Work Text:
December 6 1905
Today I woke up with my head pounding. I’m afraid to admit I was out uncharacteristically later than I prefer. I usually endeavour to avoid unnecessary work celebrations, but to my disappointment last night I was not as fortunate.
I was in the faculty lounge, preparing a pot of tea in anticipation of the long night of research I had ahead of me—in preparation for my upcoming expedition to Sweden— when I was suddenly ambushed by Professor Evans. She came to notify me in that jubilant manner of hers of a retirement party the faculty was throwing for the department at a nearby pub.
Before I could reply and give my excuses for not attending, Professor Bambleby had appeared behind me, exclaiming on what a marvellous idea that was. I started, shocked by his sudden appearance, but before I could get a word in, he was going off again about how vital it was to give the old man one last good memory of Cambridge before he left.
“Besides,”he said with a good-natured smile, “I think some scholars spend too much time in their offices hunched over their books. It would be beneficial for them to get out of their offices lest they keel over.”
They both chuckled lightheartedly at this. I scowled at this for it was obvious this jab was at my expense, and because now, with Professor Evan’s looking at me expectantly, I felt I could no longer refuse. Bastard.
I arrived at the pub with much trepidation. It was a homely sort of place with heavy curtain lining the windows. A shiny mahogany bar lined by cushioned bar stools at the back of the establishment had lines of bottles where I suspected was the source of the heavy smell of beer that permeated the establishment.
After greeting and congratulating Tomas Buford, the department head, I settled on a stool at the corner of the bar, which faced the revelry but at a distance. Dr Buford was a weathered old man, with wrinkles so deep they gave the man the impression of being over a century old. I watched him as he talked professors Jones’ ear off, telling some story about an encounter with the Courtly Fae in his younger years. Bambleby was naturally taking turns around the room, telling his own tales of his recent expedition in the French countryside. I was feeling quite out of my depth here, I was unsure on what to do for I had neglected to bring a book to keep my company.In my boredom, I enquired of the bartender for his recommendation of a drink, anything to feel less like a fish out of water.
After downing my mulled wine (which was quite delicious, thought a bit strong for my linking ), I sat there for some time contemplating the best excuse for my premature departure when I noticed a man approaching me. He sat down on the seat next to mine with a glance at the bartender, who was unfortunately busy, so he glanced about the room before his gaze settled on me
”Ah, Professor Wilde, hello,”he said matter-of-factly.
I recognized him to be the new hire in the department brought on to fill the spot Dr Buford would be leaving. He was a quiet sort of man who looked to be about a couple of years older than me, with wide, owlish eyes paired with a furrowed brow that gave him the impression of constant quizzicality. I don’t believe we’ve ever had a conversation up to this point aside from polite hello.
“Oh, yes— good evening, ”I replied awkwardly.
I kept my reply short as I had no desire for casual conversation; the wine was already making my head spin and I felt that my usually poor attempt at exchanging pleasantries would be rendered completely hopeless because of it .
After a moment of silence, in which it seemed he resisted my reply as my not recognizing him rather than my preference to be left alone, he added confidently,
“I’m Leopold Taylor, the recent addition to the department.”
“Yes, pleasure, how may I help you?” I muttered stiffly.
clearly unperturbed by my response. He shifted his body to face me. But I shouldn’t have been so worried as to my relief, he simply said:
“I wish to discuss your recent paper on The cultural significance of bodies of water to Näcken*,”
“Oh! really?” this came out. I bit more enthusiastic than I would have preferred , for I believe the paper is some of my best work to date yet it seems the rest of the Dryadological community did not share my opinion and the response was lukewarm at best.
To my surprise, from his pocket, he exacted a notebook.
He flipped through it, his eyes skimming the page he landed on .
“Frankly, I found the hypothesis strange ,” he said.
I blinked.
“I... see.”
“As well as your methods,” he added , not looking up. “They are unusual.”
A pause stretched between us.
I opened my mouth, closed it again before Finally replying:
“I stand by the interpretation.”
He nodded once.
“Good. I would be disappointing if you didn’t. You took a risk, and it paid off, your reasoning was concise and logical”
“Indeed,”I had been expecting a list of criticisms pointing out how ridiculous my conclusions were, but that was not the case.
With a bit more confidence, I added:
”i believe that scholars are too caught up with the traditional way of doing things. If we wish to advance our understanding of the folk, we must try something new lest we tread the same lines of thought forever.”
The wine was most definitely affecting me, for I found that my voice was louder than it ought to be.
“My thoughts exactly,”He said finally looking up and giving me a small smile.
I felt my cheeks redden.
We shared a couple of drinks while spending the time engrossed in conversation. We discussed the current paper he was working on; it was about the migratory patterns of the Polish trooping fae, a good topic if you ask me. I also told him about my upcoming expedition to Sweden, witch I planned to gather more concrete evidence for the claims I made on my paper .
I don’t think I have ever felt so comfortable in a conversation with another so quickly.
I've had numerous discussions with other experts in our field of research, but there has always been a lingering issue. There weren’t really any professors close to my age, and I've often felt that senior faculty members carried a sense of superiority, likely because they felt I lacked experience due to my youth. Of course, there was Bambleby, but I had always felt he would grow restless whenever I steered the conversation towards scholarship.
To my surprise I found myself.... contented in Leopold's company.
After some time, he glanced at the clock, stood up, and said:
“I shall be departing now. I’m afraid I’ve stayed out too long.” And after checking the clock myself, to my surprise, I found that hours had passed. I bid him a good night, and just like that, he departed into the night.
Unsteady on my feet, I made my way back to my apartment, to a distressed Shadow who was worried I was out so late and had missed his dinner.
Foot notes:
*In Swedish folklore, the ‘Näcken,’ commonly referred to as the ‘Neck,’ is a fairly well documented fae creature . They are a species of common fae typically depicted as diminutive, naked men playing the violin by the banks of streams or rivers. It is widely believed that they inhabit such locations with the intention of luring unsuspecting individuals into drowning, but I argued in my most recent paper that it they act more like guardians of the land mark rather than an inhabitant.