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Ylva was sitting in the corner of one of the booths tapping away furiously at her laptop. It was the end of the month and that meant, of course, that there was a sudden influx of admin to be done.
In front of her is a plate of bacon and sausages that she is slowly working her way through and her third cup of what appears to be whipped cream with a side of coffee.
She is wearing practically business clothes by her standards.
Black jeans, bitch stomping boots and a leather jacket. Hair up in a messy bun with remnants of flowers still woven through it.
Yael still looks like Yael. It's only been a couple of years, after all. Her unkempt curls haven't gotten any more, well. Kempt, really, but tonight she's tamed them back into an approximation of a braid, bangs falling to her brows and a loose curl or two escaping around her ears and at the nape of her neck. She pushes her way in through the door, phone to her ear. "Well, like I said, the hard part for the winter is over. The lambing's completely done, they're all alive. Now you and the dogs just gotta keep 'em that way, and you're good at that. But like, if Amos starts alerting like that again, you call me, and I'll come out right away." A soft laugh. "Well, who fucking knows, but I don't think it's werewolves." Another little pause. "Because, ah, that farm has been diplomatically peed on for sixty years, kiddo. Anyway. I'm gonna get some waffles. I'm starving, I've been walking for solutions all day."
Another brief pause. "Okay, kiddo. I love you, too. Bye." She hangs up with a tap of her thumb against the screen, tucks it into her pocket, unzips her battered brown bomber jacket. Yael has always dressed like a lumberjack fell into a thrift store full of 90s concert t-shirts, and today is no different: a Green Day Kerplunk tee, a Black Watch plaid flannel, jeans, and heavy brown work boots. Either she hasn't noticed Ylva yet, or she's pretending she hasn't.
Ylva's immediately looks up as Yael walks in. Her head tilted in what could only be curiosity. Then shaking slightly.
Doing her best not to listen in she mutters under her breath.
"Is everyone I know in this bullshit."
Though she leaves interaction up to Yael. She knows why last time went so wrong and is trying to be less of a mess.
Though she doesn't go back to work. Sipping at her coffee then chewing on some bacon.
She shrugs her way out of the jacket, and her head turns towards the back table now. "Hey," she greets, jacket hung up on the hooks by the door. There are people moving around the diner, of course, but it's late, and it's quiet, and Yael picks up a menu by the front door, looking down at it as she wanders up the aisle between the booths. "I, uh. I was wondering if the Ylva I heard about was you." And was hoping it wasn't, from her tone.
Ylva does a little wave closing her laptop.
"Hey." A pause, opening and closing her mouth a few times before settling on a response.
"Not too many Ylvas around."
"Not too many Yaels around, either," the Acanthus answers, absently rolling her shoulders in a sort of lazy gesture. She comes up alongside the booth and sort of gestures to it with one hand in an unspoken question. "But I know what becoming Lost means, and so." Another little shrug. "Anyway, hi, I'm a wizard, and I used to be Fae-Touched." Deadpan, she adds, "Surprise."
Ylva indicates towards the booth happy for Yael to join.
"I suppose not."
Then tilts her head in suprise eventually barking out a little laugh.
"Well, nice to meet you again then Yael. I'm Ylva Theodulus of the Autumn Court."
She raises a hand to flag down wait staff. "Hey, uh. Yeah, good to see you again, man. It's been a while." This, all to the broad-shouldered young man who comes over. "Yeah, yeah. Listen, um. A carafe of coffee, some of the, uh, lamb bacon, like, just this side of burned, and some tiramisu waffles." Yael flashes one of her grateful sidelong smiles at the server and slides into the booth.
"I was with Spring," Yael replies. She sets her hands palms-down on the table. "Third Degree Master Alea Iacta Est, Daredevil and Enchanter on the Path to Arcadia, Supernal Realm of Fate and Time, and abode of Fae, Scion of the Watchtower of the Lunargent Thorn, Master of Fate, Time, and Prime, Adept of Mind and Life, Sister of the Children of the Tree of the free peoples of the Unnamed Nations." Beat. "But please. Just Yael."
Ylva smiles at the introduction though can't quite hide a grimace at the word Arcadia.
"Yael. It just felt proper to reintroduce. Allot has changed since we last saw each other. So. You know. Um. Yeah."
Awkward coffee sipping ensues.
"Oh, yeah, no, right, you're right." Yael tips her chin up when the server returns with a carafe. "Thanks." Once he steps away, she pours herself a cup of coffee and picks up the salt shaker, adding two shakes of salt before adding two creamers. "Shit luck, man. I'm sorry."
"Its. It's not great in some ways but great in others. Trying to look on the bright side. Plus this way I'm fluffy and have tails."
She finishes off her coffee and orders another when the server is there.
"Finally kicked the last of my, mundane, addictions so. Positives."
"I got a carafe," Yael offers. "Just drink outta that, it's no big." A vague gesture towards the insulated pitcher of coffee, and she curls her calloused hands around the heavy ceramic of the diner's mug.
"No shit?" she asks. "You mind if I look?" A pause. "It's not, like, technically speaking, intrusive. Like, magically. But it feels impolite not to let people know that I can make my eyes, like, see past the Mask." Her voice contains sheer curiosity, her eyebrows arching up slightly. "Good perspective, though. And good for you, man. Really, good for you. Shit's hard."
"Bad cream to coffee ratio. Nothing personal."
She nibbles on one of her sausages then tilts her head.
"Sure. Kinda nice for someone to be able to see it."
A shrug of her shoulders.
"It came with other baggage sadly. But. We getting there."
"I mean, it's black in the carafe, you pour your own and fix it the way you like," answers Yael, her forehead wrinkling up. She shakes her head a little bit, though, and shrugs.
"Well, that's always the way," she answers about baggage. Her head tips to one side, then the other, as her eyes sort of unfocus and then refocus. A slow, thoughtful nod. "Cool."
"I like lots of Whipped Cream and they get it just right here."
She shrugs like this is an old argument.
"Hmm. Oh. Yeah."
Her tails wave. Curious if she can still see.
"There is always baggage. What changed for you? To go from Fae Touched to Awakened? Please tell me if that's too personal."
From the way that her eyes briefly react to the movement of the tails, Yael can in fact still see Ylva's mien.
She nods towards the server when her pile of lamb bacon and tiramisu waffles are brought, and the Acanthus shakes her head slightly. "Not a diner conversation, if ever, but thank you for asking." There's something briefly brittle at the edge of her smile. "How's the shop?"
She wiggles happily at someone being able to see her mein. Then nods her understanding.
"Its going well. I've recently taken on another tattooist and have expanded to running a Community Outreach center. Giving back for all the help I got."
In through the portal comes Tsara, humming softly and carrying a bag slung on her shoulder. Once inside she glances around until she spots Yael, at which point a sudden smile appears and she proceeds directly in the direction of the table where the other Acanthus is seated. When she gets there she slides into a seat next to Yael without asking if it's okay for her to join or anything and says, "hello. What's going on?" All the while reaching over for a piece of bacon from Yael's plate.
"Yeah? Pretty rad." Her eyebrows arch up again as Yael picks up a piece of the cooked-until-shattering bacon, and she bites down just as Tsara inserts herself into the booth next to her. Yael's eyes light up briefly, and she bumps her shoulder against the other Acanthus'. "Hey, Trouble." Crunch. "Eating bacon and waffles. Talking to Ylva, here." A gesture across the table. "Ylva, Tsara. Tsara, Ylva." Any other information, apparently, are up to the other parties to disclose.
Ylva waves. With tails and hand, though Tsara can't see them.
"Hiya. Nice to meet you Tsara. I'm one of the Lost."
Tsara slides the bag off her left shoulder and puts it under the table at her feet, while taking a bite of the bacon with her right hand. She leans to one side to bump back against Yael's shoulder and smiles across the table at Ylva. Once there's no food in her mouth she replies, "nice to meet you too, Ylva. I'm a mage today." She seems to have no objection, or even comment, to being called Trouble. "What were you all talking about?"
When the server pops by to see if she wants anything she asks for water and a Home Run scramble.
"She wasn't when I knew her before I went walkabout," explains Yael, with a lazy shrug. "We were just kind of catching up -- I hadn't seen her since before." Before, for both of them. She picks up a fork and cuts off a chunk of her waffles with the side of her fork. "Ylva was telling me about the changes to her tattoo shop and so on. What were you up to?"
"A mage today?"
A tilt of her head, curious. Though that turns into a happy wiggle as her mug of whipped cream qith a side of coffee arrives.
"So much has changed, for both of us."
"Making new friends," Tsara says with a shrug. "There are so many people to meet here, and they all have their whole own world, their own stories. Some of them are just so interesting, even if many of them aren't. Listening to them and asking questions seems to help with filling in a lot of gaps in what I know." She gives Ylva a grin. "Today," she confirms again. "Who knows what the future holds, right? I didn't used to be a mage, and I won't always be. Eventually I'll be a very pretty corpse, right? Tattoos are so interesting. That people can get art permanently on their body. Some of it is so beautiful, too."
She looks aside at Tsara, and then across at Ylva and shrugs, as if to say, 'well, she's not wrong.' Yael seems quite content to eat her food and let Tsara have center stage for a moment. "Yeah, well, there are probably more people in Philly now than there were in the whole world back in your day." This seems, from her tone, to be some sort of inside joke, or teasing.
There is a moment where Ylva looks down to make sure none of her shitty tattoos are showing.
"They really are. It's always been my passion. It's so interesting what people choose to get on their skin and why. It's permanent so it's always a thought."
Her head tilts in confusion at the inside joke but she just chomps on a sausage.
"That's entirely possible, I don't think anyone was doing a census." Tsara laughs at the idea, but also shrugs. "Actually, who knows. Some enterprising person with enough power and time, and the correct skill set, might have been roaming around the world trying to get a count. But I doubt it." She starts eyeing the bacon on Yael's plate again a moment before the server arrives with her food and prevents another theft. "Back when I come from tattoos weren't a thing people did, at least not the people I'd met."
"Hmm, you know, that may actually be true, like, generally." Yael thinks about that for a minute. "I mean, the oldest tattoos that, like, we know about, here, like, in the present? Is Ötzi, the man they found buried in a glacier in Austria a few years ago. He was something like... 3400 BC? So that's 5400 years or so total... a baby comparatively." Her dark eyes glitter amusement. "For most people it's permanent, anyway." A beat. "I thought about it, but." A little wave of her hand. "I just can't get past the thing in my head that says it's just not a thing that we do."
"And now I'm curious where you are from."
She says with a laugh. Trying to play it off.
"Permanent for most? Laser isn't exactly fun. I've tried it a bit." A pause. "Because of your heritage?"
"My understanding is that these days it's called Israel," Tsara says with a little wave of the hand, like it doesn't matter all that much to her what it's called now. "That's not what we called it when I grew up there, eight thousand years ago or so." She laughs and leans to bump her shoulder against Yael's again. "I just change my mind so often that I'd probably want something new all the time."
"No, that's not usual for us," Yael supplies before the question can be asked. "It's... miraculous, or maybe just weird as fuck. We haven't figured that out yet." A soft bump against Tsara's shoulder in return. "Yeah, and like... my family." A vague wave of one hand, and she goes back to eating her waffles.
"That's."
She shakes her head in disbelief.
"Wow. It's so interesting. Time bullshit abound for yall too it seems."
She nods her head to Yael returning to her own food.
"A pain in the ass is what it is." That makes Tsara laugh. "With some good and some bad to it. The current world is certainly very interesting, even if sometimes that's in a horrifying way and sometimes in a wonderful one." While she's talking she's also skewering a bit of her food on her fork, preparing a bite. "Your family would be against you getting a tattoo? Why?" she asks Yael, before then stuffing her mouth full of food.
She seems perfectly content for Tsara to tell her own business, and she just eats her bacon and waffles and stays out of that part of the conversation. "Yeah, it's a lot. I've literally never heard of anything like it." A pause. "Uh, Jews generally don't get tattoos. There are prohibitions on it in Torah, and... there's history." There's something in the way she finishes that last sentence which is very much putting the topic up on a shelf for now. "It's cool for people that get 'em."
"Its so interesting hearing about things that are outliers."
She lifts her cup to Tsara.
"Yeah. That's. That's the way of the modern world. Pretty cool but filled with some shit."
Tsara doesn't miss the avoidance of a particular topic for now, but also demonstrates an unusual amount of tact by not asking. "Huh, is there a reason for the prohibition in Torah? It seems like there's ultimately a reason for so many things like that, but I don't see what's the problem with adorning yourself with beautiful things. Is it because they're permanent?"
She nods at Ylva. "Things like capitalism, and the police. Ugh."
"Basically," Yael explains to Tsara, "it was, at the time, our way of marking ourselves out as different from the people around us. Setting ourselves apart with our relationship with HaShem. A lot of other cultures at the time had ritual tattoos as an important part of their religious practice."
Ylva raises her cup again.
"Fucking cops."
She finishes off her plate of food and coffee packing up her things.
"Have a good night you two. I better get home before Astrid worries I'm avoiding admin again."
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