"Elsa!" Anna bounces into the little shop. "Elsa Elsa Elsa!"
Elsa looks up with a small sigh. "Anna?" Elsa prompts primly.
"So," Anna slides into the chair across from her. Elsa winces at the sound the chair's legs make against the concrete floor. Anna leans forward, smiles brilliantly, and continues, "you've prob'ly heard I'm a journalism major?"
Elsa hadn't, so she shrugs noncommittally. Anna smiles like that's a yes and barrels ahead. "Can I write a thing about you?" The energetic Human asks.
"I would prefer you didn't," Elsa replies, and considers reheating her cup- she can barely feel the heat in her old, numb, fingers when it's scalding, and nothing at all when it's lukewarm and cooling towards actively distasteful.
"Oh," Anna wilts. "Why not?"
"Because," Elsa sighs. "Things like me can rarely afford to draw attention to themselves."
"I really wish you wouldn't call yourself a thing," Anna grumbles. "You're a person too, even if your heart doesn't beat… come to think of it, does your heart beat?"
"My heart doesn't beat," Elsa confirms.
"Still," Anna insists. "You're not just a thing."
"I'm a flesh puppet," Elsa retorts. "This isn't even where my soul is."
"Okay," Anna says slowly. "First, ew, gross, can you not refer to yourself as a flesh puppet? And second, um…" she thinks for a second. "To be honest, I didn't really have a second, but I guess, this- erm, this flesh puppet- isn't really you then. You're not a thing. You're an Elsa. And the fuck do you mean you can't afford to draw attention to yourself? It's not like you can die. You said it yourself. You can't afford not to draw attention to yourself. Make people- uh, humans- make humans realize that you're here, people like you are here, and you're not going away, and maybe, just maybe, they ought to sit down and learn about you?"
"Anna," Elsa complains. She twists her hands together. "There's more than one sort of death."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Anna snaps. "You done with that?" Wordlessly, Elsa slides the cup to her.
"Anna," Elsa sighs after a moment. "I'm not brave. Even knowing I couldn't die, with a tangible, if undesired, field test… Anna, I could have done something."
Anna sips the coffee, smiles slightly, but then the smile fades as an idea seems to come into her eyes. It seems to Elsa that Anna is wrestling with something, though Elsa can't imagine what.
"Maybe you could this time," Anna says seriously. "Do something, I mean. Let me write something about you, and maybe we can show people a bit of the truth? I'm sure, if people really knew you…" she trails off hopefully.
Elsa scowls darkly. She stands, and makes her way to the espresso machine, but her hands shake on the levers and she doesn't make anything.
"If people knew I was here," Elsa says after a moment. "I don't want to be followed home. I don't want people harassing me at work. I don't want anyone burning down my home. I can't…" she shrugs brokenly, catches glimpse of Anna grimacing. "I can't deal with it all again."
"You seem… awfully torn up about whatever it is you think you should have done," Anna replies. "Maybe you'll get some closure? Besides, it's not exactly like you're hiding here…"
"I…" Elsa trails off. She sighs, and looks down at the espresso machine- not quite surprised that it's there, but more wondering how she had gotten there. Elsa comes back to the table. "If you must," she says. "But I get to read it before you try to get it published anywhere."
"Sure," Anna agrees.
"And if I don't like it…" Elsa knits her hands together.
"Then doesn't get published," Anna agrees again.
Elsa stands there for a moment. "And I get some say as to where it gets published," she says quickly.
"Alright," Anna nods, and nudges the chair out with her foot. Elsa sits gracefully, if reservedly. "So," Anna says. "Mind if I ask you some more questions?" Elsa shrugs, so she continues. "How did you become a litch? I know it was during the Second World War, but when? How did you learn necromancy? When did you decide to become a litch?"
"No," Elsa snaps. "Not today. I don't want to talk about that today."
"Yeah," Anna agrees carefully. "I guess there are some bad memories there. Sorry. What about what it's like to be a litch?" A customer pushes through the door as she says that.
Elsa shrugs uncomfortably. "One moment." She stands, and moves to the counter. "Welcome, ma'am," she greets. "Can I get anything for you?"
"Not from you," the woman snaps, and pulls the collar of her shirt up over her nose. "Disgusting corpse." Elsa shrinks into herself, doesn't offer up a word of defense, but then there's Anna, wedging herself aggressively between the woman and the counter.
"How dare you?" Anna hisses. "How fucking dare you? Do you know what all she's been through?" Anna shoves the woman aggressively. "Fuck you lady. It's your kind that's not welcome here. Get the fuck outa here- I don't want to go to jail tonight."
"Go to jail?" The woman frowns. "Why would you?"
"Because ima smack the shit out of you," Anna snarls. "How dare you? She's a holocaust victim. Hasn't she suffered enough? Fuck you lady."
"Anna, it's fine," Elsa murmurs.
"Well I…" the woman huffs. "I don't want to eat with a corpse anyway." She storms out.
"Yeah," Anna nods firmly. "Fuck her. C'mon Elsa, say it with me. Fuck her."
"Fuck her," Elsa repeats quietly.
"You need a hug?" Anna asks. Elsa shrugs, so she steps in and wraps the pale litch in a warm embrace.
Elsa pulls away after a short moment, and moves back to her favorite table. "You asked what it's like to be a litch?" She sighs.
"Are you up for that?" Anna asks. Elsa shrugs, so Anna motions for her to go on.
"It's cold," Elsa says. Anna has produced a small notebook from somewhere. "I don't feel much of anything anymore. I guess it comes from being dead? Maybe my nerves don't really interface with magic all that well, so that's why I don't really feel things anymore? I don't know. It doesn't seem to affect my eyes or my ears or my nose… started when I died the first time. Maybe sight and hearing and smell are part of the original rituals, and touch was tacked on later? I don't know as much about the intricacies of ancient necromancy as I would like." Elsa shrugs and continues. "I like the heat because then at least I can feel something. It reminds me that I'm not entirely dead. Not yet. It takes a lot, for me to feel it that is. A lot of heat. That's why I like coffee; I can feel it, I can smell it, I feel almost human again. People were offended when I ordered coffee and didn't drink it, so I learned to make it myself. I'm rambling. Just an old dead girl, rambling on about the most meaningless little things."
"I think it's important," Anna insists. She makes a few more quick marks in her notebook and looks up. "Have you ever met any other litches? Did they talk about the numbness at all?"
Elsa shakes her head. "There aren't many of us. I think I've met a few like me, but we never spoke, and I'm not completely sure that they were."
"All right," Anna agrees. "What's it like, with the numbness? How does that affect you?"
"I have to check myself in the mirror," Elsa replies. "To make sure I don't have any damage I didn't notice getting. I heal slow, and I have- had- to make sure I don't give myself away. Nowadays, I guess I do it because it's a habit. And because I don't want to alarm anyone. And I guess I want to look nice or, at least, not shabby. It's always the worst after my off days. When I'm absent minded like that, there's almost always something, and it's terrible trying to figure out what, wondering if I missed anything, wondering if anyone saw while I was not myself."
"That sounds awful," Anna bites her lip. She thinks for a minute. "Do you brush your teeth?"
They go on like that well past closing time and late into the night. Whenever there's a customer, they pause while Elsa makes their order, and continue again when she sits back down. There are some topics that she resolutely refuses to speak about, others that make her hide in her long white hair, but mostly she does her best to answer any questions Anna has. Every time Anna gets an answer out of her, every story Elsa tells, seems to give rise to a dozen more. Eventually, Anna nods off. She doesn't know if Elsa does or not. Anna dreams of litches and black magic.
Anna wakes with a start, checks her watch, and sees that it is morning. She groans, and glances about herself. The bed under her feels hard- well of course it does. It's just a small pallet of folded blankets on the cold concrete. Where… of course, the coffee shop. She's in the back, she realizes, nestled between the unopened crates of coffee mix but she doesn't remember getting up from the table.
Anna checks her pocket quickly, is relieved to find the hard rectangle outline of her notebook. She clambers slowly to her feet, bracing herself on the towering boxes, and pushes out to the front. There's Elsa, at the counter like she always seems to be, shirt pulled straight and tucked neatly into her skirt. Something about the way she stands seems wrong somehow, back like a board, hands unmoving.
"Elsa?" Anna asks gently. "Are you ok?"
"I," Elsa frowns like she is trying very hard to remember something. "Anna?"
"Yes," Anna says. "That's me. What's wrong? Is it an off day?"
"An off day?" Elsa repeats. There's confusion thick in her voice like moss in a cloudy pond. "Does…" her face lights up like she has just solved the great mysteries of the universe. "I'm supposed to be in the attic? It's a day that I need to go to the attic?"
"What?" Anna asks. "The attic? What are you talking about? What attic?"
Elsa points toward the roof meaningfully, though the shop has only a single floor. "The attic," she repeats hopefully, like a drowning child clinging to a raft. "In case the…" she searches for the word. "In case the… the gestapo?"
"Shh," Anna moves closer. She had been intending to deliver a comforting hug, but Elsa shies away, and Anna can't quite figure out how to signal her good intent. "Shh," she repeats. "No gestapo. That was a while ago. It's two-thousand-twenty, not nineteen-forty-something."
"Oh," Elsa says. She straightens her shirt, worries at her lip. "But… no attic?"
"No attic," Anna agrees. The door chimes.
"What would you like to order sir or ma'am?" Elsa recites. She smiles and turns to Anna, whispers conspiratorially, "I'm good at remembering."
"I can see that," Anna says as gently as she can. "Kristoff?" She glances pleadingly as the big storeowner pushes his way through the door.
"It's ok Elsa honey," Kristoff says gently. "You did good."
Elsa beams. "I did good," she whispers to herself.
"Elsa," Kristoff approaches the counter slowly. "Can you take a rag and wipe down all the tables? Be careful you don't miss a spot." Elsa nods solemnly and sets herself to the task. "It's an off day, isn't it," he says once she's distracted.
Anna nods uncertainly. "I think so," she says. "You want me to make sure she gets home safely?"
"Are you willing to stay with her until she's herself again?" Kristoff crosses his arms. Anna jerks her head yes, so he continues. "It usually takes all day. Is that all right?"
"That's fine," Anna says.
"All right," Kristoff agrees, makes a note on a scrap of paper and passes it over. "Here's her address. It's only a few blocks away. She has a key, but you'll probably have to remind her."
"I'll take good care of her," Anna vows.
"Good," says Kristoff. "Make sure you don't startle her when she's like this. She's a gentle one, but magic is dangerous and she's not as careful as she usually is when she gets scared. Look, she's nearly finished. Wait 'till she's done." They watch for a few minute as the litch carefully cleans each table, a small frown of concentration on her face.
"I didn't miss a spot," Elsa announces proudly, as she returns to the counter.
"Good job sweety," Kristoff smiles at her. "Anna's going to take you home now, all right?"
"But I did good," Elsa insists. "Ich habe es gut gemacht."
"You did good," Kristoff agrees. "And now it's time for you to go home." Elsa frowns, and opens her mouth a few times, so Kristoff goes on. "You did so good you get the day off."
"Oh," Elsa thinks for a moment. "Day off?"
"Yes," Anna agrees. "That's why I'm going to take you home."
AN: Fun fact, a degenerative condition called "Chronic Neuropathy" does something similar to what Elsa described. It's not a great thing, not that I speak from experience or anything (is sarcasm)... Anyway, as always, reviews, favorites, and follows are appreciated.