Elīya’s a little nervous as she enters the call room of the library. But at least it looks like her hands aren’t shaking.
No, there’s something much better than shaking on her right hand.
Something that looks like intricate jewelry. A golden bracelet connected by golden chains to four rings, one on each finger except thumb. And connected by those chains, sitting calmly on the back of her hand, there’s a golden gear, always turning.
Her. All of it, her.
It’s enough to make her smile, maybe enough to make her eyes glisten. She can’t quite tell.
But all that aside, there’s an important call to make, so she picks up the phone with her left hand—the one that won’t make it lose most of its friction, won’t make it drop out of her hand—and dials for the downtown library in Eden.
Some woman on the other end answers. “Who are you trying to contact?”
“Is… someone named Tamar in one of your call rooms?”
A second passes as the woman likely checks. “Tamar, Tamar… oh, yes, definitely. The Holy?”
“Yes.”
“Connecting you now.”
“Thanks,” Elīya says, and waits, still nervous somehow. It hasn’t been long at all since she saw Tamar, and yet, today, this act… it means commitment, in a way the camping trip didn’t. If Tamar actually picks up, somehow that makes this real.
“Hi.” A voice from the other line. Somehow playful, or sharp, or self-satisfied—Elīya’s not quite sure how to define it. But definitely Tamar.
“Hello,” Elīya responds, only really able to manage her cordial, formal tone.
“How’s it going?” Flames, Elīya can almost hear her smile.
“Well, finals seem to really be approaching now. Which means I should probably start focusing on my classes sometime this week, maybe.”
“Ohh? You not focusing on your classes? That seems, oh, I don’t know, maybe interesting of you.”
“I have been thinking this manifestation would look nicer with a second gear.”
There’s silence for a moment, just as Elīya expected. She smiles. Bringing up something so important so casually… maybe she does have similarities to Tamar, after all.
“Well then.”
“Indeed.”
“Guess I’ll ask.” Finally. “What is this manifestation of yours, oh newborn Theurgist friend of mine?”
Elīya can’t help but look at her hand again, nor can she help but try to process the use of the word friend, from Tamar, directed to her. “It looks like jewelry. All of it golden, on my right hand, though I can take it off. There’s a bracelet and rings involved, but the most important part is the gear at the back of my hand,” and her voice catches, because, oh, saying something important is somehow hard, takes something from her, needs to be said exactly right.
“Mhm?”
Elīya takes a breath, finds her wording. “It is without friction. As can be anything I touch.”
“Mmm,” Tamar says, a sound of interest that Elīya can so easily picture coming with a lean back in her chair. “Something tells me that what you’re feeling right now might also be interesting, but, well, phones…”
“And you, though?” Elīya asks, changing the topic. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I’ve been regaling my roommate with tales of literal, actual Lucifer, and I’m starting to think they’re jealous.” A pause; Elīya mentally inserts Tamar shrugging. “For whatever reason, they didn’t expect the first angel to fall to be able to make pancakes.”
“They were good pancakes,” Elīya adds.
“They were.”
“And what about your job? You haven’t said much about it.”
“It’s just selling some stuff. Charging batteries with my eyes. The usual.”
Elīya snorts. “I don’t think that’s usual.”
“It is for me. Like school is for you. And maybe Theurgy is for Yenatru.”
“Don’t sell my Theurgy short. Or your Holy-ness, I guess. Yenatru’s equivalent of school is, uh, school.” She pauses. “Although… you know. He really wanted to be in the general program with you. Here.”
A silence, something soft about it. “I know.” Maybe Tamar almost even sounds regretful. Maybe that’s a victory of sorts, for Elīya. And maybe it’s not.
And neither say anything. Elīya not sure what to say.
Well, except for that one idea she’s had a couple of times now.
“You know. I’ve been thinking.” She pauses for effect. “When my manifestation gets stronger, and maybe I can direct the lack of friction, say, down, just by extending my hand…” She trails off, smiling.
“Hm?”
“If maybe, say, you, me, Yenatru, were all on a sled,” she continues.
A moment passes, Tamar perhaps thinking.
Okay, Elīya’s just going to make this as clear as possible. Because that’s what she does. That’s what she is. “What I’m saying is, we wouldn’t even need snow. We’d barely even need a slope. To go really, really fast along the ground.”
“Now that sounds fun.”
Elīya can’t help but ask. “You’re grinning, right?”
“How ever could you tell?”
“Maybe because I know you.” Elīya intended the statement to be playful, but somehow it comes out more serious, soft. Real. Important.
A small silence passes before Tamar says, in a voice just as suddenly softened, “Yeah. Yeah, you do.”