themselves.
"Where would the line be drawn -- how would the line be drawn -- in what the Arbiter is aware of? Thoughts, feelings, and intentions cover a wide range of things for many people. Put something like that in place, and you open the door for a multitude of infringements. It wouldn't be just the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of those who would stray. It would be every Frontiersman. Everywhere, no matter where they are in the world or what they are doing. The problem with something like that," She leaned forward and reclaimed her cup of tea from where she had sat it moments before, "Is that there is no telling who will do what, and when. You cannot tell by looking at a person, most times, what will turn their allegiances almost until after it has happened. Would you tailor something like that to each individual, and if so how would that be done? Where would the Perception stop as far as what intentions, thoughts, and feelings that it could read?"
He shrugged slightly. I'm not the Arbiter. I don't know. But we can't let it stand the way it is now. That treachery cut us to the bone, Miss Erphale. We don't know who we can trust. Who's still alive. Where the next Arbiter will be or will come from. It can't be like it was and having trust issues with every new recruit into the organization.
"Then," Liessel ventured carefully, her eyes meeting Tom's, "Maybe it would be time for something new. Something beyond the framework of what had been the Frontiersmen. Start it yourself, carry the tenants of what it meant to be a Frontiersmen if you would like, carry on the work that they would do, but recruit only those people you know that you can trust. If the Frontiersmen have fallen, and there is no telling where things end or begin, make a new beginning. Set things right, clean up the damage, but do so on ground that you've created, not on ground that someone else has given you."
He nodded slightly. Easier said than done, but point taken, Miss Erphale.
"I know," The young woman conceded before taking a sip of her tea. It was a good, strong English blend. "It is always easier said than done, Mister Jefferson, but it could prove worth the work in its accomplishing."
He nodded once. His eyes shifted to the side, looking past her, and focusing on the pallet in the background. Did he speak to you?
...He....
Liessel's eyebrows rose briefly as she took another sip of her tea, and then she found herself turning her head to follow where Tom's gaze had shifted.
She leaned forward and set her teacup back down on the low table in front of her. "Briefly," Liessel answered as she sat back, "He apologized to me on his way out."
Good. He's been a chicken about the entire situation, he murmured, his eyes drifting shut as if suddenly tired. He's been sorry since it happened. He was... distraught... by his own behavior and rightfully so to hear the story. His eyes fixed on her. Are you alright from that situation?
For a long moment longer, her eyes lingered on the sight of the piled up blankets.
It was all too easy to remember that day. It hadn't been too long ago, and she had been so tired, and so utterly angry.
"I hadn't been then," Her head turned back, Liessel resting her sight back on Tomlin, "but I am now. We got everything resolved and brought my father back with us. Giessler's been contained, and the Surveyors have been freed. I can, after all those months of hiding, let go and start living the life I'd like to live."
He nodded again, a slight smile on his lips. Good. If anyone deserves peace for themselves, its you.
Having had the mind to put her cup down moments ago meant Liessel's hands were free just then. She spared a moment to bring her right hand up, her fingers touching to the brim of her hat right over where the mark on her forehead sat, "I appreciate that, Mister Jefferson. The achievement of peace, I think, is a life long struggle. But here in this world, I think I am getting close to it."
His brows went up and then back down. He sighed and it sounded a little sad. I accepted a long time ago I'd never know peace. But I hope my companions find it.
"What would peace be for you, Tom?" It felt so very strange to call him that. But it fit the moment, so she let it be.
I don't know. But it has been over 20 years since I felt genuine happiness, Miss Erphale. I'm not going to find it again.
"How old are you, Mister Jefferson?" Liessel asked after a moment of careful regard, trying to root out his age from all the lines of stress and trauma that had consumed him, "If you do not mind me asking, that is."
He smiled slightly. "Fifty."
A small nod was given, and she continued to gently regard him from where she sat, "You still have years ahead of you, then. Why do you think you won't find your peace in this life?"
He made a face of skepticism. Miss Erphale, if you knew my history, you probably wouldn't even ask me why.
"I beg to differ," Liessel answered with a soft smile, "I think peace can be found for anyone. I think some people just need to -- step past -- the things that are holding them back from finding it. In your case, your past. Mister Whitmoor told me that you've become a recluse. You do not go out very much these days, Mister Jefferson, may I ask why? What keeps you in here and away from the world?"
He was silent for a long time. "Rachelle. Catherine. Augustine."
She pushed herself forward on her seat, squaring herself as much as she could with Tomlin where he sat, "I do not want you to think me impertinent with my next question, but it is one that I feel I must ask. So, please, be patient and give it its due thought."
There was a long pause there in which she was giving herself some time as much as she was giving Tomlin time. When she spoke next, she kept her eyes on Tom's face, meeting his gaze if he'd let her, "Do you think that Catherine would want to see you like this? Do you think she would be happy knowing that you've become reclusive and afraid?"
He forced his gaze away from Liessel and looked out the window. I know what she'd say.
Liessel stayed where she was, leaning just a little toward Tom with her eyes still there, still trained on where he was sitting. Her urging was gentle, nearly as soft as the touch of her fingertips could be. She knew the nerve she had just hit but was not looking to make it a jarring impact.
"What would she say?"
She'd tell me to lick my wounds. I still served a purpose.
A slow, warm smile spread across Liessel’s face. She let her appreciation for that statement show just before nodding her head, "She sounds like she was a wise woman, Mister Jefferson. I think you should listen to her."
He closed his eyes against the sudden flood of emotions. Then he opened his eyes and pinned her with a stern look. They used her against me. They used her to break me. I very nearly didn't come out of that ordeal with my mind and body intact. You were there. You saw what they did to me. I came very close to breaking. All because they offered me her.[/b]
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That stern look he shot her way was the thing that got her rising and moving closer to where Tom sat. Liessel dropped down easily to her knees at the edge of the chair, on the floor, sitting there on her feet while reaching for Tom's closest hand. "I was there," She said with a nod, "And I did see. But you are alive. You made it through. You have pieces to pick up and figure out how to put back together, but you are breathing. Now, you need to learn how to live again. That isn't going to happen with you sitting in here and watching the world pass by that window. Gerold is out there, Mister Jefferson, fighting on his own. The Frontiersmen are in shambles, and the danger there is only going to get worse. You are needed, and all it takes is just one step -- one foot and then the other. If you need help putting your pieces into place, I will help as much as I can. But you need to do something to help what's left of the organization that you belonged to. You need to do something for yourself. A life like the one you've been living is no life at all for a man like you."
Tom looked at her. Met her eyes evenly... He frowned ever so slightly. I want very much to be angry right now, Miss Erphale... But you make it hard to be mad at you.
"It is a natural gift, I am afraid," Liessel offered softly with a little smile, "If those are not enough reason for you, then I ask you to consider that I need someone out there with him -- with Gerold. Watching his back better than Seth can. He is running out of time, Mister Jefferson, but he has work to finish. On his own, I fear that it may take more time than he has, which means more time than we have -- him and I. You fear the unknowns within your organization so much, and you are so angry at what had been done to you, and with the losses that have been suffered. This is a direction to move in, a direction to focus that fear and anger. Take it all and shove it right back in their faces -- all of those who have done this to you. Go out there and help him find what he is looking for, help him put Mister Matthias to rest. Help him return afterward. Show them all that they haven't taken you out of this yet."
Something she said in there caught his attention very cutely. "What about putting Seth to rest?"
It startled him enough he said it out loud instead of telepathically.
"It needs to happen," She told Tom slowly, steadily, "Gerold feels that it needs to be done, that it's time to right the wrongs of his past so that he can have a future -- however brief it may be."
He was quiet for a long moment... Then looked towards the window. Does he blame himself for the life Seth has lived since dying? Mattias' fate?
"I do not know if he blames himself for that, but I can tell you that he blames himself for leaving Mister Matthias behind." From where she sat on the floor, Liessel kept her eyes on Tomlin while he looked out the window, his hand still held in her own. "The grief of it weighs on him terribly."
He shook his head. Well, then. He stood up. Fetch my hat, then, would you, dear? He reached for his cane sitting beside his chair. His hat was on the coat rack at the top of the stairs.
Tom reached for his cane, and Liessel let go of his hand. Her head bowed forward slightly, and she said "As you wish," before pushing herself up from the floor, her hand barely grazing against the arm of Tomlin's chair as she rose for a tiny sense of stabilized balance.
With a swish of skirt, and an easy turn she was off and moments later returning with the hat she knew to belong to Tomlin Jefferson, "Thank you, Mister Jefferson. I know that getting back out there is likely a hard thing for you to do."
It is what it is, Miss Erphale, he said gently. He reached for the hat and gently set it on his head. Tucking it down over very neatly combed graying hair. There was no sense of malignancy in his tone , just a soft note of... submission. Gerold needs me. Gerold needs you. I wasn't there for Oliver. But I can be for Gerold.
Her hands now freed, Liessel brought her right up to touch to the brim of her hat, and then let that touch drift to rest over her heart. There it sat for a second before her left was up and laying across her right before she was leveling her hands his way, "That means more to me than I could ever tell you. You will need to use your pin to find him -- I am not sure where he's gone."