If your character and Kay need to get together for a personal conversation or some other kind of little-tiny-thing, and we're feeling too lazy to throw up a new post, we can spam it up in here.
[And Kay just sort of stares at him for a second, trying to figure out if she understood him correctly. There're only so many ways to interpret what sounded suspiciously like "the guy he's fucking," though, so presumably she's got it.
She's not unaware of homosexuals--that's what "molly" means here, right? she hopes so, or she'll need a bit more explanation from Mildmay--but in general...well, she ignores them, they ignore her, and neither has to think of the other fucking. She clears her throat.]
[Mildmay isn't quite sure how he managed to shock Kay, here, but obviously he has. They've gotta have mollys in Manhattan or wherever, right? Well, whatever, Kay's seemed to've moved on, so Mildmay will, too.]
[Most of them live downtown a bit from her, Mildmay, it's not your fault. She's perfectly happy to talk about something else and so nods in agreement.]
Yeah. It's really kind of peaceful--at home, it's horns blaring and people shouting at all hours of the night, sometimes.
Manhattan's a borough. It's--[she tries to decide how to explain it]--part of a city. New York City, to be exact. And it's huge--much bigger than Luceti. [Kay occasionally forgets about bargains when her end isn't nearly as interesting. She smiles.] I've never lived anywhere this small before, either. Where I grew up was on the edge of a decent-sized city. This is closer to my grandparents' farm. [Except with a hell of a lot more forest.]
[Mildmay would be inclined to disagree; Kay's world sound fascinating to him, at least for how easy it seems to be able to get a job.] There an Old York, then?
Sounds nice enough. Or familiar enough, anyways. [Mildmay imagines she's from some place similar to Arabel, then; a town next to a larger city. Which'd make sense, then, as to why she moved to the larger city in question. As always, Mildmay squirrels this information away against future use.]
They just call it York. It's an ocean away, though--I've never been. [Other parts of England, yes; that part in particular, no.]
[She shrugs. Fond memories thought she might have of her childhood home, 'familiar enough' is probably the more accurate phrase these days.] I imagine you'd like New York better, being from a big city yourself. It's a nice place--always something going on.
But your place's named after it. Huh. [Mildmay lives in a world without colonialism, or, at least, past Cymellune's expansionist phase enough for time to have momentarily forgot the concept; he's trying to think of a reason why you'd name a place after another place. Seems like a lot of work to him.]
Enough of the people who lived there a few hundred years ago were from the old York that they decided to call it New York. [Shrug.]
[And Kay won't be quick to disabuse him of the notion that New York is full of pale redheads unless he asks outright.] I like it well enough. It's the place to be if you want to write, so...
...There's a right place to be if'n you want to go into the published lie business? [Eyebrow raise. Mildmay still does not quite believe that Kay could actually get a respectable job in such a business. Or that such a business would exist in the first place.]
[She raises an eyebrow right back.] It sounds so much better if you use the euphemism. [You know. If "writing" is a euphemism.]
But yes, New York is where the big magazines are. I could mail in stories, if I still lived in Indianapolis, but I'd rather be able to deliver them myself.
[Mildmay would ask what a 'euphemism' is, but Kay's tone is perhaps a little too sharp and dry; Mildmay takes note note to call it 'writing' in the future.]
Magazines? [Storing... closet?] You mean broadsheets? There's broadsheets that publish stories?
Broadsheet? ...Like a newspaper? Magazines are a little different--the ones Jules and I are published in are like little books. Couple hundred pages each month, some stories, some articles--here, I'll show you.
[In the study, after all, there's an issue of Incredible Tales she picked up from the library a day or two ago. There's nothing of hers or Julius' in it that month, but it's from a date some time a few years hence, so she supposes it's just as well; the opportunity to peek into the future was too much to resist. While she's at it, she grabs the other books she took out from the library--including one she coauthored, taken from the shelf in a fit of yearning--and comes back out. Setting the books on the coffee table, she holds Incredible Tales out to Mildmay.] This is a magazine.
[Mildmay sees the cover (http://crotchetyoldfan.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/astounding_science_fiction_195512.jpg) and is unable to stop himself from letting out a thin whistle of surprise.] Well, that'll sell.
[He flips through through the thing fairly quick, clearly impressed for all his sarcasm. All of it makes a hell of a lot more sense to him, now. Holding evidence in his hands helps.] Sounds like nice work. Jules-- your husband-- he does this, too?
That's for sure. [Kay rolls her eyes. HER FEELINGS ON RITTERHOUSE, LET HER SHOW YOU THEM.] If I was in charge, the cover art'd be completely different.
[But then Mildmay asks her about her husband, and she sounds rather warmer.] Julius and I write together, usually. Most of our stories go out under both our names. [She nods over at the stack of paperbacks on the coffee table.] I found one of our books at the library, and a few others that look good. You're welcome to read them, if you like.
I can imagine. [Kay seems like the sort of lady who'd have, for lack of a better word, lots of opinions.]
[Mildmay eyes the books on the table with something like suspicion. Why does the reading thing keep coming up? He's gone three septads and some without having to ever come under too much fire for not really knowing his letters.] I'll think about it. I ain't much of a reader. [There's that lie again. He's getting pretty fucking sick of it, truth be told.]
[Kay raises an eyebrow once again. Say it one time, and she'll gloss over it, but again...] So what constitutes "not much of a reader," if you don't mind my asking? It's the second time you mentioned it. [Which clearly justifies asking, clearly.]
[Mildmay ducks his head, clearly not expecting Kay's curiosity. He is immediately flustered and ashamed; being illiterate is no uncommon thing, where he's from, but he's lived with Felix for long enough that he feels properly shamed by the thought. But he can't lie, and if he evades again, she'll know.]
[With a heavy sigh, he mutters, barely audible,] Can't read. [And then, figuring she couldn't understand him, because really, Milly-fox, you ain't even trying to be understood with that maw, he says again, more clearly:] Don't know how.
[Kay has a hunch she shouldn't've said that, but she waits patiently until he answers, rather than taking it back. And when he does, she aims for practical rather than pitying.]
Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of, plenty of people can't. And you can always learn. [It's not like there's anything else pressing they need to do here.]
[And Mildmay can not appreciate enough, the fact that he gets practicality over pity. He looks up at her again, face once more cooly neutral. He shrugs.] Can't learn.
Anyone can learn. [Though admittedly, she's slightly less firm about it when she catches sight of his face.] There's certainly no harm in giving it a try, especially if you're stuck here for the time being.
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She's not unaware of homosexuals--that's what "molly" means here, right? she hopes so, or she'll need a bit more explanation from Mildmay--but in general...well, she ignores them, they ignore her, and neither has to think of the other fucking. She clears her throat.]
Well. This'll be a change for you, then.
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Seems quieter, at least, which I can appreciate.
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Yeah. It's really kind of peaceful--at home, it's horns blaring and people shouting at all hours of the night, sometimes.
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[Kay never did hold up on her end of the tell-us-about-where-you're-from bargain.]
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Sounds nice enough. Or familiar enough, anyways. [Mildmay imagines she's from some place similar to Arabel, then; a town next to a larger city. Which'd make sense, then, as to why she moved to the larger city in question. As always, Mildmay squirrels this information away against future use.]
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[She shrugs. Fond memories thought she might have of her childhood home, 'familiar enough' is probably the more accurate phrase these days.] I imagine you'd like New York better, being from a big city yourself. It's a nice place--always something going on.
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I think I had my fill of big cities, at this point. But it sounds like a nice enough place. [Let's be honest: Mildmay's just picturing Mélusine, but populated by redheads dressed like to Kay.]
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[And Kay won't be quick to disabuse him of the notion that New York is full of pale redheads unless he asks outright.] I like it well enough. It's the place to be if you want to write, so...
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But yes, New York is where the big magazines are. I could mail in stories, if I still lived in Indianapolis, but I'd rather be able to deliver them myself.
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Magazines? [Storing... closet?] You mean broadsheets? There's broadsheets that publish stories?
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[In the study, after all, there's an issue of Incredible Tales she picked up from the library a day or two ago. There's nothing of hers or Julius' in it that month, but it's from a date some time a few years hence, so she supposes it's just as well; the opportunity to peek into the future was too much to resist. While she's at it, she grabs the other books she took out from the library--including one she coauthored, taken from the shelf in a fit of yearning--and comes back out. Setting the books on the coffee table, she holds Incredible Tales out to Mildmay.] This is a magazine.
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[He flips through through the thing fairly quick, clearly impressed for all his sarcasm. All of it makes a hell of a lot more sense to him, now. Holding evidence in his hands helps.] Sounds like nice work. Jules-- your husband-- he does this, too?
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[But then Mildmay asks her about her husband, and she sounds rather warmer.] Julius and I write together, usually. Most of our stories go out under both our names. [She nods over at the stack of paperbacks on the coffee table.] I found one of our books at the library, and a few others that look good. You're welcome to read them, if you like.
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[Mildmay eyes the books on the table with something like suspicion. Why does the reading thing keep coming up? He's gone three septads and some without having to ever come under too much fire for not really knowing his letters.] I'll think about it. I ain't much of a reader. [There's that lie again. He's getting pretty fucking sick of it, truth be told.]
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[With a heavy sigh, he mutters, barely audible,] Can't read. [And then, figuring she couldn't understand him, because really, Milly-fox, you ain't even trying to be understood with that maw, he says again, more clearly:] Don't know how.
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Well, that's nothing to be ashamed of, plenty of people can't. And you can always learn. [It's not like there's anything else pressing they need to do here.]
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