Scene #7114: The Night Shift

Owner	Pose
Lilian Rook	Despite the incredible fun Lilian has been having with Tamamo over the past few months, discovering things she enjoys that she never thought she would, or even thought of at all, the near-irresponsible amount of time she's been clearing off her schedule has finally run up against the maximum to which she can shuffle things around and still get them done. As tempting as it is to ditch one or two of them, ultimately, the life of discipline and overachieving the girl had picked up is the deciding factor in ultimately not canceling on anything important for the promised activity of being taught how to bake. She's been crunching as much as possible all day, in order to leave time during the period in which fewer people have demands to make her: after the sun has set. Though she'd vaguely told Tamamo not to go wandering around the house at night before (not that she seems to have had any interest in doing so), she assumes by now, if hesitantly, that the fox woman that implicitly embodies the sun is enough of a known quantity to her that she can see that nothing particularly goes astray, as long as she's with her. She'd described and explained the strange noises that can be heard all throughout the house in passing before, such that the existence of those things in of itself isn't surprising, but it's still a different thing, or so she thinks, for someone who hasn't grown up here to be active and busy at night. Of course, it's the same kitchen as before, sized to be the commons area for house staff and to prepare far bigger meals than needed for even the rare occasions all five family members are around at once, constructed in a time when a far more populous extended family tree dwelled within the walls. Though she's turned the lights on, it appears to only be some of them, and half the way up at that. It's all localized over the countertops and appliances themselves, making for pools of illumination good enough to see by, but casting long, deep shadows from anything not in the center of them. Despite the fact she's the only one who stays here overnight on a regular, timely basis, this seems to have been a theme. There are rarely ever lights left on at night, outside of the foyer chandeliers, reading lights in the library, and so on. It also can't be missed that the halls themselves, in the dark, are relatively chilly. The kitchen itself is fine, so it's not as if the heating doesn't work. Oh well. It's all assuaged by the fact that she's even managed to find the time to hunt down everything necessary from the cupboards and racks and pile it all in the central aisle, more or less organized, and even dug up and put on an apron in an effort to look prepared, though she hasn't even warmed the oven. Well, she said she's never cooked anything in her life. This is her best faith effort to engage in something Tamamo likes.
Tamamo	Tamamo no Mae has taken it upon herself to expand the scope of Lilian Rook's domestic knowledge. There could be any number of reasons for this, but it probably has much more to do with sharing things she enjoys, encouraging new experiences, and showing off her own growing skillset than it has with reassuring Allison Rook about her offspring's future prospects. Lilian has seen this outfit of hers, previously, plain and short-sleeved, and largely covered by the professional apron cinched around her waist. In a kitchen, as in a forge, things can get hot, but modesty makes certain demands, and she has no relation to a certain fox-cat (and dog-rabbit) creature from another timeline who merely shares her name. Despite the late hour, and her general preference for remaining lively in sunlight, she is visibly, if not verbally, enthusiastic. It might be something about the almost theatrically dramatic manner in which she walks. Maybe it's the faint impression, better visible in this lighting, that she's more than figuratively glowing. Perhaps it's the humming. The tune isn't easily recognizable, but simple enough to be a children's song, if definitely not one from this part of the globe. Judging by the time between breaths, she might do well as a singer. "Ah, so you are prepared, this is well." She looks over the central aisle, slightly moving a number of items. "I had thought we might begin with the basis of cooking in the Land of the Rising Sun, or else with the popular methods of the Middle Kingdom, but making soups and mixing spices might not be so exciting, and the use of wok might be a little too exciting." She's all smiles. "These foreign techniques are not so unattractive, themselves, and so, shall we see to the ovens, first? Ah, but there is so much to attempt." She glides over the floor, from ovens to refrigerators, from counters to Lilian. "Perhaps we shall begin with the cookies, simple as they are, and then see to those more exciting matters while the dough sets. We could even bake bread, and there are so many ways to do so, though it seems," she pauses, "that some consider bread a 'replacement' for rice. How very strange."
Lilian Rook	While it clearly isn't the same style as Tamamo's (in fact, probably almost definitely one of the maids' from a cupboard), Lilian has done, and is doing, her best to adjsut and readjust it until it feels comfortable (it won't, because she's never worn one) until Tamamo enters. Upon seeing her, Lilian actually lets out a little sigh of relief, making no efforts to hide it. "Oh, you're in a very good mood I see~ I'm glad. I was worried that having you up at this hour would mean you'd be reluctant and tired. Is it really that exciting?" Lilian tilts her head to one side, then slightly to the other, focused on either something behind Tamamo, or her outline. Probably the latter, since she then says "Are you doing that on purpose? Or is it just because it's too bright during the daytime to see? It's sort of pretty." After that, she gives up a can't-be-helped little laugh at Tamamo's assessment. "I did tell you I haven't ever cooked before, so, maybe a wok would be a little too much trouble." she agrees. "Something easy sounds best. It's not as if we have to stop after one, right? Well, unless something goes disastrously wrong, which I doubt." Turning to the oven, she leans over to hit the touch pad, and asks "What temperature?" Upon being given one, she punches it in, closes the display, and then sets her hand on the cold stovetop (probably annoying some maid who has to clean the fingerprints off the glassy surface). There is a sound like slow beats of air, with a distinct kind of off-kilter start and stop, like something had just passed by and then gone around. The sound speeds up linearly, becoming a swift, regular rhthym, like something large and heavy spinning just outside the room. In seconds, the inside of the oven, viewable through the front, goes from cold grey to shimmering hazily, as the electronic ping informs her that it's done. Already. "Well, it's not as if people had rice here for a long time, right? That's referring to old bread, though. Thick and heavy and dense with calories and vitamins. It'd be seasoned and torn up and dipped in things. Nowadays, the bread you'll find is really light and fluffy and heavily processed. Sweetened with a lot of sugar and a different baking process. It's not exactly great for you. It's not supposed to be filling, and all the sugar goes straight into your bloodstream and is used up faster than drinking soda." For someone who doesn't cook, she's at least fairly versed in food and nutrition itself, to a more serious extent than teen girls and diets. "Just, ah, be careful. Try not to get too distracted." she says, having already seen Tamamo's perilous knifework turn out just fine.
Tamamo	"'On purpose,' you say?" Tamamo's brows raise, still smiling, but not immediately comprehending. Her lips make an 'oh!' of surprise as she realizes, and covers her mouth. "Ah, that, you see..." She gives a temperature (somewhat low for baking in general, but suited for the small items on the menu), and begins moving aside items that will be or won't be used. "One can more easily hide the Sun during the day, is it not so? I do attempt to cover myself," that might not mean the obvious, "but this incarnation is unlike my past, and it something of a continual effort, to not... be blinding." Perhaps it's how more familiar she's become with Lilian, such that she isn't putting a lot of effort into hiding that tone of embarrassment, as she admits to... something, whether that's the part about constant effort or constant suppression. Simple cookies don't take that many ingredients. Flour, yes. Butter. Powdered sugar. Eggs. Cocoa powder. Vanilla extract. That makes up the rough descending order of volume. Just by the ingredients, this definitely isn't a 12th century recipe, though all plenty common enough by sometime around the 20th. Tamamo goes down the list, then finds the first bowl and whisk. "Oh, no, these were words I heard quite recently." She gets back to the topic of bread, while bringing the first few items over to Lilian. Tamamo opts for the teaching method of coming as close as possible and instructing by guiding Lilian's hands with hers, one arm around her, in the seemingly simple but precisely refined art of mixing fine materials in a bowl in a quick, thorough manner not prone to spills. This is very probably not a mode of tactile mentorship frequently found in schools or shops, and it's anyone's guess where she'd picked it up from. "First, the flour and the sugar, please. Then, add in the butter. Oh, but it will mix much more quickly if first given thin slices." She continues, while preparing several other items, eventually identifying and retrieving parchment paper. "It was during our time in Yamato when I did hear some say that there were those who replaced their meals of rice with those of bread. I should hope they meant neither primitive nor dessert versions of baked goods. A tone of complaint, it was, as of an elder regarding a youthful indiscretion. Ah, but if it were 'light and fluffy,' I should rather like to experience such, if not make such, myself."
Lilian Rook	"I see, I see." Lilian says, already not entirely managing to sound studious on the subject of Tamamo's glow. "So this time, you incarnated even better. Just to impress me~? Or was my summoning just that good? Even if it was, ah, accidental. Either way, I'm flattered~" Judging by where she was standing, that being off to the side, trying to lean close enough to watch Tamam carefully and not fidget, it seems clear that she'd expected to follow the mysterious process of very simple baked goods by observation first, committing it to memory and then trying it herself. That seems to be the modern form of instruction, anyways; surely not quite how people learned in the past, in practical, rather than academic, environments. She just looks (and sounds) confused about Tamamo taking her hand, asking "Wait, did I do something wrong already?" before getting the idea, as if the need to hold anything would surely only be forcefully corrective. From there, well, it's clear enough she wasn't lying when she said she hadn't done it before. Obviously, she couldn't be further from clumsy, but for a change of character, she hovers far too diligently over trying to measure everything in proper receptacles by eye as if performing chemistry, she struggles to find a midpoint of whisking anything between fiddling with it and being in severe danger of splattering it, and doesn't seem to have a clue about how thinly one can slice butter without it just falling to pieces, probably never having touched a stick of it in her life. Starting to look a little red, she reluctantly vocalizes "This is embarrassing. I knew I wouldn't be good at it on the very first try, but still. It feels like it should be very easy, if regular housewives and the like do this all the time." She takes a deep breath. "I suppose it's been a while since I've done anything I'm not good at. You tend to fall into that, after a while. Why spend time being bad at something when you could just get better at what you like?" Just a beat. "N-not that I dislike this at all, of course. It's sort of nice having the place to ourselves like this. More than just during the day hours." Though, like calling the devil's name, this is not to be for much longer. Not in a sense, though. The night had been as young as Lilian could arrange when they'd started, but time progresses all on its own, and Lilian can't share it with Tamamo if it doesn't. There is the hint of a chill --more of a cold spot in the house's heating-- and it passes by. Then another. And a third one. There is the sound of a cupboard creaking open, and something being taken out, set down gently on the side. Shakers and bottles removed from their racks. The quiet rattle of pans being sorted from their racks. The gentle scrape of knives.
Lilian Rook	It isn't just the sound though. Turning around to look, there are pots, saucepans, cutting boards, salt shakers, laid out knives and spatulas on the counters, all taken and shifted around out of nowhere. Turning to look, at the same time, makes the noises cease. There is no sign of activity. There are no shadows in the kitchen but Tamamo's and Lilian's own. There are no signs of any food being removed, or any seasonings being opened, despite the fact Tamamo could easily swear she'd heard the second refrigerator opening and closing. "Just ignore it." says Lilian. "They aren't real." Hesitating on actually touching the dough mixture with her bare hands, Lilian does indeed continue as if nothing weird is going on. She fetches a baking sheet from a drawer that hadn't been used yet, laying it out for Tamamo's retrieved parchment paper, and prodding the mixture to see how cold and sticky it might be. When both women's attention is turned back to baking, though, the sounds resume. They resume as if seeing anything out of the ordinary itself would be . . . no, it's more like as if the faint, chilly presences in the kitchen wouldn't be so gauche as to act in front of someone. It feels less like preserving some spooky mystique, and more the opposite of 'a servant should be seen and not heard'. The activity ceased again, the moment it's observed, playing 'red light green light' with precognitively perfect timing. The utensils shift around. The locations of pans and boards change. There is the sound of knives chopping against the latter and spoons stirring in the former, the sink running, and the unmistakable noise of cutting meat and vegetables, but there is no food to be seen. A smell of it, perhaps --the faintest, imaginary whiff-- but nothing physical. Quietly, the sound of chairs scraping in the dining room around the corner can be heard, as well as the indistinct murmur of people talking about something or other. Quite probably, all things considered, a conversation someone had long, long ago.
Tamamo	Tamamo doesn't leave Lilian alone long, coming back to show her how it's done through encouraged muscle memory, which may or may not be a legitimate technique, as she minutely moves Lilian's fingers in their grip before moving her hands at the proper pace. She doesn't say anything more than, "Let use about this much, perhaps?" while slicing the butter. Still, there's only so much that will actually help. "All journeys begin in the same manner, and all crafts must be learned from the first step, no?" At least she's the naturally warmest teacher Lilian is likely to find. At the stammered, latter sentence, she giggles. "Let us enjoy this time together, come what may." And so, they came. Tamamo's ears catch all of it, as easily as their size would indicate. She can't not hear it. Her eyes flick to the side, giving a low 'hmm,' as she beats an egg before adding it, and the vanilla, to Lilian's bowl, and giving Lilian another hands-on lesson. It's learning-by-watching, no, though at least it's cookies and not sashimi, even if she's seen the latter, at least the once. "It does seem as if we are not quite alone, no? Even though, in that prior event, the servants had been instructed to leave the kitchen to my use, no? I suppose you had not repeated such an order, this time, and so a presence has not been barred." Those were the last of the ingredients that needed mixing. Tamamo helps ensure that it's blended, before taking out the dough, and splitting it between herself and Lilian. This time she does serve a demonstration, kneading slowly, and making sure that the motions are noticed. They'll need the two balls of dough, to make two batches of cookies. That way, only one gets the cocoa powder.
Lilian Rook	"I know, I know, but still." Lilian whines. "It's easy to want to wish to be perfect at it anyways. Everyone likes the satisfaction of having become good at something, but nobody likes not being good to start with." She most certainly must be fairly skilled at art --more than she'd sold Tamamo on in Japan-- because that's exactly what artists say. On the subject of the night sounds, being as close as anyone gets to seeing them, though, the hint of worry in Lilian's voice seems to be that Tamamo might be upset about them, since it's halfway assuaged when she doesn't react overly negatively. "Ah, it's not quite that." she says. "I told you before that this house has an uncanny way of retaining departed family, didn't I? Between forty odd people who possessed considerable talent in life still lingering around here, and the common thread that this house has had roughly the same family of servants for a couple of centuries . . . You could call it a memory, I suppose. The house remembers having hundreds of servants. The departed remember being served all their lives. Not so important that they'd remember their names and faces, and non-family members don't tend to linger, but the impression is strong. All the maids are asleep at night; there isn't a night shift. The night duties have a way of . . . taking care of themselves." "Like I said, they aren't real. It's just a form of phenomena. Lingering memories and old magic. The needs that old ghosts remember being taken care of in the fashion they remember. You'd know if there were a real maid ghost around." Lilian continues on in a way that is neither consolatory nor apologetic, but rather, a sort of strange, childish nostalgia. "I can't count the number of times I've come downstairs for something, flicked on the lights for a moment, and found things all over the place. They end up back where they should be by morning. Most of those plates and glasses will be in different rooms by half an hour, and the rest just tend to circulate between here and the dining room; only two of my great uncles appear in the kitchen." Odd, given the distant, almost recorded babble of voices sounds like a full table. She seems happy to continue, if now, by contrast from when they'd started, slightly disappointed to be watching and copying instead. To her credit, that being no doubt the way she's used to being taught, she's very good at mimicking it. Plus, this part is really simple. They're all very evenly sized and shaped. "Those two have an average sort of lucidity." she continues on. "They can hold a conversation; they usually do with each other every night. The same old dinner. The topics change, but they rarely pick up anything modern." "You can bring them food, and you won't see them eat it, but it disappears when you aren't looking and they'll give you an opinion all the same. Otherwise, the house indulges that 'dinner' over and over; the favourite memory of their dinnertime debates. They're perfectly harmless. The table's a bit loud, because they remember it that way, back in 1880 and 1910, or so I've heard. One died before the other and they missed that conversation terribly, apparently."
Tamamo	Even that small amount of powder noticeably darkens the dough as it's mixed in by hand, Tamamo taking this opportunity to give Lilian another closer, hands-on demonstration. That's likely unnecessary, since this is just a little more of the same. You know it's done when it's even. But she seems to enjoy the closeness. Both chocolate and vanilla are then ready for the parchment paper, but not yet for the oven. Tamamo takes one piece at a time to arrange on the parchment-lined baking sheet, offering Lilian access to the same to work alongside her. "Ah, I see," she says, forming squares, which are easy enough, and circles, which are almost easier. "It is not unlike a tsukumogami, no? The tools may not be so old, but it is enough for the house to be. It is remembered, held and believed, how it must be, and so it is." A rubber spatula allows one to cut just about anything geometric. Tamamo takes the time to arrange a few pieces of dough into something strongly resembling animal crackers, pressing indentations in the dough for eyes, the inside of pointed ears, and lines suggesting legs and tails. It's not the clearest, on dough, but since there's no yeast involved, it's not going to rise and lose much of its shape, either. Tamamo glances again at Lilian at the mention of 'great uncles.' "Lucidity, is it? The elderly do often focus on the past they know, this may be true, for all their various reasons." She's not included in that, of course. They're not making so many cookies as to feed a party, so the dough does run out, sooner than later. "And next, we chill these, for half a bell... an hour, is it?" Whatever bells she means, it isn't those for Anglican Mass, at least. "If you might help with that, as well, we shall see our results so much the sooner. And for the oven, afterward, some quarter of that." Glancing this time toward the dining area, Tamamo adds, "I might like to speak to them, though not to interrupt either our time or theirs. Perhaps they shall help judge our work? Having had little time among these very modern appliances, I remain curious as to how to use them well, myself."
Lilian Rook	Even though the essential task of laying out cookies on paper and shaping them by hand is incredibly simple, it would appear that Lilian is to the point of enjoying it. Without her really noticing, a little smile has worked its way to her lips, just short of thinking of something to hum. "I'm surprised. This is a little bit satisfying." she says. "Maybe it's that adage about working with your hands? I can't remember the last time I did little manual crafts like this. So many things with the mind only, with magic, or the whole body, or sometimes computers, but it's not quite the same as something simple and, I suppose, tactile, like this, right? Maybe it's something to do with how humans were made." Funny that she should say that, instead of something about the evolutionary background of tool-users, for someone who always says she's an atheist. Oh well "Aha, that's probably not a bad comparison~ Maybe that's entirely the case, even? I always sort of thought of them as some sort of ghost-like entity. The spirit of 'maid'. But the eastern way of thinking about it makes sense. I like it. I've always liked thinking of this house as something like an 'entity', you know? Since I was little, I enjoyed imagining it as part of the family. Sort of like some grandparent, maybe, since it's older than both my mother and father. It has character. A history. More than just bricks and timbers. There are so many things soaked into the stones." Now she's humming to herself, the barest hints of some surprisingly folksy tune, though by the definition of 'folk' that long predates the modern conception. "As far as 'lucidity' goes, well . . . Different people leave different impessions when they die. They have fewer or greater attachments to life. More or less reason to stay. Sometimes it's only one or two things they care about, so they come back mostly in a form that pursues only those things, without much 'dimension' to them otherwise. Sometimes it's just the house itself, and they're little more than an indistinct presence that can simply 'be inside of it'. Lots of the time, there's some unfinished business, or promise that exceeds one lifetime, or they simply have an incredibly strong desire to remain amongst the living, and essentially the whole person is left behind in spirit." Lilian can't help but half-suppress a childish grin at the sight of animal cookies. "Now those take me back." she says. "Though when I say it that way, it sounds like I'm old." Happy to oblige taking them to the first refrigerator, and then the oven, she speaks on in the gaps between mild appliance clatter. "Those two are somewhere in the middle, I'd say. They missed the house at a special time of day, each other, the family at large. They were strongly attracted to the busiest, most familiar time, and the time they shared together. There's a great deal of 'them' still in there, but most of their other interests --beyond talking about them that is-- are gone. Not that many roam around the halls. Maybe a dozen? They like to stick to a room or two, or a wing, where everything they need is there."
Lilian Rook	"My father's cousin mostly just plays the piano all night. My grandfather on my mother's side stays in the study. There's a great aunt and her sister who spend most of their time in the greenhouse. The . . . third, groundskeeper before this one works at night and never comes in further than the rear atrium. So on and so on. The head maid twice before our current one, and the one thrice before that, obviously travel around." "Even the departed without much to them are a valuable family resource though. The dead pass down knowledge, and instruction, and stories, and the more 'coherent' and 'solid' ones can help out a great deal. For example, even if he never leaves the study, my grandfather has always been a great help in finding whatever particular obscure or difficult things I need there. Sometimes he even adds to the collection himself." "If you leave him alone, it's mostly just the books that move and empty teacups and plates that come in and out, but I think it's a matter of preference more than lacking parts of him. I'm pretty sure he just looked forward to having all the time in the world to read and write and theorize." Opening up the oven after a minute, Lilian gently bites her lip, glancing down at her hands, then back up. "Does it sound like I prefer all my dead family to the alive ones? I've spent more time with them altogether, but still."
Tamamo	The cookie preparation is almost complete. Tamamo hovers near the oven, peering and saying something about 'golden-brown.' The time given might be only an approximation, even if the temperature given had been exact, and a few more minutes could be added. Only the actual baking and subsequent cooling stand between them and a mixed batch of vanilla and chocolate butter cookies. She adopts a thinking pose. "It is not so strange to love one's grandparents more than, say, one's siblings, for their different roles in one's life." Golden eyes, seeming brighter for the kitchen's dim lighting, look over Lilian as if searching for something. "And you do sound fond of them, and of this house." A small smile. "Perhaps it is, indeed, that this house has its own spirit, and now stands in that place straddling the gap of life and death, serving both. All the more so for all that has occurred here. Well-used by your family, it serves and provides for them and their children. To provide a place in which to grow is, itself, a form of nurturing." She turns her ears again to the sounds of dinner, phantom though they may be. "No, it would not be so strange." It's not quite an answer to the question of 'does it sound like,' but close to it. "Not for them having passed on, and leaving behind only a portion of themselves, but because they... grandparents, granduncles, distant second cousins, there is that 'distance,' yes? At times, a physical distance, but not always." She looks into the oven. Yes, the cookies should be ready now. She retrieves the oven mitts. "I may mistake, and I have yet to raise children of mine own, but I might guess this, that those who feel the closest 'responsibility,' especially of driven mind, do place the greatest expectation upon a child, whether they be near at hand or not. And so one may grow to prefer the company of those who see only, 'my dear grandchild,' for it is not their obligation to instill their likewise blood of iron, to test that their legacy endures one year more, and may instead exist in peace. Even if their retirement is one of written words and crafted theories, they know 'I have done what I must,' and may, at last, relax." Cookies are retrieved. The promised cookies. Tamamo gives the tray a little time. The parchment should make individual retrieval easy enough. "Shall we see to, ah... yes," she steps away for just a moment, to find a serving platter. "The scent, at least, is pleasing. Shall we see to the taste? Eastern traditions are lighter on sugar than that to which one may be accustomed, but perhaps that would be no issue for a pair of granduncles."
Lilian Rook	Lilian had asked Tamamo's opinion. Even if it might sound rhetorical, or difficult, or loaded as a question to most, she'd of course be far out of line to not then listen to the answer. The fact that it isn't a deflection or platitude or 'what she'd like to hear' holds her attention moreso, keeping her silence when Tamamo finds the words. That isn't to say, however, that she doesn't enjoy hearing it. In fact, coming from about the only person she trusts in the way that she does, hearing that reassurance --both in her worries of having childish perceptions and some guilt for spending hours each night interacting with the departed without ever even dropping in on her siblings during the day-- feels, to her mind, indescribable. Something light bubbling up inside and dissolving a block of concrete weighing on a scatter of other feelings. There's no 'that's relieving' or 'I feel better', because Lilian surely isn't used to ever resolving those internal doubts. Just getting more able to lift them as they slowly add up over time. But there is a floaty little exhalation there. A twitch at the corner of her lips. All those little involuntary sounds and expressions she never seems to make around anyone else ever, where every pause is for effect and every look put-on. "Is that wisdom? Or experience? Or are you just really really smart?" she replies with a restrained level of cheek. "I like that interpretation. I always feel like I've learned something when we talk like this." She doesn't even try to hide her enthusiasm when Tamamo not only takes all of that in stride, but even goes as far as to show her own interest. She didn't have to do something as weird as take freshly baked cookies to a couple of literal ghosts, especially with her combination of archetypes, but the instant she suggests it, Lilian reaches a level of suppressed beaming that makes her face turn pink and her eyes sting, doing her very best to keep her smiling to a dignified level. "That's the point of baking them, right?" she says, pointing Tamamo to the correct drawer full of all different sizes and makes of platters for serving. Tamamo's glimpses into the dining room haven't yielded much, seeing as the kitchen is intentionally segregated, like a restaurant more than anything, less for the help to exert their presence on a family gathering, and vice versa, with some privacy afforded to the goings on of the kitchen in trusted hands. Of course this entails going out in the dark (though Tamamo's sunny mien may help with that), turning on no lights, leaving only the extremely faint kitchen glow around the corner to illuminate the short hall. That's all fine though, because the dining room itself is lit. Sort of. A candle set that likely never sees use, occupying several places around the center of the table for twenty, is accordingly lit. There is no smoke, nor the scent of it, nor any particular heat, but the impression of candle light outlines the furniture just barely to the degree of vague shapes outside the rim of a campfire. The babble of dinner chatter doesn't quieten or disappear, but more distinct, to the point of the clink of forks and glasses can be heard here and there. There are places set out at almost every chair, with empty plates and empty glasses with spotless cutlery stacked here and there for maids to take, but the voices attached to them are mostly indistinct.
Lilian Rook	One can pick out male and female, younger and older, with accents of the time, and the occasional snippet of phrase; complaints about people who have long since passed, government reforms that have since been reformed again, passages from particular books, comments on the season from long ago, babies on the way who are now great grandparents, and so on. Though the chairs are pushed out to irregular degrees, the only two seated are a pair of silhouettes too distinct and real to be mistaken for a shadow or figment of the imagination by looking away quickly, but not quite all the way there. A little washed out. A bit see-through. Slightly too quiet, without the little cues of warmth and scent people don't consciously notice. Enough to feel uncanny. Obviously, the both of them are dressed in essentially very late Victorian fashion, coats put away, wearing button down inner jackets, collared undershirts with cufflinks, and so on. One of the two is just slightly balding, and found a way to be a little bit overweight despite the affairs of magic, with a sort of dignified if droopy clean-shaven face, while the other favours the chops and mustache of the time, still with his silk neckerchief on over a ruffled button line, with sharp features and high cheekbones. The two appear to be in a spirited (if oddly quiet) discussion about the outmoded insistence on planned growing of mandragora in this modern day and age, both agreeing on the inherent idiocy of barbaric risk-taking, but disputing whether alternative sources of newer-bred plant can cover all the niggling little side uses. It's difficult to tell without context how old this conversation is, or whether it post-dates their deaths. Entering the dining room has the distinct air that the moment the two are approached by more than a step, rather than watched quietly, frightened from afar, the candles will blow out and the whole scene will disappear like a mirage. But it doesn't. Possibly because Lilian makes sure to enter first. The former man lifts his arms and throws them open as if he means to deliver a hug across the table, intoning "My good girl! It's been a fortnight and pence since we've had the pleasure!" with a slightly surreal, flat edge. The other man turns in his seat to look, putting his arm over the back in a way that doesn't quite line up with the solid chair. "And who is this fetching young lady from the Orient?" he adds. "Are they doing those 'exchange programs' now these days? No no, you couldn't be classmates. Allow me to guess! A specialist from abroad? Perhaps for the woods?" The first man interjects. "No no don't bother her with that. Can't you see? Lilian in an apron! What a wonder! What is that head maid doing? Your friend here certainly has a 'motherly' air about her!" Then back again. "Ah but that sunny disposition! Perhaps she has come to teach the maids and midwives!" And back again. "Oh don't be silly, there hasn't been a midwife here in a century." It's . . . really weird. The whole thing sounds recorded somehow, even as if it couldn't possibly be. Slightly muffled, like what would hear coming down the stairs just before flicking the lights on. Like something described in a 'true story'. Just, without disappearing when looked at.
Tamamo	"What is wisdom but an experience found useful? Even should it only be an observation of one who is without so much personal experience." That Amaterasu was said to have two brothers is of questionable relevance, and while she had been wed, in some sense, that's still not the same thing. The subtlety of expression is difficult, here, but there's some amusement in that side-smile. The cookies are moved, one at a time, over to the platter. Golden-brown at the edges, in the vanilla case, as intended. Lilian goes ahead, and Tamamo carries the platter. They enter the dining room, and things proceed in the usual, unusual fashion. Not quite there, not fully there, just the parts of the spirit that clung to the place, and to this room, and this time, in particular. A 'ghost,' rather than a ritually venerated, ancestral spirit. Tamamo sees the disinctions, but merely politely smiles. At least she's not from that time period when 'the Orient' was considered somehow offensive, having instead predated that linguistic progression by several stages. "I am Tamamo no Mae, and as you guessed, I was summoned to assist with the woods, having previously served in the late emperor's court, there in the Land of the Rising Sun." Not the most recent emperor, and not the same kind of 'service' as 'assistance.' "Lilian has graciously offered me use of a guestroom since then." She is, in fact, still glowing. Faintly, so as not to dispel the night entirely, but it'd be harder not to notice, in this lighting. She can only somewhat be considered 'in shadow' at any given point. "Having some interest in the arts domestic, and in experiencing foreign traditions," if anywhere can be said to be meaningfully foreign to a Sun Goddess, "I did invite young Lilian to join in the baking of sweets. If you would, another's opinion would be most appreciated in judging the result." This isn't to say that she won't be taking any, herself. She will, and ensuring that Lilian takes at least one of the animal shapes, herself.
Lilian Rook	Lilian's take on a question likely meant to be rhetorical is "Hmm, the connotation I guess. Experience sounds professional. Wisdom sounds spiritual." And then, on the way out, she has her own try of the platter with a surprisingly adept sleight of hand; a level of 'not actually thinking about it' reflexive which still results in a small object disappearing and being half-eaten before the eye would figure out where it is. Whatever she mumbles after swallowing is inaudible, but has the tone of being pleasantly surprised. "August, Joseph, a pleasure." Lilian 'introduces' herself, feigning the motions of a very old-fashioned curtsy (given a platter and all) with the particular knowing grin that comes from the fact that everyone involves knows it's out of style by now. "It probably feels like it's been longer than it has, or perhaps it's simply just because I've been busy with our guest since late last year?" The older gentleman --August, going by Lilian's gaze when speaking to each of them-- puts on the stare of an incorrigible gossip straight through his unsuited expression, affecting the cold, washed out version of sparkling-eyed interest. "Oh oh? That long ago already? You've certainly kept her out of the kitchen for an assistant! Afraid she might be charmed away by some witty repartee? Hah! Of course I'm merely joking, but I am interested!" Joseph strokes his chin for a moment, considering. "Tamamo no Mae . . . The name is famous, isn't it? Do forgive me for not being up to snuff on my oriental lore, but it's one of those names that I've chanced upon once or twice I believe. The old memory isn't quite up to it. A bit of conversational trivia." Given that they'd have lived well before these kinds of things became openly known as more than myth and superstition, it probably makes more sense that the guy with the silk trimmings would be the one to at least barely know something or other. August says "A perfectly lovely creature at any rate! Though, quite obviously a creature of the daytime!" Joseph says "Even more impressively, someone who can interest the young mistress in the kitchen for a change." August continues "Oh pish posh now, none of the women in this family have ever been the domestic sort. You had to marry bare as far as possible to find a wife with the slightest hint of domestic charm!" Joseph replies "Yes yes I've been hearing about it for a hundred and fifty years now my good man. They've always had an eye for the home itself though. Hearth and children and all that. I don't know about little Allison, but certainly her mother and those sisters were perfectly devoted to matters of family." August replies "Ahh, then your surprise is that she could drag away our little Lady Knight from her books and swords and computer gizmo long enough to appreciate the house?" Then Joseph, "Well of course! The third woman in the entire history of the family to pick up that sword would necessarily be one with more diverse tastes! But then perhaps from there stems the sudden interest in baking." August reclines in his chair, with the distinct impression it should be creaking, but it remains cold and silent. "A very good theory. But I wonder . . ."
Lilian Rook	They just . . . they go on and on like this. The impression is that they absolutely could talk for hours, nightly, about anything, without ever growing bored. Taking it entirely in stride, Lilian sets out the trays between the two of them, careful not to knock over the candles. "Now now, save your debates for after you've tried them. This is my first time, so make sure to be extra flattering." she says, delivered in a complete deadpan that sets both of the dead gentlemen laughing. "And be nice! Tamamo has taken good care of things so far!" The two of them laugh. "Evidently!" "We're both most impressed by the calibre of assistance you've drummed up!" "And the beauty!" Pretty much exactly as she'd said, both of the dead men acknowledge the presence of baked sweets, August rubbing his hands and Joseph adjusting his collar and soundlessly rolling up his weightless sleeves, but neither of them actually dig in, as if the thought hadn't occurred to them yet. "Yes yes, with that 'sunny disposition' I'm certain she's a perfect fit for those woods." August seems to decide. "Oh it's been a terribly long time since I've bothered to check. Of course I'm sure it must all be in order if the young mistress is still with us." says Joseph. "Really? Why do you say so?" "Why because she'd be twenty years old as of last year." "Dear god man, really?! I thought she was still sixteen! How the time flies!" "So it does. Part of me would like to see if I could ever track down that old stag again but . . ." "But then you'd miss dinner!" August finishes off the ramble. The two of them emphatically nod and agree that this would be unacceptable. Nobody misses dinner. Lilian turns to Tamamo and sort of gestures in the other way, exchanging glances and saying under her breath, "They'll be a minute. They'll just keep talking if you engage them, so give them a moment to remember to try the things already." She sticks out her tongue just slightly. "But I'm really glad. I'm really glad they seem to like you. I'd worried this whole time that your sun aspect, and that divinity and all, would get along poorly with the people who still sort of live here. It's a relief." And pretty much at that point August calls over with a tenor like his mouth is full (it isn't) to say "Oh do make sure you aren't late my girl! Your greaty-great grandmother will be looking for you! She'll roam all the way over here and my the woman is an absolute killjoy! No sense of modern perspective at all!" Joseph nods, also a cookie down. "No wonder it took so long to get the vote."
Tamamo	"A pleasure to meet you both," Tamamo says, after learning their names. You haven't really met someone until that point. She isn't obligated to just stand there and look pretty, but she opts to let the two talk, anyway, and they certainly can. Wedging between a couple of old uncles would be crass and difficult. There's an artfully suppressed twinge at the word 'famous,' and she says only, "I am of the daylit sky, it is so." She smiles to the compliments, subtly strains her ears to the mentions of wife-hunting, and files away the 'third woman' tidbit. It'll be one more thing (or two things, specifically) to ask about, at some point, on the topic of Lilian's family business. The verdict on the cookies seems to be positive, and she bites away at a chocolate square, herself, and slowly chews. It might not impress a proper god of cooking, but it was only a first attempt, after all. By more reasonable standards, it's satisfying. Moving to another of Lilian's (having saved her own for Lilian's tasting), she gives a warm, heartfelt smile. Actually warm, maybe, but that's harder to measure than spotting a glow in a dark room. "Oh? Ahh, I see, they are an existence that does not walk beneath the sun, is it so? It is true that such beings are fragile when within my grasp, and... but I could not guess what that god of night should think of them, as neither could She." Tamamo looks cross for just a moment, as if remembering something grudge-worthy, but not related to the moment. She shifts into, for her, the more eminently, pleasantly interesting line of, "But they are your family, no? I could never cease to be the Sun, but if I could gain a 'family aspect,' I think I should be then most pleased." She looks about, "Still strange it is, though perhaps most fortunate, that they are of such good humor. At the Buddhist's altar, the living pray to the dead, lest they become vengeful out of spite for such a slight, but all traditions do make remembrance in their own way, whether by flower, procession, offerings, or carved stone. Memories are also carved, respect shown, and the bond between living and departed maintained, whether or not the ancestor then takes the role of guardian spirit. Ah, but I have spoken overlong, once more, and should not lecture so. Your great grandmother does seek you, it seems? For what purpose, I might wonder, are you sought at such an hour?"
Lilian Rook	"Quite quite." "And such a polite lady too." "Ah don't you know? Manners are of the utmost import in the far east." "Well of course I should hope a proper gentleman of the Queen's England should know manners as well." "Yet, look at you pack away those sweets." "Oh hush now. The young lady made them to be shared did she not? This is a form of good manners!" "Then I can only agree, of course. I'm glad they aren't overly sweet, like those modern confections with all their refined sugar." "Indeed! They are most agreeable to the palate! Though I believe the chocolate variety to be made with more skill!" "Is that how you interpret it? I can feel more care and enthusiasm put into the vanilla." "Are you certain that isn't your small stomach being unable to handle the richer flavours?" "And what of yours! Dead for two hundred years and it hasn't shrunk in the least!" "This, my good man, is the form of a man with a life well-lived!" The chatter is incessant, varying between vaguely period-appropriate, uncannily aware of bits and pieces of the present, completely absorbed in the little world of the 1800s house, eternally never growing tired of each other's company, and mysteriously disappearing cookies. Of course neither of them have tongues with which to taste nor teeth with which to chew or stomachs to put away food --not really-- but the scene plays out all the same; it must play out; it will play out. Lilian takes it with the slightest of smiles, as usual, with the exact look of someone distantly fond of her great uncles, despite their limited appearance. "It's true that ghosts rarely come out in the daylight, for whatever reason. It's not that they're particularly unholy or averse to the sun, but the nighttime seems to be easier for them. Asides, it's a bit of a tradition here, I think. You'll only see the departed during the day if something is urgent. Sort of like your glow, maybe? It's harder to be seen in the light." A short, low laugh, as Lilian waves her hand. "No no, I can't imagine anyone here becoming one of those 'vengeful spirits'. This sort of thing is very strongly western. It might be western hubris, or a lack of attachment to the idea of reincarnation and 'stages' of life, but rather a life and an afterlife, or something else entirely. Sad, violent, or fragmented ghosts usually only come from great trauma or abuse in life, or an extremely dramatic death. Besides, since the 'extended family' is so valuable, there's no one who goes without a proper burial in the private mausoleum." Despite the moderately grim and morbid topic, she seems happy to talk about it. This must be the entire short and long of why Lilian never minds the presence of ghosts on darker missions; she even acts comfortable around them.
Lilian Rook	"'Greaty-great'." she corrects Tamamo with an audible eyeroll. "It's his little wordplay. Like twenty one or seventy three. She's one of the few who are . . . much much older than the house. Great times ten, plus one great. This place only dates back to the seventeen hundreds, but they made sure to build it on a site that has been special to the bloodline since . . . forever ago, I guess. She's the second oldest here. Old enough to remember the Roman Empire as a child. Powerful enough that she wasn't yet elderly when the First Crusade happened. One of the family's Unseen Knights. Fought the Christians early on, and then fought alongside them later." Realizing she herself is rambling a little, Lilian coughs politely, and ends shortly, with "You may have noticed that individualized martial training is fairly rare at Arx Zenith. There are many practical reasons, and families wishing to keep wartime artifacts out of public spaces like that; nobody would want to keep an Excalibur in a locker." "So, I learned to use a sword from her. Nightly, since I was twelve. Not that I've had much need of using it in the Multiverse, so far."
Tamamo	Tamamo gives the two granduncles their space. Watching the cookies disappear, "Might the house spirit take care of the platter, as well?" If so, they've no further need to linger, having heard the opining upon the state of modern confectionaries. She nods to herself. Quite expected that the elderly might be used to a more austere era, and so appreciate such tastes. "I wonder how they might like the saltier flavors." Far Eastern menus have a lot of that. Idle musing aside, Tamamo gives some consideration to the mention of a mausoleum, and nods. "Oh, yes, I see. If it is the treatment expected, then there could be no cause to find the treatment impolite, no? It is not as if the prayer itself is magic. The spirit's understanding plays a role." Cultural norms, then, obviously apply to the avoidance of vengeful hauntings, within some limits. "They must be well pleased to have remained so long. Or, perhaps, particularly driven, as in the case of your... greaty-great grandmother. Your greatest presiding, is she? Or no, there is one elder still, you say?" There's also the matter of those things left out in the kitchen, but that's not the utmost priority. "Your sword, I do recall most clearly. It did attract mine attention from nigh the moment I did appear." Not positively, that. "I would have been surprised to find such a thing laying about, without apparent custody, now imagining such. Is it so unlike any other that you must practice with that particular blade, itself?" Then, thinking on the word 'nightly,' she asks, "Are you getting quite enough sleep, my Lilian?"
Lilian Rook	emit "I expect so." says Lilian on the subject of platters. "It's something you'd think a maid would see to, right?" It only takes her a second to survey her thoughts on burials. "It's a privilege not a lot of people have to be interred with one's honoured ancestors, as basically an unbroken tradition for ages. It's only people who stray really far from the family, or are basically disowned, who aren't given the right. It's on 'sacred' ancestral land, after all, in a place that's still preserved, with a nexus of magic underneath. A respectful resting place, well-observed rituals, being buried with favourite things, and having a very easy time lingering around if one wishes to. Previously, most people just ended up in public city cemeteries, and then more recently, left behind where they fell by the millions. Those I expect involve more vengeful spirits." Lilian laughs. "'Driven' is the right word for her, to say the least. She's the granddaughter of Aodhan himself, as far as we're able to draw the tree that far back. An early founding member who is responsible for a lot of the shape of the order, and intends to see the bloodline continue straight until there's nothing inhuman left to fight. She's one of the 'super lucid' types I mentioned before. Practically like she died and didn't notice. Besides, when she was alive, she became extremely powerful. Climbed very, very high up the ladder of Enlightenment. They didn't have universal standards back then, but I'd probably guess she would be high up the station of the Throne." "I respect her a lot. She's a strict type, but can be doting when she wants to be. She keeps up on things more than most, even if she'll never change those very, very old-fashioned ways." She shakes her head. "It's not necessary that I practice specifically with Dubh-Ceothan Marfach, no, but most of the time it's a case of 'why not?'. It's what I'll be using when I need it, after all. I wouldn't trade it for something else. It's one of the big three from our reliquary, from the time of Aodhan himself. His one treasure he held until death. The symbol of knighthood --not in the sense of chivalry and loyalty, but a symbol of overcoming the dark powers and old monsters out there, rising above them, mastering them." "Rather than a Divine Sword or a Demonic Sword, Holy or Enchanted or Ancestral or Spiritual Sword, you'd class it as an Uncanny Sword, I think. I know it has that 'aura' to it, but it's different when you hold it in your hands. You don't get the true 'character' of it until you've used it. It's not famous, since it belonged to an Unseen Knightly Order, but you'd be hard-pressed to find something better anyways. And why wouldn't I want to do the old knights proud? I want to be the best, after all. Eschewing a piece of my history like that because it's 'too dark' for me would be pretty pathetic, wouldn't it?" "Plus, there's some things only it can do. A plain steel sword is fine for fundamentals --we have a couple-- but there's no sense not learning when to weave those special techniques into your fighting style. She's a ghost, and honestly, still better than me at this. She used it herself back during the expansion of the Empire and during the Crusades. She can handle it. And she won't kill me with a ghostly blade unless she wanted to."
Lilian Rook	Hoping she's finished assuaging Tamamo, Lilian gives her a conspiratorial little side glance and grin. "I'll let you in on a secret: That polyphasic sleep thing I sell people? It's only sort of true. I'm awake all day because most days I just sleep in my own 'private time'. Like I said about a thirty six hour day; a couple of hours isn't too hard to fit in. It's just when I've used all my Time for the day on other things that I pass some of the night that way. Or when I'm just too knackered to bother, I guess. Don't spread it around, okay?"