Step in {time}, tag: Mary Poppins

[Mozenrath]

Mozenrath took the steaming cup of tea and set it down before taking his piece of gingerbread. He didn't understand Mary's cryptic comment about keeping the stars safe and said as much.

‘You’ll know when the time comes and not before.’

He wasn't surprised when she chose not to answer. So far she had done that a few times already. But she also didn't seem too annoyed at his continuing to ask about things, which was a nice change of pace.

Mimicking Mary, he put the star to the side of his plate before taking a bite of the sweet-smelling treat. It tasted good. Like nothing he had ever tried before. He swallowed, then took a sip of the tea. That was good too.

'What sort of game should you like to play this afternoon?’

Mary Poppins wanted to know what he wanted to play? Mozenrath bit his lip. It wasn't that he was indecisive, he simply couldn't remember any games he actually liked, aside from making the plants grow earlier. He also hated not knowing how to answer when he was asked something again.

In the end, he decided to be honest. "I don't know about games," he looked at her with a steely expression, as if daring her to make fun of his ignorance, but dropped his gaze as he continued, "...but I liked what we did before. I wouldn't mind doing something else if it was like that."

[Mary Poppins]

Mary listened to his confession while half a smile played about her lips. She liked games, especially when she chose them, and Mozenrath did give her the opportunity. A part of her was saddened for his seeming lack of a childhood and she was determined he should experience things that would spark his curiosity and broaden his sense of wonder, and that he was a student of some sort of magic meant she could push the boundaries of reality so much further. It had been a long time since she had had a charge where she didn’t have to deny everything.

‘Then that is part of why I am here, to show you about my kind of games,’ she said almost kindly. ‘And all my games are like that. Now, finish your tea and gingerbread and we shall go for a walk in the park, or perhaps somewhere else.’

Once they were done she tidied up with a snap of her fingers and beckoned him to follow her upstairs, back to her room. She went directly to her nightstand and picked up the compass, weighing it in her palm for a long moment while a faraway expression drifted across her face, before setting it back down and taking up the postcard album instead.

It contained a wide variety of images from so very many places she, and sometimes those she knew, had been. Some of them were real, some imagined, some photographs and some paintings that had been done for her and the artist to share. But all were worth a visit.

Mary handed the album to Mozenrath. ‘Where would you like to visit?’

[Mozenrath]

‘Then that is part of why I am here, to show you about my kind of games,’ she said almost kindly. ‘And all my games are like that. Now, finish your tea and gingerbread and we shall go for a walk in the park, or perhaps somewhere else.’

Up until that point Mozenrath had been breaking off small pieces and chewing them as slowly as possible. He started eating a little faster- but not enough to appear rude (several unpleasant discussions on proper decorum for a young wizard echoed in the back of his mind). He wondered what a park was, but given that he'd see soon enough, for once he left his question unvoiced.

A small smile played on his lips as he watched Mary clear everything away with a single gesture. It was elegant, effortless. He took the tiny star from his plate and palmed it, still not knowing how he should keep it safe.

Mozenrath followed Mary Poppins to her room and hung back in the doorway for a minute, watching her pull out, pick up, and then put down a small round device. He came closer just as she was taking out a book, which she then handed to him. ‘Where would you like to visit?’

There were pictures. In every one a different place. Some looked so real he could already half-imagine himself there. Others were more like the paintings and etchings he was familiar with. Scanning the pages, the boy immediately discounted any that had people in the background. He considered the others one by one and his eyes finally fell on blue water meeting sandy shore. He liked the cleanness and symmetry of it. And the colors, which were rich, but not overwhelming.

He pointed. "This one. I like this one."

[Mary Poppins]

Mary looked at the image Mozenrath had selected. It was a lovely view of a tropical island, with palm trees and warm sand, rendered in vibrant watercolours. Mary remembered when the painting had been done, a very long time ago during a stop on a sailing holiday. It was a beautiful place.

‘Yes, that will do nicely,’ she said. She reached into the wardrobe and took out a large basket-like bag filled with a variety of beach items and held it out to Mozenrath. ‘If you would be so kind as to carry this.’

Then she took the postcard album and propped it up on the nightstand, its pages opened to the image he had selected. Mary hung up her apron, plucked her umbrella from his resting place and checked that she was satisfied with her appearance.

‘Now,’ she said, turning her attention from her reflection and back to Mozenrath, ‘if you will take my hand we can be off.’

It would have been hard to say whether they got smaller or the picture got bigger, or perhaps even a bit of both, but it happened so quickly that between one step and the next they were no longer in Mary’s room at the Citadel, in a desert of black sand.

They were standing on a white sand beach, in the shade of a palm tree, looking out across an expanse of brilliantly turquoise water to another beach and more verdant palm trees. Though the air was hot and humid, a refreshing breeze pushed fluffy white clouds across the sky and carried with it the richly fragranced scent of flowers.

Mary breathed it in deeply and smiled. Her clothes had changed with the journey and instead of her high-necked, long-sleeved starched cotton blouse she wore a soft blouse of lawn, light and sheer, that had short, puffed sleeves and a low, ruffled collar. Her woollen skirt had been replaced by one of flowing linen and her thick stockings and high boots gave way to barely-there silk and dainty sandals. A wide-brimmed sun hat with fluttering ribbons and her white lace gloves completed the look. She turned to Mozenrath.

‘Welcome to Tuesday.’

[Mozenrath]

‘Yes, that will do nicely.’

Mozenrath felt oddly gratified that Mary seemed to approve of his choice. He didn't protest when she handed him the strange bag (though truthfully, it was a little heavy), slinging it over his right shoulder. With his other hand he slid the gold star into a pocket, not wanting to lose it.

'Now, if you will take my hand we can be off.’

The boy's eyes narrowed in distrust as his gaze flickered toward the open hand, half expecting it to be some sort of trick or trap. But, if he thought about it, he had to admit that she was clearly much more powerful that he was. If she'd wanted to hurt him, she could have done so already.

With an air of deliberate defiance and resolution (though who or what he was defying he didn't quite know) he slipped his small hand into Mary Poppins' larger one. And an instant later they where somewhere else.

If he'd been paying attention he would have realized that not only had Mary Poppins' clothes changed to fit the scene, but his own had been transformed into a dark blue and white striped one piece bathing suit (though he wouldn't have been able to tell that was what it was) and a pair of sandals.

He also failed to realize that his new attire revealed more of his arms and legs, each of which had a small scattering of scars. Some were barely more than nicks that could have been explained as boyhood exuberance meeting physical limits, while others...were not. In particular there was a long patch on his right forearm that looked more like wax-paper than skin...a months-old reminder of a burn.

But Mozenrath was busy drinking in the sight of the endless water against white sand and green tropical plant life. He did his best to memorize the pattern of the waves and the exact way the breeze blew through the trees. He didn't want to forget this place.

[Mary Poppins]

Mary watched Mozenrath watching the scene before them. She took in the scars scattered on his arms and legs but she did not allow what she saw to change her expression, though her eyes momentarily filled with an unbearable sadness. This was not the first time she had encountered children who were being mistreated and she well knew she could not act yet. Mozenrath had to lose much more of his sense of wariness about her; he had to develop some measure of trust in her, before she could even think of beginning to help him in that respect. And of course she would have to confront whoever was responsible, but it was not yet the time. For now all that mattered was the expression on his face as he gazed in wonder at the view before him with the refreshing eagerness of childhood. This would be a good place for him.

She gently dropped his hand and reached to take the bag. ‘Thank you,’ she told him in her customary brisk tone. ‘Now, if we follow the beach along around that curve to the left we will come to the beach house. You may run ahead and explore if you wish.’

[Mozenrath]

Mozenrath felt his hand being released and the bag being taken from him by Mary. ‘Thank you. Now, if we follow the beach along around that curve to the left we will come to the beach house. You may run ahead and explore if you wish.’

He nodded briskly, acknowledging that he'd heard her, and his eyes were almost instantly drawn back to the infinite expanse of water as he walked. He wondered where they were exactly, what countries were closest. Whether the ocean's water was always this same blue. What kinds of creatures lived below the waves. He wondered if Xerxes had ever been an ordinary eel swimming the depths, or if he'd always belonged to Destane

He let his thoughts drift back and forth with the tide as he his eyes wandered in kind. Mozenrath then spotted something glittering in the sand, and summoned it into his palm. It was a seashell in shades of blue and purple. He traced its lines with his fingertips for a moment, then continued on, still holding it.

The house was as entirely unlike the Citadel as it was possible to be. Small and cozy, done in light colors. At least that's what the outside looked like. He turned back to look at Mary wondering what he was supposed to do next.

[Mary Poppins]

Mary took pleasure in seeing Mozenrath behave much more like the child he was, she could almost hear the questions burning with curiosity dancing in his mind. She saw him use a bit of his magic to collect a sea shell, a gesture which so neatly encapsulated the idea of a magical childhood.

A few minutes later and they were at the beach house. It had been painted since she was last there, a warm cream with pale green trim, though the deep porch with it’s wide swing was exactly as she remembered. She went up the few steps and set the bag down.

She motioned for Mozenrath to follow her up to the door, ‘Let’s go in and have a look around. This house belongs to a friend of mine, so do be careful with her things.’ With that she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was a bit of a surprise, the interior had changed completely from how she remembered it and it was also clearly in more regular use than she had suspected. It did have the slightly disused air of a holiday home but that was coupled with the sense that it was loved enough to be used several times a year. The downstairs was open plan with the kitchen off to one side, a dining area and a comfortable sitting area. The furniture was all either natural wood or wicker with fat linen cushions on the seating. The hardwood floors were covered with pale woven rugs in soft natural colours. An open staircase along the back wall indicated a floor above. Along the wall at the far side of the sitting area stretched an L shaped bookcase, with a floor to ceiling section in the corner and a lower set of shelves running under the window. Throughout there were various indications that when the house was inhabited it was a family which lived there, from the basket of toys and the shelf of the bookcase devoted to board games to the framed child’s drawings on the walls, but the clearest indicators were the photographs ranged along the top of the lower bookcase.

The centrepiece was a family portrait, mother and father sitting side-by-side on a sofa with their two youngest, girls of about six and eight, and the older children ranged around them, from the eldest with her fiancé down the years. It was clear there was a large age gap between the older ones and the young girls, but it was equally clear they made a family, two parents and seven children. All the other pictures were snapshots, most of them taken on the island. Some were of the older children visiting the island with their friends, some of a siblings’ holiday. One prominent image was of the mother and the two youngest sitting on the beach at sunset, cuddling and laughing. And tucked at the back was a sepia-toned picture of the mother as a much younger woman sitting on the steps of the house next to Mary Poppins, looking much as she did now.

Mary took in the space from the centre of the floor, letting her eyes scan everything, as she turned slowly in place. Once she was done she looked to Mozenrath, ‘Would you like to paddle?’

[Mozenrath]

Climbing up the porch steps, Mozenrath couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was somehow trespassing. As if the home was some kind of scared space that would be corrupted by his very presence. He hesitated partway up the steps.

‘Let’s go in and have a look around. This house belongs to a friend of mine, so do be careful with her things.’

He did his best to ignore his trepidation and followed Mary Poppins inside. The interior was like the outside in that everything was light and soft and comfortably worn looking. His gaze flickered briefly from the games on the shelves, to the toys, and then the oddly realistic portraits that must have been of the family, and then he started looking everywhere but at those things.

Mozenrath wandered through each of the open rooms, ocasionally touching a wicker chair to feel its pattern, or looking at a painting on the wall. Now more relaxed, he had lost his irrational fear, and felt safer than he could ever remember being (but he still avoided the places that had the tell-tale signs of family life.)

He made his way back to Mary Poppins, who seeemed to be doing her own analysis from where she stood. He waited patiently, unwilling to interrupt her thoughts. She wasn't the kind of person you interrupted doing anything .

Eventually she turned her attention back to him.‘Would you like to paddle?’

Mozenrath blinked, having never heard the term before, growing up, as he had, in the desert. "What is it, and how do you do it?"

[Mary Poppins]

Mary smiled warmly at his question. Of course it was only natural that a boy who had grown up in a desert would not know how to swim, another lesson was due then, but even so she found evidence of his innocence refreshing, especially as he seemed to have lost so much of it.

‘It's playing, in the water, splashing about in the shallows and so on. If you go out ahead I will change and join you. There are towels and a few water toys in the bag we brought, if you would like to choose some while you wait for me.’

With that Mary disappeared upstairs for a few minutes, re-emerging in her own bathing suit. It was a crisp, apple green with white trim, styled like a sailor dress with bloomers under the full, knee-length skirts. Her hair was still done up but now it was finished with a matching ribbon.

She rejoined Mozenrath on the porch. ‘There. Should you like to learn how to swim?’ She said it encouragingly, this was one little boy for whom broadening his horizons would mean so very much, and she wanted to show him a positive side to life.

[Mozenrath]

'It's playing, in the water, splashing about in the shallows and so on. If you go out ahead I will change and join you. There are towels and a few water toys in the bag we brought, if you would like to choose some while you wait for me.’

Mozenrath stared back uncomprehendingly. Mary Poppins wanted him to play? Why? Was it some kind of test? What answer was he supposed to give? Weighing his options, he came to the conclusion that even if she was testing him in some way, he probably wouldn't be punished for failing. When he had been unable to grow the first seed, she hadn't been angry then. She'd simply shown him how to do it the right way. "All right."

He went back to the porch and searched in the bag. Of the toys there he settled on a ball, a wooden boat, and a pail and shovel (the last mainly in case he found more seashells). He looked up at Mary as she came out of the house.

‘There. Should you like to learn how to swim?’

He breathed a little easier. Swimming was practical, purposeful. There was no weakness in wanting to learn a new skill. "Yes."