milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Cimorene walks into the bar with a grin, brushing off dusty hands on her blue dress....her...chainmail dress?

"What..."

She's suddenly wearing a golden skirt and cape with a chainmail vest and long black sleeves. She also has a very shiny crown and a pair of wings. Yes, wings. Rather large ones.

"Well," she says, looking around in astonishment, "So much for a quiet cup of tea."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Fair enough," she admits, "Though it's rather unfair that you only had to deal with a bit of facial hair while I was stuck with a giant set of clumsy and heavy wings. And chainmail!"

Mendanbar gestures to the fact he is also wearing armor.

"I may not have wings, Your Highness, but I did get rather more than the goatee."

Is he Highness-ing her? He is, isn't he.

"I suppose you're right, your Majesty," she grins, "After all, I don't imagine you wear armour very often, especially since you've cancelled all those terribly enjoyable jousting tourneys."

"Well, no," he says. "But then, I've never encountered an enjoyable tourney."

He grins at her. "And you really should just call me Mendanbar."

"Only if you stop 'your Highness-ing' me," she counters. It's only fair, you know."

"Very well," he says. And then, with a very bright grin, adds, "Princess."

She rolls her eyes at him, but she's smiling.

"Careful," she says, "or I may just have to write that steward of yours and remind him about that woman you mentioned with the twelve daughters who aren't getting any younger, you know."

"You could not possibly be so cruel," says Mendanbar, with an overly dramatic shudder. "Please, Cimorene."

A look of Great Benevolence passes over her face.

"Well, I suppose, I wouldn't." she says with a smirk, "That would be far too dreadful a fate for anyone to suffer. I can really imagine few worse things than twelve princesses trying to snag a husband."

That's like, her sisters! times two!

"And their mother," adds Mendanbar, earnestly. "You must not forget about their mother."

"Hmm..." she thinks, "Do they live anywhere near the Mountains of Morning? I might be able to convince a few of my rescuers to head over their direction..."

"I don't think it's too far," he says. "Though there's nothing to rescue them from, really. But I'd appreciate it if you could try, Cimorene. Really."

"Perhaps I should write to this Queen," she says, thinking, "if she knew of the potential husbands to be found in the rescuing business, she might just take her daughters elsewhere. Put them under one of those briar rose thickets or something..."

She shakes her head, "No. That might solve our problems, but I shouldn't go around asking women to cast spells on their daughters, no matter how destestable they may be."

Curse her strong moral fiber!

"I don't suppose you could farm them out to various dragons," suggests Mendanbar. "I certainly don't want them wandering about the Enchanted Forest, though we go get the occasional would-be-rescued princess. But the Forest is good about keeping the purely selfish ones out."

"I....could," she says hesitatingly, "But then I'd have to live with them all, you know. The princesses can be quite social, and I am the King's princess, whatever my title says, which means they always come to visit."

"Well, we mustn't have that," says Mendanbar. "No, it's no use. I shall simply have to go on with my current plan. Stall. And when you can stall no longer, hide."

"It seems like a decent plan," she agrees. "Mine was better, of course, but to be fair, you really can't run away and be a dragon's princess, can you. And you can always hide here! I doubt they'd ever find you."

"I really can't run away at all," he says. "The Forest expects its King to, well, to be aroung doing King things. But hiding, in short bursts, is acceptable. And this place is about the best place to hide I've ever found. For one thing, you don't usually get such good company to hide with. Of course, you don't usually get armor and a goatee, either."

She nods. She's no stranger to royal responsibilities, even if they aren't precisely her own.

"It's true," she says, grinning, "And as far as I know this doesn't happen very often. Next time, however, I shall have to talk with someone about those wings." She glares at them again.

Mendanbar looks at the wings.

"Who," he asks, "do you suppose you would speak to?"

"I..." she pauses for a few seconds, then shrugs with a grin, "I have no idea. Whoever is in charge perhaps? I met a nice redheaded barman who seemed to know what he was doing, but I rather think that wings might be outside his sphere of influence."

"Is there actually a barman, then?" asks Mendanbar. His introduction to the bar has been somewhat haphazard.

"I shall have to keep an eye out for him. If nothing else, he might know who to ask about the wings. Should they return."

"There is, although Bar clearly doesn't need him around to serve drinks if he's busy. He seemed a bit haggard. Apparently he has an infant at home, so he's run a bit ragged, but he was very nice. Bernard was his name."

"Bar has a very tidy and economical kind of magic," says Mendanbar, who knows about these things. "Which is good, especially if the barman has an infant. They tend to take up rather a lot of time, I'm told."

"Is it?" Cimorene really doesn't know about these things. "Well, it's certainly very useful at that. There are so many people here, and at all hours, I think it would be rather too difficult for one, or even several barkeeps to keep up with everything."