"Elsa?" Anna calls. "You ok back there? It's been a few hours?"
"I'm all right," comes the prim reply.
"Can I…" Anna pokes her head around the double swinging doors. "Can I come back? I made you a thing?"
"If you want," Elsa says, so Anna pushes eagerly through the doors, carefully balancing her creation.
"Right," she says brightly, "so, I was thinking, I make a mean smoothie, and no one can be sad if they have a smoothie, but I didn't know what fruits you like, so I just kept adding stuff, and then I remembered that you like warm things, so I microwaved the bejesus out of it and I don't know if you'll like it, but…" she presents a massive, steaming mug of fruit mush.
Elsa laughs. It's a high, clear, beautiful sort of noise, and for once, her pale face doesn't seem to carry the weight of her long decades. "That sounds strangely delightful," she smiles. "I don't eat, not any more, but it smells… interesting. And uh. It's warm?"
Anna passes over the concoction with a face-splitting grin. "So," she says. "Whatcha doin?"
Elsa takes the tall mug gingerly. "I'm not doing anything," she says. "Just… just being, I guess."
"Just being?" Anna asks. "That's…" she frowns. "That's so sad. That's like, just waiting to die."
"Except I'm not going to die," Elsa says. "Not ever."
"Except you're not going to die," Anna agrees. "That's so sad."
"How is it sad?" Elsa demands. "Every time someone dies, there's this huge funeral, weeping all around. Even in movies, sure there's this theme that it was 'just their time' or that 'they passed peacefully,' but in nine tenths of those movies, they stress that they're 'in a better place,' and most of them have that character come back later as a ghost or something, and give comfort to their loved ones. Moana? Star Wars? Harry Potter?" Elsa huffs, and the lights flicker. "Sorry," she says automatically.
"That's not what I meant," Anna says quickly. "I just thought it seemed sad that you were just sitting here? Like, I don't know? Like, you need hobbies. You need stuff for fun?"
"Oh," Elsa replies. "Sorry. You hit a nerve."
"I can see that," Anna laughs uneasily. "So," she holds the door. "Back to the front?"
"Sure I guess," Elsa agrees, and walks gracefully past. She leaves Anna's creation discreetly in the sink.
"You want the TV?" Anna asks, but she's already turning it on. Elsa shrugs noncommittally.
"...concerns of plague," the voice says. Elsa doesn't glance up at it, but Anna does. "Tests have been inconclusive so far, and some scientists insist the corpse flu doesn't exist, but President Wesselton claims that we need to take precautions against infection. Proposition ninety seven goes to vote in…"
"Corpse flu?" Anna asks skeptically. She joins Elsa at the little table by the slate fireplace. "Is that like swine flu?"
"Apparently only two people have died from it, but you know how people get with their hysteria," Elsa shrugs.
"And it has nothing to do with corpses?" Anna frowns.
"Why would it?" Elsa laughs, but it's not the same joyous laugh from before. More, wry and cynical. "I bet they find a way to spin it so it comes back on… people like me."
"Probably," Anna agrees. "Must be hard."
"I've dealt with it all my life," Elsa shrugs again. "My unlife too, or whatever you want to call it. First it was for having Jewish parents, then it was for being a woman, then being gay, now for being dead."
"Wow," Anna nods. "You've really gotten the short end of the stick your whole… existence?" She stares expectantly at Elsa. "So," she says, and Elsa jumps a little.
"So," Elsa agrees.
"You don't want me to ask about how people become litches?" Anna tilts her head. Her voice doesn't sound accusatory or judgmental.
"I don't mind," Elsa shrugs. She sits oddly, tiredly, but straight-backed and elegant. "Not really. I'm just, worried that you would be alarmed." She bites her lip, and wishes she could feel it. Anna makes a little "go on" motion, so Elsa sighs again and continues. "The ritual is an old one. In its simplest, most basic form, it was an old Egyptian burial ritual, meant to help their kings live in the next life. Sacrificed slaves, piles of gold, canopic jars, you know the deal. Didn't work as intended. Sure, the Egyptian kings have their 'next life' but not in any sort of other world, and not a real life. Those were the first litches, I guess, but they're not much like me. They're shadows of who they once were. Half-personalities in rotting, dessicated corpses, who can't remember what millennium it is, much less who they were. The ritual, when I learned it, had been much refined; we didn't need piles of gold, we didn't need to carve out our organs," she snickers at Anna's horrified expression, but composed herself almost before Anna notices. "I could do the ritual while I was still alive- that helped with keeping hold of who I am. Some. But ultimately, the ritual draws its power from the sacrifice. That's a general rule of magic- if you get something out of it, you have to lose something equal to it. At least. Well, living forever is a pretty great thing, worth more than a few lifetimes. Even if someone were to find my phylactery, I don't think they could kill me. Yes, the ritual takes human sacrifice. Lots of it. Oh, don't look at me like that; I didn't kill them."
"Then how?" Anna is leaning back, Elsa can feel the fear pounding through her veins. So easy to reach out, and grasp that fluttering little heart… Elsa pulls quickly back into herself.
"Anna," the litch sighs, and holds up her covered wrist. "Jewish parents…"
"Oh my god!" Anna leans forward, and her fear dissipates like fog on a sunny day; not quickly, not tangibly, but without transition or boundary it's gone. "You poor thing! So that day…"
"My off day?" Elsa supplies.
"Is that what you call it?" Anna squints. "On your off day? That was German you were speaking?" Elsa nods, and Anna continues. "So what causes your… off days… is it something that will happen again?"
"Yes," Elsa bows her head a little, and lets her hair cut her off from the world. "Traces of the old ritual. It wasn't perfect when it was invented, and it's not perfect now. Sometimes, if you don't use your magic enough, it gets all backed up in your soul. You've tied yourself- I've tied myself to magic, used magic to bind my soul to a material thing, so now I'm. I guess you would say I'm a creature of magic now? That it takes a constant flow of magic running through my soul to keep this old body moving. No, I don't require constant sacrifices or anything like that. That would be ridiculous, but I did die in Dachau. Gassed then burned. Do you know what it feels like to be dead but aware? Feeling your flesh crisp and pull away from your bones even though you can't move, not even to scream?" She says it with a sort of brutal nonchalance. If she were to let herself feel anything, well, reality is such a fragile thing sometimes, and the magic calls to her. "My phylactery anchored my soul here. Did what it was designed to do. It rebuilt my body, but I'm dead, and I'm not here. Not really. I am in my phylactery. This is just a corpse kept moving with ancient necromantic magic, and when I don't use my magic often enough, it gets backed up, and I forget things, and I get confused."
"Oh my god," Anna breaths. She says it again like a mantra to ward away the bad thoughts, but her imagination has always been extremely capable. "That's… can I give you a hug?"
"If you must," Elsa's voice if flat and emotionless. Anna leans across and holds the frail litch close. Elsa's shoulders are bony, her wrists thin.
"What don't you use your magic?" Anna demands. She has pulled back some, but keeps her hands on Elsa's shoulders.
"I don't like for people to be afraid," Elsa looks at her lap and holds very still. "They already don't like what I am, why confront them with the knowledge? Why force them to look at something different?" She spits out the words like they're poison. "My magic isn't bright lights and pretty noises, Anna."
"Oh," Anna says. Her lip trembles, and her eyes look glassy. Elsa wonders if she's getting sick. "Is there anything I can do to help?" The human asks.
"No," Elsa replies simply, and pulls back. She shakes off Anna's hands, and moves to the counter.
"Oh," Anna frowns, and stands. "So, erm. Literally any other topic? Um. So, the Egyptian mummies? They're the first litches?"
"More or less," Elsa replies. She works the espresso machine with practiced grace. "Not true litches of course. Not aware enough. Just glorified zombies, really, but that's where the ritual comes from. The first was a man named Nagash, who wrote the nine cursed tomes of necromancy."
"Huh," Anna says. The door chimes, and a customer comes up to the counter.
"Elsa," he smiles warmly. He's old and hunched, wrinkled and liver spotted. His cane clicks on the tile floor. "You look good."
"You always say that, Pabbie" Elsa gives a small, empty smile.
"Eh, I'm getting senile," he chuckles. "Soon, I'll be old enough to kiss you and get away with it- just a dirty old man, too old to know any better."
"You always say that too," Elsa replies.
"Hey!" Anna pushes up her sleeves and wedges herself in front of the old man. "You mess with Elsa and you'll get my boot up your…" she blushes, but the fury doesn't go out of her face.
"Up my what?" The man leans forward. He has an alarmingly large nose. "Up my ass? Heh. Like to see you try, kiddo. I fought in the war. I bet I could take twelve of you, even now!" He raps her shins with his cane, and Anna hops back, cursing. "Elsa," he grins. "Think you found a keeper."
"What war?" Anna squeaks.
"Yes, Pabbie," Elsa prepares a second drink.
"Oh, don't look so glum, girl," he leans heavily on the counter.
"But," Elsa splutters. "I don't know if she's…" she leans across the counter, and whispers something.
"Elsa," he says sternly. "She's gay as Sunday and twice as pretty. I'm a love expert, you know."
"You've said that," Elsa grumbles. "How's the family?"
"Loud and multiplying," Pabbie replies.
"Ok, I'm confused," Anna says. "Who's this? What's going on?"
"He used to be a GI," Elsa turns to Anna. "Met him overseas."
"Oh," Anna nods sagely. "That war."
"Yeah," the little man agrees. "That war. Would you believe I almost felt bad for my part in it until I met our little Elsa?"
"Pabie," Elsa groans.
"So you took care of her?" Anna leans eagerly forward.
"In a manner of speaking," Pabbie agrees. His voice is low and gritty, like a pile of gravel. "But I'm getting old, and she isn't. Ah. Elsa, you need to find your someone." He glances meaningfully at Anna.
"Your usual," Elsa replies curtly, sliding the paper cup across to him.
"You need to cheer up too," he says, taking the cup. "If you're not careful, the wind will change, and your face will be stuck like that forever, and that's a lot longer for you than it is for me." He winks at Anna, jabs her shin with his cane, and hobbles out.
AN: well, this was going to be a lighthearted coffee shop AU, but… ah well. Also, couldn't help myself with the reference. If you know it, you get a smiley face sticker. Also also, I'm aware that my pabbie is a bit OC. didn't really know what to do with him...