milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The swing isn't there.

She'd had the fight with Barty, and when he didn't come back she'd gone outside. To garden, to sit on the swing and...

It wasn't there.

Just ashes, and that was one thing Morgan didn't need today. So she's in the bar now, sitting in a booth and try not cry. Princess don't in public, they don't.

And she doesn't feel like going upstairs. Might bump into him.

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Silvia, as always, was passing her evening in a book. Morgan catches her attention as she pauses and scans the bar. She tilts her head and looks at the younger woman.

"Is everything all right?"

Girl, really. Seventeen and very, very pregnant.

In a soft, upset voice,

"The swing's not there anymore."

"Oh," she says softly, and closes her book before standing and walking to Morgan's booth. "Was it a swing by your home?"

She can understand a sentimental attachment to domestic items, or things that remind one of home. Her flat in New York is full of them.

"No...it was just a swing someone had made here. And someone has burnt and...I've had a long day."

The sentence makes sense, she's trying so hard to make sense that it's almost relieving to do so.

"I see. Do you mind if I get you some tea? Or something else, if you prefer?"

"I like tea." That's a yes, please.

She nods. The next available wait rat is sent off with a mission for tea.

"Mind if I sit?"

"No, I don't." She brushes her hair back with a quick, slender hand - the movment is a little too quick and nervous, the hand a bit too slender.

's not like Silvia has the right to accuse people of being skinny, considering her physical condition (http://www.imdb.com/gallery/ss/0373926/Ss/0373926/K324-28a.jpg?path=gallery&path_key=0373926), but the girl's pregnant, regardless, and that condition usually requires food.

So she sits, frowns, and says, "My name is Silvia, by the way."

"Morgan of Cornwall."

Her frown turns into the smallest of grins. "How long have you been here?"

The wait rat returns with the tea.

The tea cup is warm against her fingers, warm and soothing and some of the seems to warm.

Some, not most.

"Bound, for...eight months. Coming here...bit more. Found it in a cave under Tintagel."

"Are you still bound?"

A quick look at the empty space where a door used to be with dreamy grey eyes, and she nods.

"Aye. Will be until my son is born, I think."

"How far into the pregnancy are you?"

"He'll be born in a bit more then a week."

"Ah. I--I suppose, or I hope there are sufficient medical facilities here to help you with the birth..."

She looks at the woman and just smiles with a nod.

If a girl can't be safe with a ferility god, she can't be safe anyway.

"I guess you've procured some magical means for the procedure, then."

"Kokopelli." American Indian feritlty god and Trickster.

Does Silvia know of him?

The name sounds vagely familiar. Must've read it in a book somewhere.

"Haven't met him yet."

"He's not here at the moment, but he will be. He's nice."

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