maskormenacelogs | Follow the drill, and let the training kick in.

She probably should have asked what he looked like over the network, but she didn't want to have to answer the same question in return. Which was paranoid, sure, but she thinks in a justified way - she doesn't want to be easier to find, to identify. She'd thought that it would be okay and that he'd be easy to find, because her work was all but abandoned, but apparently there are more people here for coffee than there were for frozen bananas and so there are more tables occupied than free.

She's changed out of her awful work uniform; she's back in her normal clothes, black tunic and black pants, cap pulled down over her head. She's thin in the face, and quite young - eighteen, no more; she hunches her shoulders when she walks, walks quickly, and keeps her head down. Force of habit.

But when she comes to the coffee shop, her manner is direct: she walks up to the young man sitting at the table right next to Simon's. She asks him directly, ready to go around the shop until she finds who she's meeting, "Mr Newton?"

Mister Newton? The sound of his name scatters his thoughts, and Simon blinks himself back to reality from his daydreams. At the table beside his, a young lady is asking on him. He reflexively stands, waves, and grins somewhat sheepishly as he calls out to her, "Uh, hello! Miss Temple!" His accent is not British, but Scottish.

Shooting a quick glance at the other young man, he adds, "Wrong table, sorry about that. Didn't mean to disturb you."

Simon himself isn't wearing anything that stands out or looks remarkable. A dark blue polo shirt, denim trousers, chocolate leather loafers. He hadn't been quite sure what he was expecting, perhaps someone who looked more like Elizabeth? But this young lady he's meeting doesn't look anything like her; she is younger, short-haired, lighter-skinned.

"Miss Lizzie Temple, right? Hi there, I'm Simon. Simon Newton." He's still smiling as he extends his hand to shake hers, ready to step back to offer her a seat. "So glad you could make it. I'm really happy to meet you."

That's him? She somehow had been expecting someone a little bit less...put-together, maybe? She doesn't know if that's exactly the word for it. He's posh, no question about that. A girl who spent years of her life stealing - even if her people wouldn't be interested in what someone like this would carry - knows posh just by looking at it. Smartly dressed, a Northerner but of the upper crust. She looks him over just briefly, then takes his hand in greeting.

"Likewise, Mr Newton," she says. Something catches her eye - have his hands been injured? But she can't turn his hand over to check; she just releases it, and makes a note mentally to look at that when they're talking.

She shoots a polished smile of apology at the man next to them, then turns it on Simon as she sits. "You seem like you're doing all right." He seems less frightened in person than over text, she means.

"Uh, well. I think I am. Or, at least, I'm adjusting to being here." Simon can see some sort of surprise, not quite shock, writ into her expression. Unsure of what to make of that, he slowly returns to his seat.

"Not that this world is much different from the one I came from. Except for the—" Here, he gestures toward the air or the sky. "—flying. Things. I don't mean planes, but. Cars and skateboards, they don't hover off the ground. Not where I'm from."

Not from home. He's hesitant to call it home anymore, because home is supposed to be a place where he feels safe and secure and relaxed. His version of London has Franck and the painting and a certain hypnotherapist he can't seem to get out of his head.

"What about you, is it really different here? How are you faring?" After all, she comes from a London ruled by magicians! She seems to have a rather modern look about herself, though. Maybe her magicians aren't of the traditional long-bearded men with pointy hats variety.

Edited 2014-11-22 00:42 (UTC)

"Oh, I'm all right," she says, smiling a little uncomfortably. She's worked a few years now as a barmaid, so she's used to being chatted up; she's fine with that, even if it does irritate her. The way he's asking, though, it really sounds like he wants to know. What she's not used to is people really being solicitous of her and her well-being. It's - strange.

So she simply pushes forward past that and into the crux of the matter. It's maybe a bit rude - she ought to spend more time on niceties - but all that just makes her feel so awkward. "You need my help with your power." She sits back, letting out a breath and a little bit of tension with it. "Tell me about it in more detail. Everything they told you."

"Right." He takes a more serious tone as his smile fades. It's really for the better that she's so forward about it, because Simon hadn't been sure it was all right to simply dive into that. And it's more that he's so accustomed to pleasantries, brown-nosing superiors and clients alike, and of course, debtors. Yes, the niceties were an especially good way of putting off whatever ugly business he had with them.

But this isn't quite like that; no, it's really not like that at all. She's here to help, she has the power to cancel out powers, and she may be able to cancel his out as well. Hopefully.

"In the file, they call it 'Extreme Suggestibility'," he continues. "I'm... particularly susceptible to telepathic or psychic or hypnotic suggestions or commands. Anyone with those sorts of powers, really. I wouldn't know whatever else they are called. Anyway, I will apparently obey their commands subconsciously, without any obvious change in behavior or appearance. It will be as if everything's normal, or that whatever I'm doing is completely natural for me."

Thinking about it is frustrating, and Simon is visibly upset about the idea that someone, or anyone, may have the ability to simply tell him what to do. And without his knowledge, without his consent, he would simply comply with whatever commands he's been given. On the table, he's balled one of his hands into a tight, white-knuckled fist. He's not clutching at anything, but his clasp continues to tighten as he struggles to suppress all his pent-up rage slowly bubbling to the surface.

She looks at that fist, and then back up at him. She understands that. She'd be reacting the same way, or worse - there's absolutely no question of that. The thought of literally being unable to control yourself, of having no say over your actions - that's completely horrifying. That's the difference between the misery that she and her people go through and the far worse fate of the djinni: because while her people are powerless, the spirits literally are stripped of their ability to resist what they are told to do. And that's monstrous. Completely monstrous.

So her gaze turns sympathetic. Her face softens. She relaxes just a bit.

"That's an awful power," she says. "Honestly, I don't see how that's a power at all. It seems more like a curse."

Simon watches her soften up, sees her relax a wee bit, and then listens to her understanding and sympathetic response. And this is when he realizes how high-strung he is. After audibly swallowing a hard lump in his throat, he replies, "My thoughts exactly."

Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and very slowly uncurls his fist. He feels the circulation returning to his fingers under their adhesive dressings. When he opens his eyes again, his eyes are still somewhat moist but not nearly so much on the verge of tears.

With a heavy sigh, he adds, "And I have one more 'power'—it looks like they work in tandem. 'Conditional Immortality'. So long as I'm doing something that pertains to carrying out whatever suggestion or suggestions I am in the process of obeying, I won't be able to die. Or so the file says to some degree of detail."

Small recompense for the misery of that power. If anything, it makes it worse. If people were able to use her to bad ends, Kitty would want to know that she could be stopped. Say, if some magician could turn her against her comrades, then she'd want her comrades to be able to kill her before she hurt them. But for Simon? Someone could order him to kill, and he wouldn't be stopped until his target was dead. A ruthless person could turn him in the wrong direction, and he'd just keep going, unceasingly, and there'd be nothing that could be done...

Except for by her. She can do something.

Though what if - She can't help but wonder: Her power only nullifies others', and doesn't take them away. What if it's a temporary thing? What if she came along, and stopped him for a moment, and then as soon as she went away he continued on as before? That's a troubling thought - But if nothing else, her presence would make it so that he could be killed. The best case would be saving his life and stopping him from what he was going to do, but failing that, at least she could ensure he could be stopped.

"All right," she says, leaning forward. Her voice is suddenly quite businesslike. "I'm the only one you've told about this, right? No one else knows?"

He exercises his hand, repeatedly opening and closing it to get the blood flowing, get rid of the numbness. Shaking his head, he answers, "No one. You're the first I've mentioned it to."

It sounds like she can do something about it, and as much as he's afraid of getting his hopes up, he is feeling just slightly optimistic. Simon straightens up in his chair and looks thoughtful.

"Unless... Unless anyone actually read it before handing it to me when I arrived here. Otherwise, no one else should know."

She nods firmly. "Keep it that way. The worst thing that can happen is people knowing they can take advantage of you. If you keep it secret, you'll keep it safe. I'm not telling anyone, and the government won't tell anyone, and you shouldn't either."

Though that's not a guarantee. Files have been leaked lately. This information might get out, and it probably will, in time.

Well.

"What if - " She takes a breath, hesitating a moment as she tries to put this thought into words. "Do you think it might be possible for someone to...tell you not to accept any more suggestions, ever? To simply live your own life?"

He licks his bottom lip in thought, seriously considering that possibility.

Indeed, wouldn't it be wonderful if someone could simply suggest he always have free will and never unknowingly fall victim to his powers? It would be fantastic, which is why it also seems so incredibly, unbelievably impossible. Sure, he's feeling optimistic, but the notion is so idealistic that Simon isn't quite sure his hopes are that high yet.

"I don't... I don't really know that it would work." His eyes show the slightest hint of determined hopefulness. "Do you think someone we could trust to maybe give it a try?"

She nods once. He's not dismissing it out of hand, which is a good thing. She'd half thought that maybe there would be some sort of rule written in, just to ensure that his powers were completely, utterly, impossibly awful. But it sounds like there isn't.

That he knows of yet. It might be too much to hope for that things would work out so well. Still, if there's a possibility...

"We're going to have to find someone trustworthy," she says, crossing her arms and giving a firm nod. "Someone who can trigger your power. Like I told you, I can stop powers, but I need to know - Well." She shrugs. "Whether I really can, first of all - I'm not going to just trust what they've told me. And how effective it is, too. We need to know the facts of what you can do, and what I can do, long before someone tries to use your ability against you."

"All right." His gaze drops to the table at nothing in particular as he leans back in his seat. He rubs his chin as he ruminates.

She has a point. They both need to know what they're capable of, see their powers in action, understand how they work. But how would they go about finding someone trustworthy to actually... suggest things, trigger the use of his power? There's a lot of risk involved, and though Simon is fearful, he also feels a rush of excitement at the idea.

Glancing back up at her, he asks, "So how do you suppose I look for someone? Just... get on the network and place inquiries for hypnotists and telepaths?"

She tilts her head to the side slightly as she thinks about that, then shakes her head. "No. It truly does have to be someone trustworthy. And honestly, I don't think you should be looking at all - you don't want anyone getting curious over why you're interested."

But that leaves the question of how to find one. This is an urgent thing, no question of it; they can't just sit about, waiting for things to go wrong and then only reacting when it becomes some crisis. No...They need to find someone quickly. But how? Who? They've both only just gotten here...

"Watch the network," she urges. "Don't put out a call, but people are constantly talking about themselves on there. You should snoop about and see who's got those powers and whether they seem all right. And then we can talk to them."

He quietly draws a deep breath, leans an elbow on the armrest, puts a hand to his head as he thinks. "Okay. I can do that."

Doing it that way could take a while, and there is no guarantee anyone will mention hypnosis or telepathy or anything related. What are the chances of an information leak that conveniently reveals to them a potential candidate? Though Simon has his doubts, he wants to take his chances. Just not at the cost of his freedom, his right to his own mind, but that will always be at risk, especially with these so-called powers.

So, the longer and less conspicuous route it is. "We'll be keeping in touch, then, in case either of us notices or somehow meets someone promising."

Straightening up again in his seat, he adds, "So... is there anything else we should perhaps, I don't know, go over or clarify? And since we're here, might I get you something? A sandwich, a drink?"

"Oh. Erm - " That's a nice offer, and so she's caught a little bit off-guard by it. She does, for a moment, consider taking advantage of his offer; after all, she makes a bad wage at the banana stand and doesn't work many hours, and anything someone else buys is something she hasn't got to. And Kitty's not so proud as to not accept charity. Help came rarely enough that she knew to just accept it gratefully when it did.

But...Simon just got here, too; he's not exactly brimming with cash. And he's so sad, and nervous, and desperate. How could she take advantage of him?

"That's all right." She clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Can I possibly know a bit more about you? Where will you be working?"

Simon gives a firm nod. As long as he'd politely offered, he doesn't mind so much having been refused.

"Certainly," he answers with a small smile. Chances are their sandwiches aren't British anyway, but that's not to say he hasn't had foreign sandwiches before.

"Let's see, I am, currently, working as an inventory manager for local auction shows, which is hardly different from the job I used to have: an art auctioneer. Anyway so, most of the time, I'll be at the local auction house, and maybe some other venues on occasion."

He's happy to share and even feels slightly nostalgic mentioning his old job... that he likely can no longer have even if he returns to his London. It's a shame, really; he quite likes the chance to be up-close and personal with great pieces of art, especially those produced by the masters. All the same, his job as inventory manager does give him exposure to all kinds of things, artwork included.

"Where do you work, or what do you... do here? And, uh... I don't really want to pry, but I'm curious about the London you're from."

"That seems like a nice job," she says - though, honestly, she's saying it more because he looks happy talking about it than because she actually thinks it is. She's honestly never really understood art - it seems to be just another thing for the wealthy to acquire to show off their wealth. How anyone could look pleased having to cater to the upper classes as they just grab more and more, she doesn't understand...Books, as far as she's concerned, are worthwhile, but paintings and statues and the like are just a lot of nonsense used to bilk the wealthy out of their considerable fortunes.

Not that she's going to say that out loud. And it's probably a little bit cynical and unfair. But her years with the Resistance really robbed her of her ability to enjoy expensive things.

"Anyway, I work at a frozen banana stand," Kitty says; she takes a moment to let that sink in, and emphasizes how it ought to sink in with a sour little turn of her lips. Immediately after, though, she simply shrugs it off, and shakes her head. "Back home, I worked in a pub, and as a magician's assistant. Is that what you're curious about?"

He'd noticed her expression when she'd mentioned it, and knows he certainly would've felt gypped. But after she shakes it off, he decides not to pursue the topic; instead, she mentions her jobs from her London, her world.

"Yeah, that's it," he replies, hopefully not too enthusiastically. Working in a pub couldn't have been so bad, but it's still not quite Simon's cup of tea. Magician's assistant, on the other hand? He can hardly imagine what sort of magicians she's been talking about.

Are they magicians of the traditional sort, the ones often depicted in paintings and murals and legends and mythology? Or are they more modern? And he certainly doesn't know what that might entail, could include party clown magicians that twist balloons into animals or swords and things.

Simon can't quite hide his curiosity. "The whole... magician... thing. You said they rule London. What's all that about, exactly?"

"Just what it sounds like," she answers. Ought she be talking about this? Simon's problems are more relevant, certainly, and should be dealt with, but...Well. She does want people to know about her world. She wants word to get out about just how rotten it is. There are so many here who say they want to fight for freedom; who needs freedom more than her people? With any luck, by the time she figures out a way home, she'll have a proper army.

"Magicians are able to summon and command the services of demons. They're...very powerful. They can do things we commoners aren't even faintly capable of." She gives an awkward half-smile, thinking about what a lie that is, what a lie they've all been fed all their lives. "And they protect our country. So that means they also lead us. Our entire government is made up of magicians. Our heads of business. Our police. They're all magicians, and we just labor for them."

Magicians, and now the mention of demons. It's all very strange and unreal to Simon, but those things are just part of the world as she knows it.

"Wait, all those positions... are held only by magicians?" He still can't picture exactly what the magicians of her world may look like, only that they're a group of people that both has and exercises a great deal of power. And that sobering realization seems far less fantastical or exciting. In fact, it's sickening.

"And so, what, they've taken advantage of it, of their authority over the people? But your power, the one you have here, is it something that you have back where you came from?"

He hopes so; otherwise, what else could the people do?

Kitty Jones does. It's kept her alive more than once, when recklessness or stupidity or simple bad luck landed her in a bad situation. But Lizzie Temple doesn't; she's perfectly ordinary, just a magician's assistant and nothing more, who's never even had occasion to know about Resilience. Lizzie never had a magician set his demon on her for ruining his car. Lizzie never watched her best friend disfigured for that same crime. Lizzie never had to stand up in court and be called a liar for daring to contradict a magician. Lizzie never went through any of that.

Lucky Lizzie.

"It's new here," Kitty says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. But, because it feels a little bit wrong lying completely to Simon, she adds, "Though they're saying that there are a lot of commoners back home who have it now. They're using it to stand up to the magicians. People are furious because we're out fighting in America, and we've been losing the war for three years. So they're furious, and they're rising up, and their ability to resist magic helps."

It's her luck that Simon can't tell she'd lied, even a little bit. Then again, the odds have always been stacked against him. But her elaboration easily distracts him from any hints or tells that might give her away.

"Fighting in America? Didn't the American colonists declare independence and turn their backs on the motherland?" How different must their versions of history be? It's clear from his expression that he has questions, so many more of them. When did the common people start building up magic resistance? Are they starting a revolution... in London itself? Or the whole of England, or the UK and its territories?

"Actually, before you get to that... do you think that our powers here carry back over to the places we've come from? If we ever somehow go back, I mean."

Here, at least, is something she can answer forthrightly, without any lies. It's exhausting, really, to keep up these facades; a lie is always harder to come up with than the truth, and remembering the lies she's told, making sure they all line up, selling them, convincing people...It's tiring. So when she can just tell the truth, it's rather nicer.

"No, we don't." She sits back, lifting her chin. "If we go back, we go back to just who and what we were right at the moment we left. We don't even get to keep our memories, let alone our powers."

She offers him a tentative half-smile.

"Good news for you, at least."

He sighs in relief before answering with a half-smile. "Yeah, seriously. Thanks."

Then Simon has a thoughtful look that seems punctuated with a moment of brilliance.

"So is that why you are still doing work for your employer back in the other world? If our powers don't go with us, I don't see how the work you do here will carry over as well. Or is it just information from the translation that you needed, rather than a transcript?"

Her hand goes to her jacket pocket, where Ptolemy's Apocrypha is tucked away with its even lines of Greek. Greek she can read now, with the help of her translator, and Greek that describes a ritual she'll be trying tonight. Something that will let her cross over into the demons' world, something that will let her prove her trust in them, something that will win Baritmaeus' trust in return...Something that will prove, too, that it's possible to get free of here, even if only temporarily.

Assuming that it works.

"At first I was just panicking," she says. "I'd come here, and my first thought was that I was shirking on the job and that I'd get sacked for it. But the translation I found might actually turn out a bit useful. The information in it talks about crossing worlds." She smiles, and there's something a little bit proud in it, a little bit eager; that's Kitty's smile, a genuine expression of excitement and happiness. "It might help us."

"Really? You came here working on translating something that might get people back to where they're from?" Simon is both surprised and excited. He chuckles, genuinely beaming in his amazement. "Wow, that's. That is seriously incredible! Especially if it works, and since you'd really like to get home, I hope it does."

"Though..." Then something clicks in his head, because not all that long ago, she covered some of the grim details of her world. He's not very good at sorting out details; after all, his mind has been somewhat muddled since stealing that fucking painting. But he thinks he might be onto something, and it's plain from his thoughtful look that the gears in his head are turning.

"Are you really so excited to go back if you won't have the power with you? Or are there other ways for the commoners to help in the, uh, rebellion, even if they don't have the power to resist magic?"

She reaches up and pushes some hair behind her ear. It really does feel like an ugly thing to lie to Simon. After all, he's been terribly open with her, terribly honest, when it's his freedom and his sanity on the line; is her life so vaunted that she can lie to protect it? At the moment - At the moment, at the very least...It is, yes. The rebellion won't prevail for another half-century unless something drastic happens. Her people can't endure another fifty years of slavery. They can't keep dying on foreign shores. They can't keep being trampled and kept down by magicians - and by magicians' own poor slaves. Something needs to happen, and she knows that that something will come from her. But she needs to stay alive.

"I don't know if I could help them," she says. She doesn't look at Simon as she speaks - she hopes it's taken as embarrassment, even though it's more to conceal any hint that she's lying. "Even if I had that power. I just want to live a normal, peaceful life. All of that - I have nothing to do with it."

And then she looks up with a self-conscious smile.

"Anyway, my home sounds positively dreary in comparison to other people's. Tell me more about yours."

He doesn't know that his London, his world, is really of any interest. If it weren't for accruing more debt than he could hope to pay in a lifetime and losing a fucking painting worth 27.5 million in sterling, he might be living a rather mundane life as well. Simon might actually think it quite nice if there weren't some part of him niggling for a rush or the thrill, the excitement. Having a peaceful, uneventful life simply isn't enough for him.

"Uh, well... I don't really know that there's much to say about it," he answers. "Mostly it looks like the world around us right now, only that it's London, of course. As I'd said before, there aren't any hover cars or... hover skateboards. I mean, yeah, hover crafts do exist, but they aren't so... commonplace. So..."

Simon lets that trail off a bit, trying to think of what else there is worth mentioning. "Yeah, it's still the modern world, but some things here are more modern than back there. And vice-versa; there is some older technology and things here, still in use even though they've long been phased out. I don't know if you, um, maybe want to ask about anything specific."

Edited 2014-11-25 16:31 (UTC)

"Your government," she responds, a little bit too quickly for a girl who'd just claimed to be afraid of politics. But that really is what's always on her mind. All the imPorts seem to chatter in endless fascination about the technology of their world - what they have, what they don't have - but honestly, it's all the same to her. And it's really pointless nonsense, isn't it? If people from thousands of years ago showed up, what would they talk about, what sorts of horses they had or didn't have? And how remarkable it is, that there are different sorts of horses here? No; technology is a tool, and nothing more. If it can get her information, then it's interesting to her; if it can't, then it's just another bunch of glowing screens and little chirping noises, to be looked at and discarded.

What's interesting, what's the real difference between worlds, is their freedoms. What she wants to know is whether people can vote. Whether people can speak freely on the streets or whether they have to do so in hushed tones, in pubs, casting nervous glances over their shoulders for search spheres that might be knocking at the windows. What percent of the workers' tax payments go to funding the facilities that torture them into submission. She wants to know if the people who stand up in court are listened to, or if they're laughed at and shouted down. That's what's interesting to Kitty Jones.

She follows up with something a little bit less quick, and a little bit more in keeping with her persona.

"Just...Things for you aren't like they are for me. You've got a vote, haven't you? You choose your Parliament."

"Yeah, we do..."

Simon senses something fishy, something off that he can't quite pinpoint. It's nothing dangerous; not yet, anyway. And while he is feeling a little confused, whatever is bugging him isn't enough to trigger his fear, anger, or resentment. He glances at Lizzie, tries to study her, but he's not an exceptional judge of character. She works for a magician, and magicians appear to rule over the UK where she's from. The common people are angry and starting to develop powers to resist magic and beginning to rebel, and Lizzie wants to get back home even though her powers would stay here.

What could it be, exactly?

"Okay then, uh, each Member of Parliament in the House of Commons is elected by a constituency, and they remain for a fixed five years... unless there is an event of Commons passing a vote of no confidence or early election motion. Anyway, so the Prime Minister has to answer to them, to the House of Commons, or else the Sovereign apponts the MP who has the support of the House, or is likely to command it." After a pause, he adds, "So, I think that's the part you really wanted to know about, isn't it?"

"It's - interesting to me." That's confirmation enough, she hopes. Probably she should leave it alone after that; after all, she's got to be subtle, and she's got to not arouse suspicions any more than she has to. But all that - Imagine, really, being able to choose who spoke for you. Imagine it being like the Old Parliament, before the Night of the Long Counsel, when ministers had to...Well, honestly, she doesn't know what ministers had to do back then; did they have to listen to you if you came to them with a complaint? Did they have to worry about ensuring you stayed happy? People talk about how the government answered to its people back then, and in her head she sort of has a lingering image of politicians having to sit at a table with a pen in their hand and write down everything their people wanted. Was it like that?

Another question. "Sorry. So - the Sovereign. Does that mean that...your country still has a King?"

"Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, actually," he answers with a small smile and expectant expression. Simon guesses she doesn't like the sound of that, and so quickly offers some elaboration.

"The Sovereign is still the ultimate executive authority over the government. But it's constitutional; the monarchy doesn't hold all the power. It's limited by Parliament, by convention, by precedent. The Queen bestows honours, appoints the Prime Minister. The royal family performs a lot of diplomatic duties, and does official events and ceremonies..."

Even if all the pieces don't quite add up, he still can't blame her for wanting to know about somewhere other than where she's from. She's probably eager to learn about and possibly experience something different than what her world has to offer, especially when the government and authorities are so corrupt and abusive of their powers where she's from. Besides, Simon also wants to know about other places, other worlds, but hardly for the same reasons. It's just... different. Exciting. A distraction from mundaneness and normalcy.

"We've not had a king or queen for...a rather long time." Kitty thinks. It's something that happened rather far back in the past, the ouster of the monarchy - or that's what she was taught, at least. The history books had said that the sovereign, back in the past, hadn't had to be a magician, and so he was completely unable to protect the nation. But there was never any satisfactory explanation given as to how the monarchy came to an end; the books just talked, after, about the Old Parliament, and the weakness of it, and the replacement of it by Gladstone's government. The kings and queens seemed to just pass into nothingness. Maybe Mandrake would know more about all that - maybe it's something that was kept from commoners specifically.

"They had an Emperor, over in Prague, before Gladstone toppled him. They say he was mad, and useless." She gives a little shake of her head. "I guess - where I'm from, if you're going to rule, you've got to really be able to fight to keep your power."

Recorded in art and literature and a manner of different ways, many countries have, throughout history, been governed by absolute monarchy. This meant their sovereigns wielded unrestricted power, often because these rulers claimed divine right, or subscribed to the belief that their power came from God, or perhaps some other deity depending on the culture. Based on that claim, these rulers weren't accountable to any earthly powers; they were only accountable to God. It's so widespread in so many different stories and legends and records, it's the first thing that comes to mind when mentioning a monarchy.

Yet it's not the first that comes to Lizzie's mind, which comes as a surprise to Simon. And the little detail that follows is perhaps even more shocking. "Wait, so this... Gladstone. He's one of the magicians, then? So these magicians, they rule over not only London or the United Kingdom, over its commonwealths, but all over the world?"

Is that really all these magicians had to do? March onto another territory, topple their rulers, and install themselves as the authority? If it were that easy, if that really was the case, then it's no wonder the commoners were unable to regain control, not without the power to counter or resist the magicians' own.

Edited (Ok, I'll stop editing, I promise.) 2014-11-27 12:47 (UTC)

"Sort of. It's - " She chews her lip. "London's the greatest power in the world right now, and it's ruled by magicians. The British Empire extends...far. We've got a large part of North America, and India, and parts of Arabia, and parts of Europe, too. And we're in a truce with other parts, like Prague, though they're definitely...partners, sort of. But it's not like we rule the whole world, and magicians don't rule all of it, either. Like, there's...Bruges, where commoners rule. They've got magicians, but commoners are really in charge. Or - the North American nations, I've heard a lot of them just have magicians and commoners on equal footing."

And then she gives a shrug.

"There's not a lot that they tell us in school. And there aren't a lot of books available, either. Most of what we know comes from talking to tourists, and you usually...don't want to be talking to them for too long."

A quick smile, and she shakes her head. "Anyway. Gladstone's not a magician now. He died about two hundred years ago." About, she says, like she doesn't know all too well the exact number. She's rather too familiar with Gladstone's mortal remains. They spent quite a bit of energy trying to murder her. "Our Prime Minister right now is Deveraux. He's been in charge...since before I was born, in any case."

Simon is visibly relieved. There's still a chance, if only they could maybe break up their British Empire.

"I see." He wonders the consequences of speaking to tourists for long, but imagines they can't be much good at all. Absently, he quietly drums his fingers on the table as he listens and thinks.

"So Gladstone's been gone for some time now, and Deveraux has been in power for... a while. Do you know how much longer since you'd been born? Do magicians... live longer than commoners? or the average human?"

"Not longer. Or, well - " She gives a half-shrug. "They've usually got access to better food and better housing, and they haven't got to slave away in factories, and they don't serve as soldiers, so I don't doubt that on the average they live longer than we do. But it's not as though they're...superhuman. They've just got access to demons, and those demons do what the magicians command."

And then she cocks her head to the side and studies Simon. He's...invested in this. That's not hard to see. He seems to really care about her world, and the state of things. He seems really upset about the way things are, too. Even if he's not someone who would be useful to her cause - God, not with that ability - it's still so nice to see him care. It's so nice to see anyone care. She's so used to dead-eyed apathy, wearied resignation, that seeing real emotion on the face of this man who doesn't even have anything at stake, who's not even really affected by her life at home but still cares -

It catches her off-guard, and catches her at the strangest moment, triggered by nothing except the earnest look in his eyes. Gratitude, and sorrow, come all at once, stealing over her and seizing her hard. She looks away suddenly, and fights against it - because how stupid it is, and how weak, because she's too resolute and hardened to feel emotion like this any longer, she's not some little girl crying helplessly outside a courtroom any longer, she's far beyond that - but her throat is stupidly tight, and she can't really meet his eyes, and she just says, feebly, "Sorry. I think - something - just got into my eye."

What a pathetic excuse, Kitty. Shape up. You probably look mad.

He hears the slight strain in her voice, sees the way she looks away and attempts to reign in her feelings. The fact she doesn't wish to draw his attention only makes him more aware of it, leaving Simon unsure of what to do next.

"It's fine. I... hope you manage to remove it. Must really be itchy," he manages to respond, trying to respect her wish to hide her feelings. "Besides, it seems I've taken much of your time. Thanks so, so much, really. For everything. I do promise to keep in touch."

Follow the drill, and let the training kick in.

Yes excellent thank you

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