Gwyn has wings. Or, at least, can glamour the appearance of wings. I didn’t exactly work out if they were functional or not, but she has them, apparently at will when she wants them.
I was reading in the tavern when they came in, Gwyn and Aoibheann, that is. I didn’t even notice until they started talking. Gwyn had apologised for running away, presumably from the fight between Rachel and Aoibheann. The latter had no problem with it and I told Gwyn it was a strategic retreat, and given what passed after, a very wise decision. I told her that I had left afterwards too and ended up sleeping out by the stone all night.
Aoibheann was grumbling about being a barmaid, saying she hadn’t wanted to do it again, but mother, presumably Paash, had done it on purpose. Gwyn complained that Paash had forgotten her and was a bit jealous because she missed her own mother. She got up and helped herself to a drink, pouring one for me too, and wondered if she could get a job at the tavern. Aoibheann suggested that she could glamour herself to look like her, thinking that Paash would probably not notice. That made me laugh and I suggested that might be a bad idea. Quite apart from Paash being able to tell instantly, the moment Gwyn opened her mouth and started using words that Aoibheann would never utter, I thought that, given Aoibheann’s propensity for getting into scrapes, looking like her was probably unwise.
Gwyn declined the idea also, because she hasn’t yet learned how to change her hair colour. She did demonstrate a new trick though – growing a pair of butterfly-like wings. Very pretty they were too. I complimented them but warned that she might want to be careful in case she ran into a collector and ended up being etherised and pinned to a board. That prompted a quote from what she told me was a poem called The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock, by T S Eliot.
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
I made a note to try and read some Eliot, should I get the chance. He was after my time, but Gwyn had mentioned him before, and he sounded interesting. Aoibheann wanted to know if the wings worked. Gwyn said she had been practising in her hut and could hover, but had banged her head and ended up naked on the floor. Aoibheann chided her for practising on her own, so I volunteered to help. Aoibheann caught the innuendo, but I think Gwyn missed it. She complained that Paash was making her practice magic, although she didn’t want to do it, but we weren’t to tell Paash that. I could understand; she’s never been comfortable with magic.
I admitted I should be practising more too, citing the light spell Paash had been teaching me and the vampire disciplines. Gwyn expressed an interest in knowing about the latter, but said it would wave to wait as she had a horrible headache and needed to lie down. I wasn’t feeling too good myself, so left soon after, leaving the bar to Aoibheann. I had intended to do some practice when I got back to my hut, but sleep intervened. This was despite worrying about what might happen if Aoibheann actually did learn some magic. Given the havoc she can cause with a fruit tart, I dread to think what she could do with magic.