Title: On Wings of Feather and Glue – I have an obsession with mythology, particularly Greek. Figure it out.

Rating: PG - This chapter takes it down a notch. I think.

Pairing: R/T - I'll say it for now, but I have no idea where this is headed.

Author's Note: Um, this isn't a chapter so much as an interlude. I was trying to sleep and I started thinking about where I wanted the story to go and the conversation began in my head so I decided to type it. I'll start skipping ahead in longer chunks from here on. Maybe. Anyway, hope you enjoy, and seriously, if you have criticisms, please voice them. Thanks yet again for the reviews, they really make my day. My silly grins are getting embarrassing. Elizabeth: I have no idea what PJ's Pancake House is... coincidence? Rach: I hope this abnormal motivation keeps up, too. Midterms are approaching, though... Ria, my gratitude will be in the mail by Tuesday, I swear. Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians!

Disclaimer: I ate part of the cookie dough and I have a new job, but I remain a pale shadow of those who own Gilmore Girls.

i. Eris Fading

fade in

"Hello?"

"Hi, may I please speak with Tristan?"

"Speaking."

"Hi. It's Rory."

"Rory."

"The one and only. Well, maybe not in the world, but possibly the only one you know. Am I the only Rory you know?"

"Are you the—? Yes. Yes, you are."

"Then my statement stands."

"Right."

"So, ah, how are things?"

"Things are... good. And you?"

"Good. My things are also good. They've been consulting a life coach, you see, and it's made them much more receptive to existence as a whole, which is why they're so very—"

"Rory."

"Sorry. It's Terrence's fault."

"Terrence?"

"Paris's life coach."

"Like on Oprah?"

"Exactly. You watch Oprah?"

"No! I just—so, tell me about Terrence?"

"Smooth. Terrence, yeah, he's always around. Kind of creepy to tell you the truth. It's almost a relief when he's gone and Paris actually bites someone's head off."

"I never imagined the day I'd hear you say that."

"I know; it's amazing what two years does. Who could have ever foreseen the infamous Paris Gellar stalking me, sweet, unassuming Rory Gilmore, to the extent that she'd pull strings to have us room together?"

"Have you ever seen Single White Female?"

"Don't say it."

"Just keep an eye on your student ID."

"Didn't I warn you? And yet you test me."

"So, I heard you guys were at Yale together?"

"I had no idea military school kept those finely honed Hartford society social skills sharp, too. Did you learn how to monogram handkerchiefs along with perfecting the segue way?"

"No, that was sophomore year. The upper years focussed entirely on poise and etiquette. And I can't believe you just said 'handkerchief'."

"Would you prefer hankie?"

"God, no. In fact, I'm not sure why the reference was even necessary."

"Everything I say is necessary, I'll have you know. Not a frivolous word in the lot."

"Uh-huh."

A pause.

"Well, some of them are frivolous. I've been known to rhyme off entire sentences that were completely pointless. Unfounded, even."

"You don't say."

"I'm sorry, Tristan."

"About what?"

"Yelling at you. Accusing you of seducing me. Throwing my shoe at you. Plotting ways to replace your gel with superglue."

"Excuse me?"

"I haven't considered the superglue one in a long time, at least three years. And even then it was only a fleeting thought, I swear."

"I use hair wax."

"Oh."

"It's okay, you know."

"What, hair wax? I've never tried it myself but I hear it yields a gentler hold and is softer to the touch."

"I meant your apology. Apologies. It's alright."

"No, it's not. You did nothing to deserve my vicious thoughts—"

"—Vicious?—"

"—mean, then, or the early morning negative energy I was tossing your way and I'm sorry that I burdened you with them."

"Terrence really is rubbing off, huh? And it was late morning by that time."

"No correcting and/or mocking the apology and/or apologist."

"Definitely late morning, because I think your early morning thoughts were much more pleasant than that. They definitely don't need an apology."

"Tristan!"

"I'm sorry! Relax! I couldn't resist. It was right there and—"

"Just this once I'll let you get away with it, and only because you've yet to forgive me."

"You're forgiven, if you need to hear it so badly."

"Thank you."

"We're about even, then."

"Even?"

"Mary? PJ Harvey? Various episodes with Paris? I'm crushed, did my tormenting have no permanent effect at all?"

"I'm sorry, we went to high school together? What did you say your name was?"

"Jimmy Smith."

"Oh, right. Okay, we're even."

"Good."

"Good."

"So, what have you been up to?"

"In the past two years or the past two weeks?"

"The past two weeks. We'll save the other for a non-long distance conversation."

"I was wondering how you got into Princeton. You're a sharp one. Well, I'm trying to decide what to be for Halloween."

"It's only two days away, isn't this a bit late to start?"

"You know me; I leave everything to the last minute."

"I always said that about you."

"You did?"

"I did. I always said, 'you know that Rory Gilmore? She leaves everything to the last minute.'"

"It was you who started the rumours! They nearly kicked me off the Franklin, you know."

"They didn't."

"Oh, but they did. I had to get my mom to seduce Headmaster Char—ok, let's drop this one. So what do you think: Emily Dickinson or Bjork? This is a very important decision. It will determine my social status around here over the next four years."

"Rory, no matter what you do, the truth will come out. I know you really want to go Madonna, circa Like a Virgin. Just embrace your trampy side and be free!"

"That is strike two, mister. Watch yourself."

"What? First of all, strike one was stricken from the record by your own adjudication. Secondly, I would say the same thing to Izzy. There's no innuendo, I promise."

"Hm. I'll need testimony from your sister to substantiate your claim. In the meantime, if I were you I'd seriously consider alternative methods of couriering coffee straight to my dorm room, DuGrey."

"Keep dreaming."

A pause.

"You and Izzy kept in touch?"

"Yup."

"I see."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Is there a problem here, Tristan? A conflict of interests?"

"No, not at all. I'm just—what do you guys talk about?"

"Mandolins. 17th century poets. Plans to build a time machine so we can go back and prevent Chilton's creation. Debt relief for developing nations. Johnny Depp. Why are you so curious?"

"Me, curious? It's nothing. I'm making conversation. Military school taught me well, remember?"

"Don't worry, Tristan, we don't discuss you. Your name has come up maybe twice in conversation, once when we were on the topic of mythology."

"I wasn't worried. Why should I care?"

Silence.

"Stop laughing. Rory, stop. I'm going to hang up..."

"No, wait! Just..."

"I retract my previous correction. Definitely vicious."

"Sorry, I..."

"You're three inches from being cut off."

"Wait! Let me give you my number so at least you can bear the charges next time."

"Next time? Uh, sure. Shoot."

"I mean, if you want to. It's up to you. I don't want to force anything on you so feel free to just tell me if this is a one-time thing and you'd rather return to the existence you had when the only Rory you knew was some girl in high school you never got along with."

"Rory. My pen is poised. Just give me your damn number."

"Hey, if you're going to get all touchy about it..."

"Rory."

"Ok, it's area code 203..."

fade out

fade in

"Rory!"

"Mom!"

"I was getting worried, kid. You haven't called in two days, you know."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's been crazy. Midterms and papers and—do you know I haven't even started planning my Halloween costume yet?"

"What? What kind of hack show are they running over there? And they call themselves an Ivy League school. Keeping a girl from indulging freely in the one night a year she can legally traipse about like a floozy—it is legal isn't it?—"

"—I think it's always legal—"

"—and celebrate a pagan holiday in all its glory, mere weeks before honouring our Puritan forebears. For shame."

"You should write a letter."

"I think I will."

"Don't forget to include the word floozy. It's potent."

"You think? I was worried it would come off too Dorothy Parker."

"No, no, it's very Fitzgerald."

"So, pumpkin—"

"—Pumpkin?—"

"—I'm feeling festive, go with it. As I was going to say, what have you been up to? I imagined a variety of scenarios, most involving either a flock of wild geese or a cute sophomore who plays the bass guitar, sometimes both. There was this one with the bikers, though, that tempted me to call the authorities before I remembered that the closest a two-hundred-and-fifty pound, leather-clad and tattooed man comes to New Haven is when Yo-Yo Ma is performing in Hartford."

"Mom. That makes absolutely no sense."

"Exactly. Now, answer my question. And you never did tell me how the trip to Princeton was, so include that in your dissertation starting in five, four..."

Silence.

"You do realize that I can't see you mouth the words 'three, two, one' over the phone, right?"

"But you know I'm doing it so it's moot."

"I see. And I didn't tell you my story because you hung up on me!"

"I did no such thing!"

"Funny how that dial tone cuts in out of nowhere these days. The nerve of some telephone companies."

"Luke wasn't letting me use my phone in the diner. I had to!"

"And the exit was blocked by a flock of wild geese?"

"Surprisingly, no. They're all in New Haven this time of year."

"Were your legs broken? A sprained ankle? Bum knee? Old sword wound acting up because of the rain?"

"No..."

"So, stepping outside to talk to your only child, your favourite daughter, your very raison d'être, was too much effort?"

"I—What's that, Michel? You need the phone? Sorry, babe, I have to go now."

"Mom. You're on your cell phone and Michel's in France."

"He's... back! For the afternoon. To cover. Yup, good old dependable Michel. He'd do anything for the Inn. And the landlines aren't working, some problem with pesky dial tones."

"Uh-huh."

"I think the phone virus is spreading, mine's about to go! Unless... What's that? You were going to going to change the subject?"

"I'm buying you a cat."

"Rory! Take that back."

"How are Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Oh, you missed it! Mom calls, and..."

fade out