Cosette Fauchelevent (
lark_in_flight) wrote in
milliways_bar2014-04-19 04:29 pm
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"Papa!" The voice which sounds through the opening front door is a young woman's, light and sweet and eager. The voice's owner follows in a billow of skirts, glancing back over her shoulder into a homey little hallway as she calls to someone unseen. "Papa, are you quite ready?"
She turns her head -- and falters in astonishment as she crosses the threshold, and her boots hit the Milliways floorboards.
"Papa...?" Her hand falls away from the doorknob, and it swings delicately closed behind her.
She's a young woman of perhaps sixteen or seventeen, her rosy face framed by delicate ringlets escaping from a silk-covered bonnet. Her dress is of blue wool, sloping down at the shoulders, puffed out wide at the sleeves and gathering again at the wrists, her skirts a bell over layers of petticoats, a warm shawl wrapped about her shoulders, gloves on her small hands, a basket over one arm, small boots just visible -- in other words, the height of dainty femininity for 1832, and doubtless extremely impractical and peculiar to the eyes of most of Milliways' patrons.
Welcome to Milliways, Cosette.
She turns her head -- and falters in astonishment as she crosses the threshold, and her boots hit the Milliways floorboards.
"Papa...?" Her hand falls away from the doorknob, and it swings delicately closed behind her.
She's a young woman of perhaps sixteen or seventeen, her rosy face framed by delicate ringlets escaping from a silk-covered bonnet. Her dress is of blue wool, sloping down at the shoulders, puffed out wide at the sleeves and gathering again at the wrists, her skirts a bell over layers of petticoats, a warm shawl wrapped about her shoulders, gloves on her small hands, a basket over one arm, small boots just visible -- in other words, the height of dainty femininity for 1832, and doubtless extremely impractical and peculiar to the eyes of most of Milliways' patrons.
Welcome to Milliways, Cosette.
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'Cosette.'
It is a whisper. And then, it is a laugh.
'Cosette.'
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Uncertainly, she touches the back of a chair. It certainly feels solid and real, but --
Her eyes alight on her father. Her brow clears, immediately. He will know what's going on; everything is all right, then, if her father is here. (He may not explain a thing, of course, but it will be all right.)
"Papa!" she cries. "What has happened to the garden?"
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'My child. You are here.'
And yet, as he stands before her, fear starts its dark descent upon his heart. Realisation spreads. There are dangerous beings here. And there are people who know his name. People who know his past.
For a moment, no more words will come.
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She has no words for the expression on his face. All she knows is that it was not there a few moments ago in their house in the Rue-de-l'Homme Armé, and that it makes something inside her feel small and cold and scared.
Not of him. Never of him; never. But the world contains many other dangers. She couldn't name them, she knows almost nothing of them, but she knows they exist.
Her voice is quieter now, and unsure. "How you look at me! What's the matter?"
She catches up his broad hand between her own small gloved ones.
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He approaches, smiling politely.
"Salut, mam'selle. Is this your first time here?"
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"As you opened the door to your garden", he explains carefully, "you were... waylaid. This place is called Milliways, and when you step back through the front door, you'll see your garden just as you were expecting."
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He looks up when the young lady from the 19th century turns up and calls out for her father.
"Can I help you, Miss?" he asks.
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She asks it in open, honest bewilderment as she turns to him. She recognizes the outfit, then, and dips an automatic little curtsey, adding a bewildered "Father?" to the end.
Priests are always welcomed, always respected in the Fauchelevent household. But she has no idea what this stranger is doing here -- nor what any of the rest of these people and objects are doing.
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Now that's a getup--Noriko has to take a minute to look at it all, though she may be just as strange to Cosette in her bold black and yellow top and tight jeans.
"Lost?" she asks somewhat gently.
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Cosette glances at her -- and is, for a moment, struck dumb with astonishment.
Her hair is blue! Bluer than the brightest flower of summer!
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"Hello?"
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The lady's dress is definitely what catches her interest, a far cry from what she sees at home in the 1980s. She's not sure if the girl is dressed practically or not (really, it depends on what she plans on doing), but the dress and all its lace is pretty and right out of a story book.
"Hello. Your dress is very pretty." Matilda herself is in a pink and purple dress with a short sleeved shirt underweight, clean of course and certainly not of poor condition, but not screaming wealth either.
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"Thank you," she says with a warm smile, manners taking precedence for a moment over even her utter bewilderment. "The colors of yours are very pretty too."
Slightly peculiar, but pretty, and not the kind of thing most poor families can afford. A windfall or a special expense, perhaps.
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She takes in the lady a little more, noting her expression and posture-or what she could make out from the large dress and sleeves (part of her wanted to know if she was hiding anything under there). "You're new to this place, aren't you."
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"You're new here, I take it?"
Said voice comes from a tall -- very tall -- woman with dark hair, blue eyes, and a very eye-catching costume. The eye-catching comes not only from the color, but from the cut.
It comes from wearing a unitard. Go figure.
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The woman's dress -- or, well, her undress -- stops the words for a moment, and puts a flush on her cheeks.
That's not rags. It's not even underwear. Whatever forced this poor (and giant) woman to wear such a thing in public, and how on earth can she stand tall and smile while she's doing so?
"What's happened?" is what she manages, a little weakly.
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Diana's smile warms, just a fraction.
"If you'd be so kind as to come this way, we can both clear the entryway and get you a seat. Perhaps some water, as well? It can be a bit of a shock, Milliways."
She'll move to start escorting the young lady to a nearby chair in a quiet corner.
"In the meantime, I'm Diana. Pleased to meet you."
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And so he rises from his seat and takes a few steps in her direction, saying, "Be not alarmed, young lady," in his rich, pleasant voice. For he is a father and should his daughter end up here, he would want someone to greet her warmly and alleviate her of her fears.
He is a Lord among The Firstborn of Arda and he dresses the part. Long flowing robes of lavender and grey hides slim trousers and soft leather boots and his braided hair is held in place by tiny silver stars. His face is ageless but his eyes are ancient. And kind.
He is also very tall with the broad shoulders you get from swinging swords and setting bones. So he keeps his distance so as not to crowd her or tower over her. And he keeps his voice low.
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(Before that, there were years where there was no kindness at all, and great harm and great fear. But she's forgotten those. Elrond is not a person who would remind her of them.)
She stares up at him, unafraid but astonished. He's very tall, and Cosette is from a time when people were short; she's never seen someone of such a height, nor someone dressed in such a fashion. When she dips a curtsey in greeting, it's as much from the timidity of awe as from ingrained courtesy.
"Please, sir," she says, "what has happened to my father's garden?"
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And then he gives her a small bow, one hand on his chest. The way they did back in the days of the Lindon Court. "I am Elrond Half-Elven, and I too am at times a guest here."
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