Chapter Text
{New York City — Museum of the Moving Image}
A little field-guide reading had, in very short order, made it plain that the Museum of the Moving Image would be impossible to do anything more with than a smash and grab if they didn't somehow have electricity — so many of the exhibits had been interactive, but they required power, which was something no one short of an Ainu was capable of generating — and a few very specific Ainur, at that. Mairon and Nai had been drafted; Ossë and his shadow (Celegorm) seemed to be along for the ride. Sue Anne — well-bundled in a Sharley-made overcoat of forget-me-not blue, with a matching stocking cap on her strawberry-blonde hair — was there either as Nai’s minder, emotional support human, or perhaps both. She’d never been to New York and she’d always wanted to go, so she’d jumped at the chance. Jim had, too, though he was currently at the Met; they’d theoretically meet up later.
Getting the door open required more than a bit of effort, given the hinges had rusted shut; Harë, who as ever lurked like a lurking thing, pried them open so Mairon and Nai could do…whatever it was they needed to do, and prayed the wiring hadn't all been eaten by rats since the plague. The formerly evil Ainur were already quietly bickering about something, though it was impossible to tell what it was.
“Smells better than I’d expected,” was Lorna’s comment, as she peered into the dark. “Less mildew than I’d’ve thought…the damp’s been kept out reasonably well. I think.” She knew fuck-all about construction, but she did know what mold smelled like. There was also less rodent piss than anticipated…at least out here. Further in — back where there had been actual costumes — that might not prove to be the case.
Ratiri took her gloved hand, and gave it a squeeze. She knew what this meant to him, this trip to New York — this thing he’d always regretted never doing with Katherine. Lorna wasn't Katherine, and New York now most definitely was not the city they’d intended to visit, but the thing was nevertheless getting done. She and Liam had also dreamt of going to America someday, but getting an international passport with a prison record was difficult, and it was downright impossible if you were still on probation, as they’d both been. “Is it odd, being here again?” he asked. “New York City? I at least have no personal context for what it was before the plague.”
“It is…and it isn’t,” she said slowly. “I know this sounds mental, but standing in Times Square, I couldn't help but imagine all those screens dark, all the streets clogged with traffic that’d never move again. I think I was picturing what this city would become, well before we knew it — and I bloody blame Stephen King.”
Sue Anne burst into highly unexpected giggling. “You read The Stand, huh? My daddy had a love-hate relationship with that book. He was a virologist,” she added, as if that explained everything — which, to the humans, it did.
“I had a love-hate relationship with it,” Lorna snorted. “Christ, the nightmares I had…you know how hard it was to give me nightmares, when I was younger? Really damn hard, but that scene in the Lincoln Tunnel haunted my dreams for months.”
Mairon shook his head. “That book is what happens when someone does not get out enough. Corpses? What corpses. This city is home to more rats than people, and they did not catch the plague. There would be nothing left to stink. Om nom nom,” he said in the most disturbing manner possible.
“Mairon, nothing personal but…you spent too much time in the back room,” Nai grimaced.
“Nai,” Mairon deadpanned, “you didn’t exactly discourage me.”
“I deserved that,” Nai muttered, trying to stifle a shiver.
“Oh for fig’s sake, I am not going to keep watching this!” Mairon blew his stack.
“I’m fine!” Nai protested. “It’s just a little…”
“You ARE NOT FINE,” Mairon hollered. “Your shirt says so! I’m telling Sharley!”
Nai wrapped his (not terribly substantial) coat around himself more firmly and pouted. “I’m FINE.”
Lorna grimaced. “Yeah, there’s a mental image I didn't need, but I’m not getting rid’v it now.”
Sue Anne regarded Nai with narrowed eyes. “What exactly are you wearin’? Because from where I’m standin’, it ain’t nearly enough for this weather. I don't care if you are a Vala — cold’s cold, and this kinda cold’s what my Uncle Joseph would say’d freeze the tits off a brass statue.”
Lorna’s eyebrows rose, because one thing she would not have imagined — but also would not now forget — was the sight of Mairon hopping up and down, pointing at Sue Anne. He reminded her so forcefully of Thanadir in that moment that she couldn't help but think, You can leave Eldamar, but it can’t leave you. Apparently, it had received the Hotel California treatment at some point, and not bothered informing anyone.
Appearing miffed, but refusing to argue, he held out his arms to confirm the Not Okayness of his T-shirt and that yes, that and a light pair of pants were all that was under a pathetically inadequate long cardigan with a light knit (and it wasn’t even wool, for Eru’s sake).
“We were trying to play with a muppet, but there was all this commotion!” Celegorm protested, before he stopped.
Ossë already had buried his face in his hands. “I cannot deny him,” he intoned, depressed.
“THAT’S WHAT HE SAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIID!!!!!!!!” Kurt cackled maniacally through into the next room, personally fulfilled.
Celegorm’s face fell. “It sounded fine in my head,” he muttered.
“I know, love,” Ossë kissed him on the forehead. “It isn’t your fault that you weren’t born in a toilet.”
Nai’s head jerked up, eyes like saucers.
Mairon wanted to say something but clearly thought better of it.
“Now…what is all the noise about?” Ossë demanded. “We could hear you clear over to Kermit the Frog!”
“He’s freezing and he’s too stubborn to say anything, is what,” Mairon pointed at Nai. “He needs clothes and if I have to knock off a muppet or go find Sharley and beg he is going to have something to wear!”
Two thoughts ran through Ossë’s mind, having known Chandra long enough: 1) someone was more than halfway to a meltdown 2) a vision of Nai wearing Miss Piggy’s boa had just gone through his head, and it wasn’t coming out. And it needed to, like…something digestively stuck. Kurt did not need to find it, in the worst way possible and that practically made this a crisis.
“Does, uh, does anyone know where Sharley actually is?” Ossë asked.
“But–” Nai wheezed in protest.
“BUT NOTHING,” Mairon grabbed his shoulders and shook him, at which point Ossë did what he could to give Mairon a nice hug. Group hug. Hugs were good…but his expression had just turned somewhat desperate.
“Nai,” Ossë told him gently but firmly. “You can’t do this to Mairon. I understand thinking you don’t deserve help because of a long list of shitty things. I was a poster child for that for a really long time. But in the end? You’re hurting the people around you while you’re busy trying to punish yourself. It’s selfish as fuck.”
“And it accomplishes nothing,” Harë, with the slightest hint of challenge in her tone. There was the barest flicker of it in her near-non-expression, too, but only the Ainur were likely to pick up on it. “I do not understand what punishing oneself is even meant to accomplish, but whatever it is, you are not doing it now. I know where Sharley is — the nearest one of her is still in the Met, and probably will be for some while yet.”
“Kinda makes me feel like we’re gettin’ nowhere with him,” Sue Anne sighed. “I don't understand how you can heal other people, but you can’t heal you, Nai.”
“It’s a good question,” Lorna said. “You did more for me, completely inadvertently, than most who’ve intended to help me in my life. Chandra, too. Why don't you focus on doing good, rather than punishing yourself?”
“I’m trying to,” he said quietly. “But…for the people whose lives I wrecked beyond all repair…there will never be enough good. And there can’t be the thing they really need which is, me never having been this giant dumpster on fire in the first place. I never had to face what I did. Not really. Now…it is all I do, and I deserve no less.” He shrugged. “If something helped, I am glad. You need this place to work. I can do that, but Mairon needs to help me a little.”
Well, this was sounding…depressingly familiar. Hadn't Lorna heard assorted variations of it, over and over, from her once and (probably) future therapist? Unfortunately, Nai likely would not have his head dragged out of his arse by somebody gutting him in a dream…though maybe if it was someone directly affected by him…nah. “A highly annoying but unfortunately intelligent man I know once told me that no, you can’t fix the damage you did, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn't try anyway,” she said. “And he was a load better at it once he quit beating himself up for not being able to undo things that couldn't be undone. He certainly became a good deal less irritating to be around.” Well…mostly. Still annoying, just not maudlin. Nai wasn’t maudlin, but he was still being too consumed by guilt and regret to be as effective as he was actually capable.
Nai smiled crookedly at her. “You mean well. And in his case…well…he always was a special sort of…something….” he trailed off, thinking better of trying to find words for Avathar. “But you will never know the weight of this magnitude of sin, Lorna Donovan. I am not just anyone. I am the ultimate sour note, in every possible way. The tune has not ended and the Conductor had the right of it. I began the story along with my peers of which I was the greatest, and I shall see the end though I have fallen very low. Everything has become…incomprehensible, really. What is that saying, your people have? I just live here? Yes, that suits. I just live here, and I am doing as much community service as possible.”
Ossë shook his head. “I really do get it. Decent framing, appalling point of view,” he waggled his finger like a 19th century schoolhouse marm.
“Do you know,” Nai smiled a little more, “I still wonder how you backed up the toilets? In Utumno? By Holy Eru, that was…” he groped for a suitable term. “Mairon, if I may ask for assistance, what was that?”
“A complete and utter lack of self-preservation, but with so much flair that the tale is still recalled?” Mairon tried.
“...that works,” Nai agreed, his grey eyes pinning Ossë down in curiosity. “So. You want me to do something very difficult. I wonder if even you realize what you ask, and at least you have some framework by which to comprehend. I will offer to negotiate. I want the absolutely unedited story for an audience of my choosing – which must be approved by a real one of the Powers. No children. And I shall give my very best for two weeks to try, even though I barely know how.”
Ossë’s eyes narrowed. “Add that you will accept the help of your peers within reason in this endeavor, and negotiations are concluded, Your Former Utumno-ness. I question if you are prepared for this level of revelation.”
“Try me,” Nai replied.
“That shit went on for days, in every sense of the word, and we are going to make an entertainment out of it?” Mairon asked in complete disbelief.
In his best sultry voice, Ossë answered. “Yes. Oh yes. Kurt, do I have a soundtrack?”
Kurt, naturally, did not disappoint. Once upon a time, he had been limited to be a single-fart singer, but after so many centuries, he could manage to be his own harmony. Into the Hall of the Mountain King thundered its flatulent way throughout the entire building, echoing in corners that had long been silent — for those able to hear, at any rate.
Apparently, Sue Anne was somehow one of them. “...Sounds juicy,” she muttered, nose wrinkled. Lorna managed to suppress a snort at her expression…barely. Hey, it wasn’t like she was wrong. Lorna at least had been highly curious about this story, ever since she’d first heard of its existence, but she was not the only one — Ratiri watched Ossë with keen-eyed interest. This was either going to be good, very bad, or, more probably, both.
“Stop,” Celegorm said flatly. “You lot aren’t doing this right now if the point is that he (a finger pointed at Nai) not keep standing there freezing? You go get something from Sharley first. Then deliver your speech.”
“AWWWWWWWWWWWW!” Kurt cried out in disappointment. “I just warmed up the woodwinds, Boss!”
“Uhm…” Ossë stared at Celegorm, who really seemed quite angry (and he had to live with that pillow)... “Kurt, you can keep them warm. I believe in you. I’ll be, er, right back. The Met, you said?”
“Do you need me to go with you?” Mairon offered quietly. “I know the building well. I will not try to talk,” he added quickly.
Ossë seemed paralyzed.
“Oh, go on,” Sue Anne said. “Hurry it up, the both a’ you. I’m curious, and my feet are gonna turn into two blocks of ice if we have to stand around waitin’ for the next five years.”
Lorna grimaced. “Forgot to ask Sharley for socks?”
“Yep.” Sue Anne’s sigh seemed to be dragged all the way from the depths of her chilled toes. “Never really had to think of cold feet, before.”
“Ossë, get Sue Anne some socks while you’re at it,” Lorna ordered. “Please. Shit, I’m starting to sound like my sister, ordering everyone about like their mam.”
Nai sighed, and trundled off to Vala a power supply into existence; it was not very long before he had Mairon pointing out this, that, the other thing. It was just like old times, with better architecture and lower temperatures, he snorted to himself. Modern portable commercial generator sets were such handy devices.
“You knew about these?” Mairon stared, impressed.
“...Actually, you did,” Nai smiled crookedly. “The rest was sort of downhill.”
“Oh. Well, whatever works, I suppose,” Mairon contemplated, fretting, and fussing until Nai was back inside out of the colder cold. The winds were picking up, because when were they not by this time of day? It seemed threatening to snow, too.
“You worry too much, Mairon. But…I am sorry. I did not intend to cause you such distress.” The gray eyes surveyed old film canisters, and assorted video displays that jumped to life – on timers that still functioned, apparently.
Suspicious, Mairon studied that face for signs of Bullshit™ and found none.
“I mean it,” Nai added. “Difficult though that may be to accept.”
“It…” Mairon looked away. “I am just as much in your shoes, yet have the gall to harbor the same prejudices. What nerve, eh?”
“No,” Nai told him. “You have the right. I am sorry and would help you if I could…but I know I cannot.”
“Well that is where you are wrong, you giant self-important gombeen!” Mairon turned on him. “You could help plenty by keeping your word, and fuck this two weeks! Two weeks? What is two weeks? Where do you get off with the luxury of two fucking weeks while the rest of us must wrestle in the mud for the rest of time? Are you still really so self-deluded? Are you?”
“I am sorry,” Nai appeared stricken. “I did not…”
“YOU DID NOT IS RIGHT! You get out here and get your ass mowed with the same blades knocking down the rest of us, instead of moping on that Shangri-la island of yours! I had better see a whole lot more of you, do you understand me?!” Not thinking, Mairon lurched for the nearest muppet, puppet, whatever it was and began thwacking Nai with it. He had burst into tears.
It was at this juncture that a rather worried Sue Anne, shuffling her feet in a vain attempt at warming them up, found the two. She froze in her tracks, wide-eyed, because…well, she hadn't known what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this. “Mairon!” Her voice cracked through the air like Kentucky thunder — like every Southern mama had come back from the dead just long enough to infuse that single word with their collective disapproval. “Mairon, I know you ain’t sittin’ there hittin’ Nai with Bert! You put him down, right this instant! That muppet’s a piece of genuine USA history!”
Confused, not knowing Bert from Ernie (from Elmo, for that matter), Mairon flung Bert away from him in terror. Naturally it sailed right at Sue Anne.
Nai no longer cared. “Come here,” he whispered apologetically to Mairon. “I am so sorry. Whatever you want, Mairon, just please do not cry. Here. This one cannot be Bert. Do you want to hit me with it instead?” he offered up Ernie (which he did not know from Big Bird).
“I am f-finished,” Mairon sobbed, lost to actual reason. “I c-cannot m-m-muppet innocent people,” he wailed.
“You didn’t do anything,” Nai reassured him, patting him on the shoulder, holding him gingerly. “Bert is fine. I am fine. It was a misunderstanding…one that I started. I am sorry,” he tried once more, but the apologies did not appear to be working.
Bert wasn’t actually fine, but it was nothing Sharley couldn't handle. Sue Anne hid the poor Muppet in her coat as gingerly as she could, so that nobody might notice his nose was falling off; Mairon was having a hard enough time as it was. “Nai, while I don't agree with Mairon’s actions, I do think his sentiment’s in the right place,” she said, firmly but gently. “You do spend an awful lotta time at home, and while we love you and we wanna have you there, you need to get out more — and not just for work, like this is. Spend some time with Mairon and your other Special Case, whose name escapes me at the moment. Y’all are basically doing community service right now, and that’s a good thing, but there’s more to life than that.”
She laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “Now, Nai, I know I won’t understand the weight a’ your sins anymore than Lorna does, and I can’t pretend I ever will. What I do know is what I’ve seen, in the months I’ve known you: whoever, whatever you were once, you ain’t that person now. Mairon, I think I can safely say you ain’t, either, though I admit I don't know you well. How about Nai goes to that nice house for dinner once a week? Doesn’t have to be anythin’ special.”
Trying to quiet himself, he found that this made everything far easier. Mairon reminded himself that he should not be concerned with his own problems. “I would be glad to take food and meet you somewhere. But there is no house to which I can invite you. It has been destroyed. The forest is cold, this time of year. I know you are going to ask and I would rather not say what happened, it would amount to gossip. It is to be rebuilt. The point is, I am happy to spend time with Nai if he would see me. I believe Thanadir might like to come too. Maybe others. I can ask.”
Sue Anne gaped at him (totally unladylike, her mama would have said). “Destroyed?” she echoed. Of course, the first thing she wanted to ask was exactly that, because she couldn't imagine who or what would want to destroy such a beautiful home, let alone how they’d have done it. “Mairon, honey, I’m from the South. We live on gossip, but I won’t press. Well, there has to be some place y’all can go — we’d love havin’ you and Thanadir and whoever else out to the farms, but that don't solve the problem of Nai gettin’ outta there sometimes just for the hell of it.”
“Then we will discuss it, and find a mea–”
“I come, bearing actual clothes!” Ossë announced triumphantly, handing not only socks but thick woolen leg warmers to Sue Anne. Which…
Without even pausing, a heavy Aran cardigan, merino scarf, hat, and what seemed for all the world like Russian military issue wool trousers were stuffed into Nai’s arms. “All that should fit over what you’re already wearing,” the water-spirit said smugly.
“You are enjoying this?” Nai’s brow lifted.
“Immensely,” Ossë grinned.
Nai snorted, and shook out the pants. They were so thick they almost stood up by themselves. Soldier not required.
“Sharley, she knows what she’s doing, doesn’t she?” Getting out of these boots took some doing, but the socks that replaced her (apparently fairly useless) woolen ones were thick, butter-soft, and maybe the warmest things she’d ever had on her feet. They were also pale blue, much like her coat and hat, and sparkly. Really, really sparkly — though not nearly as sparkly as the leg warmers, which were made of some soft, cloudlike material that shimmered holographic even in the relatively low light. They were so pretty that Sue Anne reflected she needed to start going for walks in Ireland just so she had an excuse to wear all of this. There was certainly no call for it in New Knob Lick. “Must be nice, havin’ a skill like that. You gonna be able to move in those pants, Nai?”
“I supposed that is the value of having godlike powers,” he grimaced, also guessing that Sharley very much meant for these to Chafe in Special Places. This would not be mentioned to Kurt. “I am certain there are other things to notice now that the electricity is restored,” he suggested. “Please enjoy the exhibits.” He considered his words. “We…should enjoy the exhibits.”
“Probaly a hell of a lot,” she said. “C’mon. Mairon, you know museums. Nai and I don't. Can you explain some stuff while we go along?”
“Yes…though I am at a disadvantage with this one. You might do better to ask especially Lorna. I am no expert in this particular cultural aspect, though I do understand how cameras function…but so does Ratiri.”
Sue Anne’s eyebrows rose, because oh no, Mairon wasn’t getting rid of her that easily. “Lorna and Ratiri are on a date,” she pointed out. “I ain’t anglin’ to be a third-wheel there — I know I’m no genius, but even I’m smarter than that.”
“Oh. Oh, I see,” Mairon sighed. “Or rather, I did not see, but what else is new. Then, I will try, and we shall all learn something. I spent most of my time in the Museum of Modern Art, and the Metropolitan Museum. There, I am actually useful. But as you say…let’s enjoy the exhibits.”
Nai offered a hand to each of them; it still was quite chilly in here. Now that he was warming up, in turn he was becoming a heater. Accepting more for the sense of comfort than the physical warmth (he was not so stupid as to wear threadbare clothes to New York this time of year), Mairon took Nai’s hand. So did Sue Anne. And…there was Elmo.
**
“Where to first, mo chroí?” Ratiri asked, when the lights flickered on at last; fortunately, the rodents had apparently decided to leave the electrical wire largely alone. Alone enough to be getting on with anyway; there was more than enough light to see by, which was what mattered.
Lorna bit her lip. “Oooooh…d’you know, I actually want a look at the old cameras first? Hopefully they’ve not all gone over to rust.” She had no more idea where they would be than he did, but there was a helpful map on the wall that was still broadly legible. “Christ, imagine what this place must’ve looked like when the city was still going.” The lights weren’t boring overhead fluorescents; they shone in all sorts of different colors from tracks at both the base and the top of the walls. The effect was probably more attractive when the walls hadn't sprouted mildew, but also rather less dramatic. The decay loaned it an air of horror-movie flair that she certainly wasn’t going to complain about. (Yes, even now, she couldn't help but imagine zombies lurching out of some darkened doorway. Her brain was what it was, and there was no point fighting it.)
“Why the cameras?” Ratiri asked, as they made their way, silent-footed, hand-in-hand, down the wide, winding gallery. Somehow, it felt even colder in here than it did outside, but surely that was only his imagination. It was cold that bit deep, dull and throbbing as only wet cold could be — it hung heavy in his joints, though it didn't actually hurt. It would perhaps have been better to say that he was quite aware of their existence — especially his knees.
She laughed before she could help it. “One’v Gran’s older sisters ran away to America to be an actress in 1915,” she said. “Said there was no chance’v making any sort’v decent life in Ireland, so she actually stowed away on a merchant ship — apparently that sort’v thing was still pretty common then. Terrible scandal, it was,” she added, shaking her head. “A girl, running off to the States, alone, to star in motion pictures? Oh, the horror. Gran said one’v her aunts had an attack’v the vapors so intense she fainted, or at least pretended to. They had the whole village yattering on, wondering why Shelagh couldn't just get married like any decent girl.”
“How old was she?”
“Seventeen,” Lorna said. “Half the village and more than half the family thought she was just shocking and mental, but Gran understood. Their eldest sister went to Dublin for work at sixteen, got married at seventeen, and turned into a drudge stuck with a husband who was all charm until the honeymoon was over. Then, all’v a sudden he prefers the pub to working, but he made sure Maire popped out a kid a year for the next eight years.”
Ratiri winced. It was a common enough story in many parts of the world in those days. “What happened after eight years?”
“She died.” Lorna snorted. “Died in childbirth, along with the baby. Gran said she was probably glad’v the rest, after not getting a solid night’s sleep since she married. Shelagh, she took one look at that and wanted no part’v it. Off she went, to Hollywood. Hollywoodland, it was then.”
To her alarm, they discovered the cameras just sitting out in the open air, completely unprotected by any sort of case. They were so heavily coated in dust and cobwebs that any details were impossible to make out, but Ratiri had evidently planned for just such a possibility. He whipped the largest handkerchief she’d ever seen in her life out of his pocket, and lightly flicked it over the nearest camera with the kind of delicate, surgical precision that could only come from having performed, well, actual surgery. “Did she make it?”
Lorna peered at the camera. It was a simple metal box with lenses, a viewport, and a handcrank — just about as basic as you could get. It wasn’t rusted, but it was tarnished. “Yes and no.” She wiped dust off the plaque. Universal Model C Motion Picture Camera. Oh hey, 1915. “She never got any big parts, but she figured out she could actually make out pretty well hiring out as an extra while she worked in a department store. Gran said that turned out to be way more glamorous than working in pictures — she sent home snaps of the store, and it was just the grandest thing Gran had ever seen. Chandeliers, the whole nine yards — a bit like Selfridge’s, I think. She had a pretty little flat’v her own — little studio apartment, but more exotic than anything you’d find in Ireland.”
“Did the family ever forgive her?” Ratiri asked, as he flicked the dust from the next few cameras. It was so heavy with damp that at least there was no risk of it puffing up and being inhaled.
That drew another snort. “Oh, yeah. Amazing what a change’v heart people have when they’re regularly being sent money. Shelagh sent some home every month along with the photos, and it’s part’v what kept the family going through the Civil War. She never married, though Gran said she had a load’v boyfriends. I guess Maire’s fate really stuck with her.”
She paused, her attention arrested by something that was far more recognizable as an actual camera: it was much bigger, with two film canisters atop it, and four lenses of assorted sizes. Whatever metal it was made of, it hadn't tarnished, but it looked like it had literally been through a war, scratched and dented. One side was covered in faded, cracked leather that had probably once been maroon, bearing a brass plate that likely declared the manufacturer, though it was illegible now. “She came home to visit once, after the Civil War, and had a grand time scandalizing everyone with her high heels and her flapper dresses. Anyway, she stayed long enough to give the village something to talk about for a month, then took the next sister in line — Claire — back with her. Apparently there was a lot less’v a fuss that go-round, because it meant two people working and sending back money that was actually worth something, since Christ knew ours wasn’t. Between them and half’v Gran’s brothers working in England — and one’v them nicking literally everything that wasn’t nailed down, apparently — the family did more than all right, which meant the village did, too.”
“Why didn't your gran go?” he asked. Fortunately, his wife was apparently too distracted to notice the rather sizeable spider that went skittering down the base of a 1942 NBC news camera when he wiped the handkerchief over it.
Lorna’s laughter rang out to the corners of the room. “Gran, she was like me. Ireland was in her bones — there wasn’t anything that could’ve dragged her over the water, as they called it then. She stayed in the village, married Grandda, somehow had five kids and lived to tell about it, even though she was my size…probably helped that they were actually spaced out three years apart, not just one bang after the other. Apparently one’v the things Shelagh told her about, on that trip home, were diaphragms.”
Ratiri’s eyebrows rose. Yes, that explained a bit. “How did they fare after the Stock Market Crash?”
“Better than many, actually.” Lorna whipped out her old mobile, and took picture after picture, careful to include all the informational plaques. “They knew how to sew and cook and do all sorts’v things that meant they were never out’v a job, though they weren’t able to send much home during the Thirties. Claire actually trained to be a mechanic, so I guess I kind’v carried on a family tradition. Gave her a bit’v a leg up when World War II hit, and women started taking the trades over as the men went off to war. Claire already knew what she was doing. She did actually marry…eventually. Insisted on a long engagement, so she’d really know what the lad was like.” Granted, a ‘long engagement’ in those days had really meant more like ‘wait a year or so’; Lorna remained boggled that right up into the ’60s, couples often married after only a few months of dating. No wonder so many marriages went to shit.
Though at least in the States, you could get a divorce if your spouse turned out to be a twat. You weren’t stuck with a cheater, or an abuser, or someone who’d rather drink than take care of their family. It was also muuuuuch easier to get hold of rubbers and diaphragms, and far earlier than in Ireland. Marriage was probably a far more tempting prospect if you had some means of keeping yourselves from winding up with more children than you could afford in very short order. America was also very big; before everything was digitized, it was actually possible to up stakes and disappear without the need to flee the country. That didn't mean it was necessarily easy, but it was at least possible.
“Let’s take a look at the Muppets,” she said. “I think we’ve got everything catalogued here.”
**
“So a young man made puppets,” Nai absorbed.
“Muppets,” Mairon corrected.
“And people like them, but they are like…if Kurt had a form?” Nai ventured, the hint of a smile on his face. “And if people liked Kurt.”
“HEY!! If I’m not likable it was because you had to not like me, O Grand Prunebag,” Kurt said in between assorted pitches of flatus.
Shoulders shaking, Nai laughed. This…absurd…thing. Whatever he was…except that he knew what this was, and why, and this too was his fault but…what else remained? “I will own that I most definitely looked like a prunebag then,” he acknowledged. “But I do not think it is so bad now? Look, even the sweater is blue. Who puts prunes in a blue bag?”
“Uhm…uhm…Ossë, help!! I exist to keep him insulted!! It’s a moral imperative!!” Noises far worse than flatulence were creeping in as mesmerizingly bad tenuto; sonic food poisoning had arrived to the lower GI tract of the patient.
“Oh no. I do not exist to keep him insulted, and I already owe him a toilet story later on!” the Maia protested.
“Heeeeeeeelp meeeeeeeee or I’ll tell him about Morgoth’s Hemorrhoid!!” Kurt wailed.
Their little group fell silent. Even Nai seemed quite surprised.
“The what what?” Celegorm looped his arm through Ossë’s, grinning fiendishly while his dearest friend reddened to beat an octopus.
“I believe you just did, Kurt,” Mairon massaged his temple.
“I can fix this!” Kurt’s voice raised further in pitch, every other word becoming a cacophonic breakdown of bodily noises (the phrase terminated in a protracted belch).
Ossë listen to me!
The film museum, it’s a mess!
Life under the sea
Is better than anything they got in here
The algal blooms are always greener
In all those many lakes
You know that it’s the wide blue ocean
That’s really–
Visibly, Ossë was becoming very angry. Not good, angry.
Harë did not roll her eyes, but for the first time in her existence, she considered it. “Kurt? Mute.”
Silence.
“I am certain Sharley imbued you with the power to mute him, Ossë,” she said. “If not, she should have.”
“Yeeeeeah…maybe we ought to give Kurt back to Sharley for a while,” Lorna said, because the first thing she saw when she and Ratiri approached was Ossë’s expression, which was not one she had ever seen before, and really had no desire to ever see again. “He’s not wrong about his Prime Directive, but that’s exactly what we don't need right now. I don't think the Voices can be…reprogrammed.”
“They cannot,” Harë affirmed. “Even I struggle with that, and I am far more complete a being than they are.”
Hoo boy. When in doubt, be awkward and distract. Fortunately, she was a Donovan; they were highly adept at both. “Is Cookie Monster in here somewhere?” Lorna asked. “He was my favorite, as a kid. All my siblings’, too.”
Ratiri wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Let me guess — because he eats cookies all day?”
She looked up at him, and gave him a wry half-grin. “Yep. Sounded like he was living his best life.”
“Ossë,” Nai told him, coaxing as best he could. “I am not offended. Please do not be angry with him, not about this. That you would give any regard to…anything, really, speaks highly of you but who I was did not deserve it. I am able to see the humor even as I…” his eyes lowered. “I wish none of it had needed to be. After today, when it will not cause you personal distress…I can manage him. It is…fine.”
Nodding his head, Ossë tried to take a deep breath. “There are days when…I think I am doing okay with him and things have been fine for a long time and then in seconds, I am genuinely about to lose my…thing I can’t lose. I’m sorry. I guess I owe him a favor in a way. I haven’t come as far as I think I have.”
“Maybe the dust in here is special,” Mairon smiled crookedly. “I find your observation…relatable.”
“I would have been Oscar the Grouch,” Celegorm said somewhat off-topic, and yet not.
“Right. We were talking about the pu– muppets,” Nai mused. “All these characters, mostly imagined by one person? That seems remarkable. They were…all of you know what these were. They were famous? Why did you like them so much? The green frog? I am interested.”
“Jim Henson,” Lorna said. “The man was responsible for a few generations’ worth’v childhoods, though he didn't only do children’s things. He’s just best-known for them. Died far too young, because the good ones always do.”
“I think every kid in America watched Sesame Street,” Sue Anne said. “The Muppets, they were all characters — Kermit’s a lotta people’s favorite because of his personality and his voice, which I couldn't fake if I tried. I hope there’s some sorta video of it here — if not, we really need to take a detour to that Archive when we go home, so you can hear it.”
“Poor lad was always being hounded by Miss Piggy, who thought she was his girlfriend,” Lorna said. “This day and age, it’d probably be called sexual harassment, it could be that bad. Times change.”
Ratiri snorted. Miss Piggy wasn’t quite as bad as Pepe Le Pew, but she still didn't know how to take ‘no’ for an answer — and, depending on what production they were in, she could be outright physically abusive. Times changed indeed. “Sesame Street wasn’t quite as well-known on our side of the Pond — the Atlantic — but there were Muppet movies that came out over there. I think my favorite was Treasure Island, because Tim Curry was clearly having the time of his life as Long John Silver. It was the one the kids most requested at Great Ormond Street, when I was a doctor there.”
“The pig…muppet…was romantically attracted to the green frog…muppet?” Nai asked carefully.
Mairon could see the gears stripping, and stifled his smile. He might be autistic, but Nai was Nai. There were Feelings™ and then there was this. “I believe this place should relocate to one of the great cities. Someplace able to manage many visitor and to which a great market could establish itself. I feel that Elves and Ainur alike could learn much about humanity here…in some ways, more than from historic objects. This explains so much more about emotions.”
“I don't know that the Muppets even really realized they weren’t all the same sort’v…being,” Lorna said, at Nai’s expression. “But Mairon’s right — this ought to go somewhere really public. There’s so much here that’s so uniquely…human, and not human in a way Elves who lived in Ennor long ago would’ve ever witnessed.”
“We will do our best to create a pressing argument I mean persuasive list of reasons for Daeron,” Nai smiled. “Besides, this place especially must be near a reasonably substantial river. I do not believe anyone will accept portable generators in the Blessed Lands. That is my problem.”
“I can probably donate some solar panels to help,” Lorna said. “They won’t power the whole place by a long shot, but they’d manage the lights, maybe. Christ, you know…we should have movie nights.” She turned to Ratiri. “Seriously, we should. Get a big screen and a projector and show some’v humanity’s better cinematic efforts.” Not that the Elves would likely have any context for half of it, but that was the point — they could learn as they went along. Hell, movies like The Martian would be fantastic for a number of reasons — the story, the visuals, and the science, which no doubt those like Mairon and Nai would find interesting.
“Where would we hold them?”
She considered, chewing her lower lip. “The park,” she said at last. “Where the carousel’s going — that park. I’m sure Orla’s got the equipment somewhere — and if not, she could set Miranda to scrounging for it.”
“Why not?” Ratiri shook his head. “Though it will have to wait until I can actually leave the Gardens of Irmo.”
Harë…said nothing. She knew much that Lorna did not know, but for now, she was keeping her own counsel. “You should go see Orla tomorrow,” she said. “For tea. She may well have spares of everything in the Halls.”
Lorna tilted her head. “Good idea. Maybe we should make a list’v movies before I go, and compare notes.”
Ratiri rested his chin on the crown of her hair. “It gives us something to do this evening, provided we have energy enough to do anything more than eat and pass out.”
“I think we have probably seen enough here,” Celegorm concluded. “I want to go look at another place…but the sky is darkening outside though it is not so late in the afternoon.”
“I do not see the future, but from having lived here, a sky like that means it is going to snow,” Mairon sighed. “I will do what everyone else wishes.”
“Yeah, we should probably get back to the others,” Ratiri said. “I’d rather not be in New York when a blizzard hits.”
“Thank you,” Mairon said, relieved. Right now, the idea of the hot baths in the halls seemed paradisaical.
Whether or not Ossë caught the stray thought or was just looking forward to no more muppets, he seemed to brighten at once. “Well then, next stop, The Met. We shall regroup with the others and see who is going where. I liked this place. Next time, in Valinor.”
*bink*