milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Edmond is slowly growing to accept his detainment at Milliways. He still wishes to be freed, Of course, but he hopes to make friends in the meantime, predicting that it will make the stay more bearable.
Still, while he's an amicable enough fellow back home, this is a new place and makes him nervous. So today he retrieves something to eat and, once again, settles into a booth, watching for people he'd find interesting.
Of course they should feel free to approach him as well.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, perhaps a somewhat familiar face will help.

"Hello, Mr. Dantès," says Amy, cheerfully enough. "How are you settling into Milliways?"

It might, at that.

"Mademoiselle," he says with a smile as she approaches. "Amy was it?"
Then with a slight hitch of one shoulder he answers, "I am well enough, for all that I am still bound. I can do naught but make the best of it."

"Yes," she says, "Amy. And making the best of it is just about the only thing one can do about being Bound."

Well, he seems less agitated than when she last met him. That, she figures, is probably a good sign.

Not any happier about it, but less frightened, surely.

"I have met only one other patron since last we spoke, and I am currently looking for something to occupy my time while I am here. I think, perhaps, that I need to learn a new trade. Being a sailor is of little use when confined to a bar."

"It helps to have something to do, yes," says Amy. "It's just a question of finding something. I know they hire for security, or to work in the bar, or the stables on occasion. But you can always just find someone who's willing to teach you something. I've learned to sew and play chess since I got here.

"There do seem to be a lot of sailors here. Or at least, I seem to know several."

"Unfortunately my skills are limited, and not at all suitable to security or bartending, but I shall be sure to ask around and consider what I might be interested in." He replies casually.

Then appears more interested at the latter statement. "Do you? From where and when, can you say?"

"Well," says Amy, "let me think. Caspian, my brother, is from Narnia, which I don't think you will have heard of. And Mr. Wellard is English, and from the time of a King George III. Someone he sailed with, a Mr. Kennedy, I believe, is also here, but I've not had the pleasure of making Mr. Kennedy's acquaitance. And Captain Sparrow is from the time of a James II, I think, and sails in the Caribean."

Amy is far more likely to remember the monarch's name than the calendar year. It's how they name the years at home, after all.

Also, for the time being, she omits from the list people like Captain Reynolds, who sails, but not through oceans.

Edmond frowns faintly at mention of the English, but nods.

"I thank you for that information. I think that I should quite like to meet these men. It is 1815 my time and England's king is the same. I am interested to meet anyone with similar interests and a year not so different from my own."

"They are all good men, and quite worth meeting."

Amy catches and probably guesses correctly about the frown. France and England don't get along in any version of Earth, as far as she can tell.

So she continues with a somewhat wry smile, "I'm afraid there are rather a lot of Englishmen in the bar. I think it's because of the tea. But you're hardly the only Frenchman, Mr. Dantès."

He brightens a little at this and nods. "That is good to hear. While I personally do not have a problem with the English, they are rarely thought highly of by the French. But it will be good to meet my fellow countrymen."

"I've never met anyone else from my country here," says Amy. "The closest I've come is the one of our neighbors. But even that was quite cheering. You might look for Meg Giry. She's easy to find -- blonde and usually in a tutu and very very proud of being from Paris."

Edmond nods, making note to look for the young woman mentioned. "Where is it that you say you are from?"

"A country called Phantasmorania. It doesn't seem to exist for most people, but it's not too far from France in my world."

"No, I have not heard of it," Edmond admits, "and I have traveled a fair amount. I am glad to hear that you know of France, however."

"France seems to exist no matter what version of Earth you're from. Like England. And I've always heard that France was very beautiful. I've traveled very little, but I do hope to see it someday."

"I do find it so, though admittedly, I travel more outside of France than I do within. Mostly around the Mediterranean."

"That would makes sense," says Amy, "if you're a sailor. You'd see places by the sea, wouldn't you?

"Has anyone told you that we've a lake here? It's hardly the sea, but it's something."

"Yes, mademoiselle. I'd just returned to France from Turkey and Italy, most recently," he answers with a nod. Then with a curious tilt of his head, he adds, "But non, I was not aware. That is something, at least."

"Oh, yes," she says. "A lake, and stables, and some woods. It's not a terribly large lake, but it's large enough for a small boat. My brother took me sailing, before it became too cold for it. We have weather like that in Northern Scotland, though why, with all the world to choose from, anyone should pick Scotland, I do not pretend to understand."

She waves a hand at a door.

"The lake is out there."

Edmond's eyes follow the wave and he stares at the door for a moment, eagerly.

But at the comment about Scotland, he smiles. "That is another good question to have about this place. Mayhap, someday we will find the answers." Still, he hopes to be long gone before then.

"It has made for a frightfully cold winter," says Amy, with a grin. "On the other hand, it has allowed for some very entertaining snowball fights."

Amy believes in silver linings.

There's a fellow who looks a bit scruffy and a bit surly, obviously nursing a sore stomach and a sore head. His clothing is rough but colorful, or it was at one time, much faded now from much wear and many washes.

He clutches tightly to a broom that seems to have green growth in the brush of the tail.

In his occupation, Edmond's grown accustomed to the scruffy surly sort, and worn clothing. Thus it is the broom which strikes him as more out of place.

He regards the man curiously for a moment, nodding politely if he is noticed. Then, not wishing to stare he looks back to his lunch, considering a greeting, but worried that he might prove an annoyance to the already troubled fellow.

The broom strikes most people as being out of place.

Liir, at the moment, is not in the best of moods. Having drunken himself into kissing the wrong tall blonde and having gotten punched in the gut for his trouble, one can understand why he holds tea in careful hands and why he winces a little at the polite nod.

Edmond finishes as much of his stew as he's interested in, picks up his wine, and stands. Almost hesitantly he approaches, not wishing to speak any more loudly than necessary.

"Good day, monsieur," he greets with another slight nod. "Forgive me, sir, for interrupting. I am Edmond Dantès, of France. I am new to this place and know almost no one. Thus I wished to introduce myself, but preferred not to speak across other tables."

"Probably a good idea, as I have a headache and wouldn't respond well to shouting."

He doesn't look unpleasant about it, anyway.

"And it's not so much a good day as it is another day, but at least I'll be thankful for that."

He holds out a hand.

"Liir Thropp of the Land of Oz. And while I'm not so new, I know very few myself."

It's possible that Edmond took the headache into consideration, but more likely that he's just too polite to disrupt the bar by speaking loudly.

He shakes the hand. "It is a pleasure, monsieur," he offers by way of acknowledgment. Then returning to the second statement, he frowns faintly and asks, "Are you bound as well then?"

He nods with a small snort at the idea of it being a pleasure to meet him before shaking his head.

"For a time. No longer. I just find there's nothing to return to at the moment."

While Edmond is an honest and typically genuine fellow he is, above all else, polite. Thus, pleasure or not, he would feel compelled to claim it.

"That is unfortunate. I have no other wish but to return," he admits.

"May I ask how long you were bound?"

"A few months," he says with a shrug and a sip of his tea, "not long, but not short either."

Edmond is slightly disheartened to hear this. Primarily that one would refer to a few months as 'not long'. "A few months is an eternity away from my fiancée. It's been three months, already, since I have seen her. -And now this."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only