milliways_bar | (no subject)

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*Meg's sitting at a booth in the bar, with a fire extinguisher well within her sights.

Theoretically, she's working on a lesson plan.

But every fifteen seconds or so, her eyes dart up, scanning the bar for dancing. Which alas means she has not made much progress on the aforementioned lesson plan.*

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"Not really; though that will be part of it. She's in for the full schooling experience."

*Meg leans back in her booth, stretching her arms up so they crack behind her back.*

Well, that ought to be fun - anyone I know?

A shrug. "Maybe. You seem to know most everyone here."

"A young girl by the name of Mary Lennox."

*Meg thinks a moment, before shaking her head, with a cheerful shrug.*

Nope - her I don't think I know. How old is she?

"Ten. With all the brattiness that entails. Then again, it takes one to know one," she concludes with a grin.

"She's an orphan, and, as such, hasn't had the most pleasant upgringing for various reasons. Feisty, drives a hard bargain, likes gardening, and has a talent for attracting large violent mammals."

. . . good luck, *Meg says, amused.*

And wear a helmet or something.

"Heh. Thanks. Perhaps... a pith helmet," she says cryptically.

- those are the things the British wear, right? *Meg hazards.*

But, I mean, I could be wrong. I'm not exactly an army expert. And . . . they're not actually meant to do much good against wild animals.

Goldy laughs gently. "Yes. The Brits. In the colonies mostly."

"Mary grew up in India around the turn of the twentieth century, and that's where her parents died." Slightly more helpless, "she has got it into her head that they are going to become vampires if she doesn't go back and perform the correct burial rites."

"So..."

. . . well, I wish her luck with that, *Meg says, firmly; then, with a smirk:* And you.

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