conjuredskies | The Learned Society of Nexus Geographers

Entry tags:

nexus,
verity

The Learned Society of Nexus Geographers

Felix wasn’t strictly untruthful to Verity, and perhaps that’s good enough.

He is, after all, free. It’s just that rather than waiting to be sent off-duty, he waits until Stratos disappears into their home portal, then scribbles a note to say that it’s been six hours(!) and he needs food. He leaves it pinned beneath a rock at his desk.

How could that possibly backfire?

He’s delved into the streets of the Nexus before, but as usual it’s an education in architecture – and food, and commerce, and the entertaining arts. His map holds him true though. Aside from a bit of shock when he learns what an Escher bridge actually is, he makes it safely to the Fox and Crozier. It’s a surprisingly pleasant place, opening onto a tree-shaded yard of its own. The clink of glasses and murmur of pleasant conversation drift through the open doors. Rather impressed, Felix glances around the lane to check if Verity’s waiting outside before he heads in.

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"My people appreciate that kind of skill more than most, I think. They just... often think they're better at it than they really are." He pulls a wry smile as he tries the polenta, with and without sauce. Every combination must be examined! "Do you get concerned about other people's opinions much now?"

She smirks at the admission but doesn't say anything... for now. Possibly because she's more interested in how he likes the food. "Mm... not generally, but I've learned to value the perspectives and opinions of my friends. No man is an island, though gods know I tried."

He devotes a moment to contemplating both her words and the food. "Hmm. What stopped you trying? If you don't mind discussing it."

Boy, she is suddenly really into turning that piece of rabbit into slivers with her fork.

"I made a friend, and he taught me to... let myself feel."

"Ah. Well, I'm glad of that, for one," he says, giving her a small smile. "You know, this polenta's delicious stuff. Much lighter than it looks."

"Me too." She can smile about it, for all it's a sad subject.

"It is. It's amazing what can be done with a few simple ingredients, isn't it? D'you have corn, or maize, where you're from?"

Felix looks interested. "Corn as in the big yellow ears? On the really tall stalks? Because we have that all over Cyrodiil."

"Yeah, corn like that," she agrees with a grin. "You dry it, grind it, then cook it to make this. It's the same stuff you make cornbread with."

"There's bread too? I must investigate whenever I make it home. Either the farmers have been holding out on us, or I have something new to show them."

"There is. It's also very easy to make. But if nobody's tried milling corn yet in Cyrodiil, well, you're going to be very busy when you get home."

"It shouldn't be that hard to convince them: they mill just about everything else in the lowlands. Though I think I'll leave the cooking part to people with some skill for it."

"What, you can't call one of those fire ladies to do it for you? Controlling fire should make cooking so much easier."

"Asking for a fire is easy. Asking for edible food from a being who doesn't eat, that's almost as hard as trying to conjure it yourself. Which doesn't work at all, might I add."

"It doesn't? Huh. I wonder why dad was always so worried about magic food..."

She's going to be wondering about that for a moment (and the rest of her life).

"I guess you'll have to learn to do it for yourself."

"Food can have magical effects - especially if you lace it with some kind of potion. Maybe that's what worried him?" he suggests. It seems like the most logical answer.

Her latter comment makes him grimace a little. "At this rate I'll be learning to do it for the whole squad. Curse of the apprentice, you know. Not that it'll be anything this nice."

"Maybe." That makes as much sense as anything, so she'll shrug the question off to worry about later.

"Everyone loves a good cook. Would it really be so bad?"

"There's a difference between being a cook and being the one who gets ordered to do all the drudge work." And for all the ways he haas of earning gratitude, his cooking is not one.

"I'm sorry." She'll drop it. She never likes seeing a nice person sulk.

"So what is Cyrodiil like? That's where you grew up, right?"

Sulking is definitely no way to spend an excellent meal; given the opportunity, Felix gladly abandons the subject and his discomforted look turns to a quick smile and a nod.

"It is - though, I must confess, my hometown isn't very representative of the province. Most of Cyrodiil is green and warm, and - well, the Nords would call it gentle. Having lived there, I can't say the same. But it is beautiful."

He toys with the remains of his food for a moment, deciding how to describe it. "At its heart is a great lake and the Imperial City. The whole region around it is - nearly - full of forests and meadows and quiet riverbanks where lotus flowers grow. Sometimes it seems like every bend or hillock is hiding some ancient fort or broken marble arches. The people are courteous and educated and- disciplined, might be the word. It's a bastion of civility and order. The center of civilization in Tamriel. Even if that is what I'm supposed to say."

The last bit is said dryly, but the patriotism does seem to be genuine, nearly down to the word. He has a sip of ale to wet his throat after all that, so he can add, "Naturally, I come from the one city in the northern mountains. The part covered in ice and snow and surly Nords."

It sounds beautiful, the way he describes it. She's leaning with her chin in her hands by the end, intent on the story and the imagery. It almost sounds too perfect.

But, of course, he's from Bruma. The disappointment makes her laugh, not at him, just at the situation. "Aww. Well, someday you can move south and have your very own broken marble arch to admire."

It really is too perfect, but that's what you get for asking a slightly homesick Imperial. And he doesn't want to dwell on Cyrodiil's misfortunes, not when they've just got their conversation back on track.

"Mmm. Someday after I've made my fortune cleaning out some Ayleid treasure vault. Maybe I'll buy a nice townhouse in Cheydinhal - even the Imperial City. Of course, the south has its own hazards." He leans forward a bit and drops his voice. "Cousins, you know."

She wouldn't be half so interested in visiting if he told her about all the Thalmor. They'd just get along so well.

"Cousins?" She doesn't quite get it, not having any (that she knows of). "I thought people like having cousins."

They took down the Blades, but now the Thalmor have incurred the wrath of a far greater enemy: the Tourism Board of Cyrodiil.

"Ah." Okay, maybe he'll have to save the relations jokes for another audience. "Well, that... really depends on the cousins. And whether you mind them demanding you appear at all kinds of family occasions." He has another sip of ale. "I was joking, though- I only have one first cousin for the moment."

Nobody's invented a shield against bureaucracy yet. That's a real oversight. Those mages up in Winterhold ought to get cracking.

"Oh. That doesn't sound like fun," she admits. "So how far south is safe, do you think? Far enough south to be warm, I hope. Or is that how your branch of the family ended up in the mountains?" She may not always understand, but she tries. And who could stay mad at anyone so cute?

But could anyone ~~besides the Dragonborn~~ be trusted with such power?

"That must be it. Bruma is very well-fortified." He grins. "If I get as far as the southern coast, I ought to be safe. It might be rather damp, but I hear the coastal cities are quite picturesque - if you don't mind a few pirates."

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