milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Shortly before sunset, Moiraine had come downstairs and gone quietly out the door to the lake. From time to time, a particularly observant or sensitive patron might well have noticed a flicker of golden or silver light near the edge of the building, or by the greenhouse, or at the fringes of the forest.

Sunset had turned into deep dusk, and now night has fallen. The Aes Sedai is still outside, gliding noiselessly over the grass under the dark of the moon. Silver fire sparks from her fingertips as she tests possibilities and considers threads.

Frequently, her gaze flicks upward as she scans rooftops and skies and the branches of trees.

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She is now, as it happens. Dark eyes narrow sharply as the door swings open and then shut behind him.

"You."

He stops.

Turns, in three very, very slow steps.

And gives her a sweet smile.

"That milk will cool down on you, if you don't drink it."

This?

This results in a leveled glare.

One hand, the one not on the trunk of the apple sapling, clenches tightly in the indigo wool of her skirts.

"Is it so?"

Shiny happy owls laughing
Meet me in the crowd
Owly, owly
Throw your love around
Love them love them
Take her into town
Owly! Owly!
Put her in the ground
Where the flowers grow!
Gold and plastic shine!

"Who?"

Repeated six times.

>:(, says the Waiter.

The harmony is displeasing, but Moiraine does not deign to visibly acknowledge them with so much as a glance.

Not yet, at any rate.

She tilts her head, studying the waiter, and then does flick a single glance at the birds before returning her gaze to him.

"Why did you ... provide me with the benefit of your peculiar brand of service, before, would you say?"

It is carefully phrased.

Staring.

And then, enunciating carefully, he says, "I got those tapes you ordered."

A pause, and then a very slight sigh, followed by a faint smile.

"Then I shall thank you for it, as it happens."

WOOMCH!

Who knew that owls liked glasses of warm milk?

He looks disconsolate.

The glass is on the ground, and empty.

Milk soaks into the dirt.

"Who?"

"Who?"

"Who?"

Apparently the other two like being silent.

It is not an attack on her; she is not certain enough as to their origins to be able to evade the Third Oath; and yet there are ways, for those who would choose them, and Moiraine has had enough.

Light blossoms around her, gold in contrast to the silver gleaming still from the apple tree, and a whirlwind of white, silver, and blue storms from her fingertips in shifting bands of light that form a tightly-woven tapestry of light and explodes skywards.

The Sea Folk, the Atha'an Miere, would recognize it as the skill of a Windfinder, as the natural breeze strengthens suddenly into a steady blast, short of the danger of a gale and yet with enough force to drive a ship over the water-- bent now on the birds perched on the roof.

And as it reaches them, one by one they jump.

So it's five owls.

Doing the wave.

Wave your wings in the air like you just don't care!

They land, and turn to look at Moiraine.

Deeply disgruntled.

And then they take flight, heading for the forest.

Waiter?

There's no waiter here.

I certainly don't see a waiter.

Waiter? Aes Sedai?

Who?

(The door to the bar shuts with a soft 'click' behind Moiraine.)

There is nothing but a single apple tree gleaming faint silver guard before the greenhouse door.

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