(no subject)

[ladyfirestarter]

The permanent door from Milliways opens onto a hallway that looks like it could be a teacher's area in a primary school. Drawings and photographs are tacked up on the walls; the doors leading off the hallway are painted a calm pale-rose color, and each has a nameplate on it. (The closest one reads IRENE TASSENBAUM. It's locked; Irene's out today.)

Charlie steps aside to let her guest through. "Welcome to Taos."

Comments

[thisfatefulhour]

"Same as any organization, I suppose. Although I'd imagine a higher level of adaptability here than, say, the schools I went to."

[ladyfirestarter]

"There has to be. The place where these kids were before -- it was highly regimented. Constantly. Any avoidable similarity to what they escaped ... well, if we can stay away from it, we do."

[thisfatefulhour]

"Understood."

He falls silent for a moment, then says quietly, "The more I hear about this place, the place they came from . . . well, the gladder I am I spoke with River."

[ladyfirestarter]

They've reached the bottom of the switchback stairs by now. Charlie turns right, opens a door, and leads the way down a corridor. It's more brightly lit than might be implied by the term "tunnels," and in better upkeep; the only real difference between it and the upstairs hallways is a lack of windows.

"I'm glad too. No one belongs in a place like that."

[thisfatefulhour]

"No," he agrees.

He's still looking around curiously, though there's not much to see down here.

[ladyfirestarter]

"The trouble is, not all the similarities are avoidable. By nature, we're an institution, not a family home."

They pass a few doors on either side (closed), an open doorway with the universal restroom sign over it, a drinking fountain; the faint buzzing hum of its cooling system blends for a moment with the background hum, then fades as they keep walking.

"The kids are improving, though, so ... it seems to be enough."

At the far end of the corridor is another stairway, leading up.

[thisfatefulhour]

"Is there another function to this place? Or is it dedicated to helping the kids?"

[ladyfirestarter]

Charlie holds the door for him.

"Primarily the kids, these days. Our original function isn't the crucial matter it once was." She pauses, reconsidering that. "No, that's not quite right. It isn't the urgent matter it once was. Still very crucial, but less pressing."

[thisfatefulhour]

He gives her a curious look as he heads through the door and waits for her.

"Mind if I ask?"

[ladyfirestarter]

"It would take a great deal of explaining," she says, with a rueful smile. "Some other time, maybe?"

[thisfatefulhour]

"Some other time," he agrees, nodding.

[ladyfirestarter]

Up a short flight of stairs, and out into the library's main reading room.

Winter sunlight sifts in through a row of high windows, burnishing the dark wooden bookshelves and tables to a deep glow. There's a handful of teenagers scattered around the room: bent over books at the tables, browsing the shelves, curled up on the leather couches. At first glance, it might be any well-appointed college library.

[thisfatefulhour]

Charles pauses as they come in, a little uncertain. In another situation, he might go strike up a conversation with one of the readers; he's not sure what's appropriate here.

Regardless, though, his eyes are bright and excited.

[walk_ins]

The first person to react to their presence is a tall young man sitting on -- on, not at -- one of the tables, one knee drawn up and chin resting on it, apparently absorbed in the book he's holding.

He raises his head, looking intently at the far wall.

"Come from outside," he says, not loudly. "Wants to see them. See it."

[thisfatefulhour]

Charles looks towards the voice and slips his hands in his pockets,

(you want to learn)

waiting.

[ladyfirestarter]

The boy turns his head sharply to look at Charlie, who nods.

"Leon," she says quietly, "this is Charles Wallace. He's come to visit. Charles, this is Leon."

[walk_ins]

"Charles," Leon repeats, and turns his gaze to the visitor. "Free man."

Beat.

"From the German."

[thisfatefulhour]

He smiles slightly.

"Yes. The French variant. It's good to meet you, Leon."

[walk_ins]

"From outside."

A sharp little face framed by red hair looks up from under the table.

"Crossed from the East."

[thisfatefulhour]

Charles' smile widens -- the flash of red hair reminds him of Poly.

"You could say that. It was on the roundabout side."

[walk_ins]

"Wandering Aramean," she says, and her gaze on him is piercing. "In and out of time."

A beat, and she adds scornfully: "She's not the Old Man's daughter."

[thisfatefulhour]

He blinks at her, slightly taken aback, and crouches so he's on the same level with her.

"So was my father," quietly, "but not lost."

He pushes his hair out of his eyes and adds, "I know. Honestly."

[walk_ins]

"Not all those who wander," says Leon, low and half-laughing. "Yeah. He, Beth, he knows."

Beth looks at Charlie, her expression very dubious, and then back at Charles Wallace. "His father," she says.

[thisfatefulhour]

He smiles at Leon, nodding, and looks back at Beth.

"Not time, though. He never learned how."

[walk_ins]

Charlie has taken a step back, fading into the background to watch.

"You had help." Beth's voice is suddenly much less sharp, almost unsure. "Five-dimensional spatial mathematics. Too many angles."