Dirinel and Irvin--the Wingless Girl

I'm waiting for more reviews of chapter one first (especially chapter one part two), so please take a look at those first before reading this.

Also, the story's title will not be "The Wingless Girl"--that's merely the name of the first chapter. I had to put that name in this topic's title just so, you know, in the "related topics" thing they'd all show up together. That's all.

I think the most major issue in this chapter is by far the massive paragraphs I have near the beginning...must do something to make them smaller. >_>

Chapter Two: Dirinel and Irvin

"Dr. Irvin!"

Dirinel had been planning his entrance for quite some time already--an entire afternoon and night, in actuality. He had initially planned on storming straight to Irvin's office after his talk with Dorothy to confront his supposed senior, but had been too distraught, even after the long elevator ride, to do anything but retire to his quarters, where he first tried--yet again--to work on the calculations he and Irvin's other neophytes had been struggling to solve nonstop, but had tired of making zero headway so had gone to bed early. Well, less like "gone to bed" than curled up with both his wings and blankets wrapped tightly around him, still shivering and struggling to hold at bay his memories of the Children's House, until he could take no more of it and had decided to take a spontaneous flight, leaping out of his portway and soaring into the stinging salt-tanged air outside the Fortress along with several other flying scientists. For the half hour he had spent circling the Fortress, riding the powerful ocean winds and admiring the white-flecked waves pounding against the Fortress's rocky foundation far beneath him, he had almost been able to forget. He could, for that brief moment when his mind had been occupied on nothing but the whistling of the wind against his ears, and when his body had been focused on turning and banking in the right directions and flapping occasionally to keep his momentum, think about nothing but the present, but the beauty around him, instead of his troubling thoughts.

The moment had passed, though--Dirinel had never been the strongest flyer and had tired after a half hour, so had returned to his room. He had fallen asleep shortly after throwing himself atop the still disheveled sheets of his bed, his last bleary thought before sleep took him that perhaps he should make it a routine to exercise every evening before he slept; normally, after all, Dirinel was a fickle sleeper and for the past five years had needed to take medication every night to fall asleep.

He'd awoken in the morning, though, thinking of nothing but Irvin. Not quite, he thought wryly, as he pulled himself from bed and began preparing for his daily cold shower, in the way that Irvin would have wanted Dirinel to think of him. Instead, as he ran the deliciously cold water (that still bore a slight hint of sea salt) over his pale body, he began to plan in earnest his entrance. He would storm in on Dr. Irvin in Irvin's office, while Irvin was busy poring over a list of memos or perhaps sipping his coffee, and shout the scientist's name dramatically, before storming to Irvin's desk, slamming a fist on the polished oak surface, and start shouting in his most outraged tone at Irvin's cruelty and inhumanity; how dare he abduct a mentally unsound, deformed, girl from her institution and use her as a pawn in an abhorrent game?

Once Dirinel stepped clear of the ice water's influence, his thoughts had cleared quite a bit, and while running a comb through his still-wet dark hair, he revised the original plan to one more consistent with his actual character. He would still storm into Irvin's office, but he wouldn't shout; he would remain calm. He would stand at a respectful distance from Irvin's desk, his arms by his sides, showing all the respect that as a junior scientist he owed his department head--but he would say terrible things. He would point out how wrong it was for Irvin to hold Dorothy Maxwell against her will, would mention the laws that Irvin was violating (though he didn't know the specific ones...), and even suggest bringing the issue up with the Fortress's board of directors, if he had to.

Anything, anything, to remove Dorothy Maxwell from the Fortress and thus remove any last pesky reminders of Dirinel's childhood.

And so once he'd finished his morning ritual and dressed--immaculately, as always--in a blue dress shirt and wine red tie, beneath his regulation lab coat, he leaped from his port-way and flew, slowly, purposefully, up to the massive port-way he already knew led to Irvin's office.

The first part of his plan he had already accomplished, landing neatly inside the office--where Dr. Irvin was sitting at his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, a sheaf of memos in one hand and a coffee cup in the other--and strode straight to the desk, the blood pounding in his ears, and spoke the department head's name in as sharply indignant tone as he could summon.

"Ah." Dr. Irvin blinked, once, twice, his gray eyes wide from surprise behind the reading glasses. But then his expression mellowed, and he slipped the glasses from his face with one massive hand, pocketing them with a single neat gesture. "Good morning, Dr. Dirinel. How are you doing?"

Dirinel felt an irrational spike of rage, but suppressed it; it wouldn't do to lose his temper, not now. Folding his arms, he said, icily, "I am very well, thank you very much, Dr. Irvin."

Irvin seemed unperturbed by Dirinel's cold tone, and his smile widened. "That's good to hear, Doctor. So--have you made any progress with the equations?"

"No, but that wasn't what I--" began Dirinel, but before he could finish, Irvin cut in, laughing boisterously and waving a ham-like hand dismissively to the side.

"Ah, never matter, never matter. Of course, I don't expect these to be the kinds of equations you can solve in only three weeks, Dr. Dirinel...but I must say, they've probably been stressing you out quite a deal, haven't they?"

"What...what do you mean, sir?" Dirinel spoke before he could think, the words tumbling unbidden from his mouth.

"Well...it's just..." Irvin leaned back in his chair, sprawling with disarming casualness. He looked less a scientist than a politician, or a businessman, larger-than-life and on top of his world, languid and perfectly self-assured. "It's just...say, Dr. Dirinel, did you have any plans for the night?"

Dirinel instantly stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He recognized what Dr. Irvin wanted, and it rankled. Irvin wasn't an idiot; he could probably see Dirinel's anger. And apparently, he didn't care. He was just acting like today was a normal day, and saw fit to do as he always did and ask Dirinel to a dance or dinner or a flyball game or whatever else he thought would make a fine first date.

A first date you will never get, thought Dirinel disgustedly. Out loud, he said, "Well, sir...I was thinking of going over the equations again--I think that Dr. Singh and I have found a promising--"

He didn't get a chance to finish, because Irvin quite rudely interrupted again. "You're quite devoted, aren't you, Dr. Dirinel? Nonetheless, I'd say a little break from number-crunching would do you quite well, wouldn't it? Believe me when I say spending all your time cooped up inside the Fortress struggling with equations can sap your health like nothing else. Every now and then, you need a little breather to refresh yourself, don't you agree?"

No, I do not, thought Dirinel, but out loud, he said, "Dr. Irvin, sir, I think that what Dr. Singh and I have discovered could be quite valuable--"

"I don't doubt it is," said Irvin with a laugh, a laugh that sent a tiny coil of disgust snaking through Dirinel's stomach. "Still, Dr. Dirinel, you can't let your health fall by the wayside, can you?"

"I'm in good health," said Dirinel, somewhat inconsequentially.

"Of course you are; you're young and hearty," said Dr. Irvin. "But if you don't take care of yourself, you'll quickly go to seed. Come now, Dr. Dirinel. Don't be such a stubborn boy."

Dirinel hissed inside. More than anything, he hated being condescended to...especially by senior scientists such as Irvin who insisted on calling him "boy" even though he already possessed as many degrees as they did.

"There's an opera tonight in Frank City on the Mainland," continued Irvin. "An adaptation of The Ballad of the Lonely Princess of Alemania. You might have heard of it? The playwright is a personal friend of mine, Remy Allard. I promised him I'd be there."

"I don't know any French," said Dirinel sourly.

"You don't need to. The opera's in English," said Irvin. "Come, Dr. Dirinel--how could a little respite from your work hurt?"

"I dislike large gatherings," said Dirinel, speaking truthfully. "And I've never enjoyed opera in the first place. Meaning you no offense, Dr. Irvin, but I'd probably fall asleep before the first act is finished."

Another hearty laugh from Irvin; Dirinel just soured even more inside. Could anything set Irvin off? "Oh, that's perfectly all right, Dr. Dirinel. I'll carry you back to the Fortress if you fall asleep."

Dirinel shamefully had to admit that he could do nothing but stare, slack-jawed, at Irvin after that statement. That...impossibly...forward...statement. Up until now, Irvin had at least been trying to keep his flirtations on the cautious side of subtle...but now, apparently, he had abandoned all restraint. It took Dirinel quite some time to get his jaw working again; for several agonizingly long seconds; he stood where he was, heat rising in his face, struggling to fish some coherent thoughts out of the morass of his mind and voice them.

In a strange way, he was almost reminded of yesterday, when he'd stood silent in front of Dorothy after he'd spewed forth his thoughtless comment. But it was different, this time; this time was so much worse. It wasn't a crazy girl he was making a fool of himself in front of--it was the head of his department.

When Dirinel managed to find his voice again, he half-sputtered, half-choked, "That...that really won't be necessary...Doctor. I--I will not fall asleep--"

"Oh? So you are going?" Dr. Dirinel seized upon Dirinel's mindlessly sputtered words like a magpie upon a bottlecap. Dirinel blushed harder, and struggled to think of a retort.

"W-well--Dr. Irvin, sir, honestly, I--"

"How could it hurt, Dr. Dirinel?" said Irvin, sweeping his hands in front of him in a dramatic gesture. "Think about it. An evening off, an evening to relax. What could be so bad about it?"

"Dr. Irvin, I really don't..." Dirinel shook his head angrily, still struggling to order his thoughts. He'd never been good with words, but had never had much an opportunity to really talk his way out of anything before. Now that such a situation had arised...he just couldn't think of anything to say that would drag him out of this predicament.

And he hadn't forgotten his original reason for coming here...but he hadn't been able to find any opening to slip in sideways a comment about Dorothy's imprisonment. A tiny, very dark part of Dirinel's mind suggested that perhaps if he accompanied Irvin to the opera in Frank City, he'd at least be able to find one moment alone with the older scientist, in which he could finally castigate Irvin for his wrongdoing...

But most of Dirinel told this part of his mind to shut up if it valued its own life.

"Tonight," said Dr. Irvin, leaning back in his chair again, clasping his fingers together and smiling serenely at the young scientist opposite him. "Tonight in Frank City, Dr. Dirinel. No excuses, now."

And, Dirinel thought, feeling furious inside as he gazed at the department head leaning so languidly in his armchair, he really did have no excuse.

~*~

Dr. Ira Dirinel had never been more uncomfortable in his life. Not even all those times in the lunch-line, when his head had been spinning from the sickly scent of rotting meat, and Robby Nichols had been incessantly driving his knee into Dirinel's back...not even they could compare to what was happening now.

Dirinel stood beside silently beside Dr. Irvin, his arms by his sides and his wings folded politely against his back, trying to resist the urge to adjust the chafing wing collar of his tuxedo shirt. The low murmur of polite conversation, in various languages, permeated the ballroom, and a sickly blend of perfume and flower scent drifted over Dirinel, causing his throat to seize and his eyes to water.

Once more, he found himself regretting his decision to come here. He should have just pretended to be asleep when Irvin had arrived in his room that evening, squeezing through Dirinel's port-way with a bouquet of sickly-smelling roses, clad in a tuxedo that strained to cover his powerful shoulders. Instead, though, Dirinel had followed Irvin (after dressing in the one tuxedo he owned and had so far had only one opportunity to wear), out into the salty air around the Fortress, where they flew to a skybarge already quite full of Fortress scientists. Dirinel had relaxed a bit when he saw how many scientists were apparently taking an evening off in Frank City; it made his going with Irvin less of a date and more like a social excursion.

Now here Dirinel was, inside one of the expansive ballrooms inside the luxury hotel where the opera would be held. He kept his gaze resolutely on the coral-colored marble floor, following Irvin around like an obedient dog. He didn't much like Irvin, true, but he figured he would like even less getting lost here amongst the dark-suited men and the women in elegant pastel dresses. Dirinel didn't much fancy trying to ask for directions in French. Sticking with Irvin ensured that at least he'd be with someone who knew his language.

Unlike Dirinel, Irvin seemed in his natural element here, like a fish beneath the sea. He laughed in his boisterous way and kissed the cheeks of women and called them "My dear", and enthusiastically wrung the hands of the men and declared, "Good fellow, good fellow, it's been too long!" Occasionally, Irvin would stop to scoop from a passing waiter's silver platter a couple of cocktails. At first, he'd tried handing the second cocktail to Dirinel, but Dirinel had pointedly shook his head and refused it. He had never drank alcohol before and he didn't plan on starting. Irvin didn't seem to mind; he would just down the first cocktail in one gulp and then hand the other one to a random friend he'd accost from the crowd.

And Irvin didn't seem to have a shortage of random friends. To Dirinel, it seemed that Irvin knew by name everyone present, and was familiar enough with all of them to shake their hands and laugh like old friends with them. He even spoke in French and Spanish and several other languages to the foreigners (Dirinel at least could recognize some of the Spanish; he'd taken two years in college), and it seemed every other minute he would grab a hapless friend by the shoulder and drag him over to introduce said friend to Dirinel, laughing about Dirinel being a "prodigy" and his "brightest neophyte" and such.

After about an hour of this, Dirinel had grown heartily sick of shaking people's hands.

Despite the ballroom's size, it was getting uncomfortably warm inside, and Dirinel's collar was beginning to itch. He remembered why he loathed large crowds so much--there was always so much activity. Women bustling around in pastel-colored dresses, jewels flashing at their throats...men with their arms around the women, sipping cocktails...the sickening smell of perfume and fresh-cut flowers...the tinkling music of a band of gold-jacketed musicians who had been playing nonstop since the reception began...people flying above him, soaring on spread wings throughout the cavernous chamber...

His vision began to blur, and the pounding headache that had been tormenting him since he'd stepped into the room intensified. He dearly wished to slip out of here, perhaps into the cool early evening air outside the hotel, and breathe air untouched by sickly-sweet scent...but he'd gotten so disoriented he didn't even know where the exit was anymore. And there was Irvin, standing beside three other black-suited men, beckoning towards him...

Dirinel automatically drifted towards Irvin, even though by now he was tired of the older scientist's company. Irvin seemed to have downed one cocktail too many, and Dirinel found that a tipsy Irvin was even less amusing than a sober Irvin.

"Ah, there you are, Dr. Dirinel," said Irvin, pressing one hand with undue strength on Dirinel's shoulder. Dirinel's knees almost buckled from the force of the gesture. "Gentlemen, this is the neophyte I was telling you about--only twenty-five and a full-fledged PhD already, can you imagine that--"

Dirinel sighed, recognizing the painful ritual he would have to undergo soon...and sure enough, the men were sticking their hands in his faces and, not trying terribly hard to hide his reluctance, he shook their hands in turn. One man, a fat, pale, creature with stubby little gray wings, who reminded Dirinel of a penguin, squinted at the young scientist behind his spectacles as he wrung Dirinel's hand in his own much fatter hand.

"What was your name again, young man?" he said in a timorous squeak.

"Dr. Ira Dirinel," sighed Dirinel, extricating his hand from the penguin-like man's.

"Bertrand's a very old friend of mine," said Irvin, draping a massive arm over the penguin-like man's round shoulders. "He's a researcher in particle physics, with the University of New Amsterdam..."

"That's right, that's right," chirped the penguin-man, apparently "Bertrand".

Irvin opened his mouth, seemingly to say more, but before he could a woman's voice called from above them, "Bertrand!"

Dirinel turned automatically to the source of a voice--a woman, descending gracefully from where she'd been flying, her golden eagle wings flapping. The woman landed with a small thud on the coral-colored floor, her periwinkle-blue dress billowing around her. She wasn't a particularly beautiful woman, and hardly young--her short honey-blonde hair was already streaked with gray, and tired lines surrounded her warm brown eyes. Nonetheless, there was a curious dignity to the way she carired herself, to the way she folded her wings delicately behind her back, to the way she clasped her thin hands together and turned to smile a strange light smile at all the men around her.

"Oh! There you are, Maris," said one of the men, a mustachioed man with the black-and-white wings of a magpie. "We were just speaking with Liam, here--"

"Liam. Ah." The woman, Maris, turned to Irvin, her eyes glinting. There was something to her voice, something not cruel, exactly, but hard, like the metallic edge of a knife...

A second later, Dirinel realized that Irvin's entire bearing had changed--instead of the relaxed and comfortable demeanor he'd been putting on previously, he had become stiff and closed, standing straight upright with his wings folded defensively and a strange, dark expression on his face.

"Well, hello, Maris," he said, his tone frigid.

Dirinel stared back and forth between Maris and Dr. Irvin, completely lost. He'd never seen Irvin so...so intense...before. Just who was this woman, to incite this sort of reaction from the usually so languid and cheerful scientist?

"Er..." Bertrand made a sort of awkward coughing noise. "Well...yes...er...you didn't know, Liam? Er...Maris and me...we got married..."

"We've been married for two years already," added Maris, her tone hard.

"That..." Irvin seemed to be struggling to work his massive jaw. "That's...that's wonderful. Very nice."

By now, Dirinel had grown tired of not understanding what was going on. Approaching Irvin, he tapped the older scientist on the upper arm (he would have tapped Irvin's shoulder, if he could have reached it...). Irvin spun around, alarmed, to face Dirinel.

"Yes, Dr. Dirinel?" said Irvin, his tone pleasant but distant.

"Who's this?" said Maris instantly, throwing an imperious glance at Dirinel.

"This would be one of my newest neophytes," said Irvin, still in that strange distant tone. "Dr. Ira Dirinel."

"Oh?" Maris arched her eyebrow, before unleashing a brief, sarcastic laugh. "Tell me--how long have you two been together?"

Dirinel flushed bright red, and found himself fumbling for words. "Ah...we...I...it isn't...we're not like that. Dr. Irvin is my superior. That's all."

Another harsh laugh from Maris. "That's likely."

If Dirinel hadn't been confused before...now he was doubly lost. He'd never understood people well, and never really had to...but now he was wishing he could deal with people better. There seemed to be layers of intrigue, tension, and history between Maris and Irvin, all spun through the air around them like ensaring cobwebs, and Dirinel couldn't understand a single filament of the web because he didn't understand people.

-------------------

I did cut it off mid-scene, just because that scene was so effin' long. >_>

I'm not so fond of the party scene...it just feels a bit un-party-ish to me. Probably because I don't enjoy parties much so I'm inclined to describe them in negative terms. Guess it makes it easier for me to step in Dirinel's shoes though... And I'm not terribly pleased about Maris's introduction. But whatever.

Again, please read and review. I drink up all your long, well-thought-out critiques like manna!