milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Arithon, badge visible because as far as he knows he's on tonight, enters the bar and finds a seat at Bar herself. This only means that when he's informed what he'll be eating by Tashka it is a bit faster than normal, as instead of chittering and returning with food, Bar serves the meal.

That's right. His life is run by a rat.

So there is a bemused Master of Shadows looking at a bowl of soup, mug of ale, and plate of dark bread.

((My computer is trying to explode. I'm not ignoring you. Comments are going in odd places, but really. I'm not ignoring you.))

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She shivers slightly, as the sound snaps along her spinal cord.

"How long?" Naivete, perhaps - she trusts his word. If he says something's coming, then something's coming.

"I do not know...soon."

He frowns, grim,

"Soon. Days, perhaps a week. Perhaps less."

"Do you know...is there anything we can watch for?"

Because being caught unawares is Not Good.

He thinks, and after a moment shakes his head in disgust,

"Were my mother's blood a gift, I would not be so annoyed. I do not know, nastir'ka'al'Milliways, I do not know."

/

She grimaces a little, but nods slightly. "Guess we'll just have to be extra careful for the next while, then."

"Please do."

He says it quietly, hands clenching and then unclenching,

"Please, please be careful."

She's silent for a moment before replying, "I will be. Promise."

Which is a divergence from her usual flippant response to such requests. Reaction, perhaps, to his tension.

"Thank you."

His voice is soft, not quite tremulous,

"Those you love? Speak of it to them, as well. This has not been going away. It gets worse."

There aren't many who fit that category. A sad truth, perhaps, but a truth still.

She nods once. "I will."

Then perhaps she should ask herself who she would not be sad for, if something terrible happened to them.

"Thank you."

He says it again, then dunks a bit of bread in his soup before eating it.

That category is far smaller, for all that she might appear heartless to some.

She touches his shoulder lightly, a gesture of support, perhaps. "Take care of yourself, Arithon."

"I try."

He says with a faint, tired laugh,

"And when I fail, well, Chiavalden and Tashka do remind me of what is needed."

He covers her hand with his own.

"Good." She smiles faintly. "Good night, Arithon."

"Good night, Max."

He returns it, and watches as she leaves.

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