conjuredskies | The Learned Society of Nexus Geographers

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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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"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."

That's the real question, isn't it?

"So your options are cold or pirates? That's a tough choice." He gets legit sympathy for that. It's a horrible conundrum. "Are east and west options?"

"Oh, desert on one side and swamp on the other." He pulls a face. "Not that I'd mind the heat in Hammerfell so much as... well, the locals are, um, superstitious about mages. I can't see it being worth the hassle. Black Marsh, on the other hand, might be interesting to visit. Profitable, even, if I practice making friends with Argonians."

He's all but finished his food, so he takes a minute to savor the last couple of mouthfuls. "So, what about America? What sort of country is your home?"

"Ah. A desert full of people who wouldn't like you much doesn't sound like the most fun place to visit. Argonians are... the local people in the marsh?"

She'll finish up her meal before pushing her plate aside and pulling the giant book closer. "America is huge. Thousands of miles across and encompassing all kinds of places, from places so far north that it's always frozen to southern deserts, mountains and rivers and forests and plains... it's beautiful, but... I haven't actually seen most of it. So I thought we'd start with the city where I grew up, New York."

She opens the atlas to a double-page map of the States. "This is the main part of my country. There's parts further away that don't fit on this map. Kind of like... colonies, I guess? Except their full members of the government. I grew up here, by the ocean, in between two rivers on an island of granite."

He gets a few minutes to take in the vast scale of the country before she moves on to the map of New York City. "This is my city. The grid of streets makes navigation easy, and also estimating distances. Each block, those go east to west, is one twentieth of a mile. I grew up here, but moved here when I decided to get my own place." The Upper East Side probably looks nice, on paper, being near the giant park and all.

"Lizard-folk," he replies with a nod. "Black Marsh is their homeland. I met one here earlier, actually. He's a knight." And rather more than that, which thought brings a smile to his lips. "Charming fellow."

He pushes his cleaned plate aside and leans over the atlas. The scale doesn't overawe him, but he is impressed. It's easy to get used to being a citizen of the biggest and most powerful state around; recent history might have left his generation more chastened than their Imperial forebears, but that kind of privilege doesn't fade quickly. So whether Verity's considering it or not, it really does help to bump up his opinion of her people as To Be Taken Seriously.

Both maps are studied with fascination: the places they show are equally exotic to him, after all. But the city looks very civilized - so far as he can tell from a map. "It was well planned-out, I see. And so you're near - that's parkland, right? Is it all garden, or can people hunt there?"

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