milliways_bar | (no subject)

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A young man, in the back of the bar.

Is he young?

Why yes, I think he is today.

Anyways.

In the back of the bar, with a smile.

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Well, here's someone she hasn't seen in a while.

"Hello." She even smiles; never hurts to be polite.

He looks more like Random in this body, than anything. Except not enough to be placeable as a relative. Just enough to not be Dworkin.

"Good evening, miss."

Mary Anne remembers shifting features and blonde hair; she has learned to not take people at face value here. "Good evening."

She hesitates a moment before asking, "I'm sorry, sir, have we met before?"

He could be a brother, wandered in like the rest. Or just coincidence. Best to tred lightly.

"Daniel."

He sweeps a bow, off his stool, and offers her a smile that can only be described as shy.

"Miss."

"No need for 'miss,' just Mary Anne."

She nods deeply in return, possibly to hide a faint blush. It's not everyday she gets bowed to.

"Pleasure to meet you, Daniel."

"You'll have to forgive me. I don't visit here often."

A slight shift on the seat.

"It's easier to be more formal than get into trouble."

The smile turns a little wry at the edges.

"True that. Never know who you might run into here."

Not a brother. Then who (what)?

"You aren't, you know, a Goddess or anything, mi-- Mary Anne?"

A very earnest, concerned look.

She laughs gently.

"No (not yet), though I'm flattered you could think me one. Just mortal, no more and no less."

She tilts her head. "Are you a god then, Daniel?"

Cover all your bases, as it were.

A nervous laugh.

"Not quite that either. I don't suppose you'd... care for a drink?"

She grins, trying to be reassuring.

"A drink sounds lovely. Any suggestions as to what?"

"For a day like today, I'd suggest lemonade, but this isn't precisely tea in the gardens at the estate. Wine?"

"Perfect."

She waves over a waitrat.

"If you don't mind my asking, where exactly is the estate?"

"Where my lady mother lives. Maids, guests, all aflutter over the grass, powdered noses and wigs and frills and things."

A slight frown of distaste.

"Not much for frills, hm?"

She doesn't sound like she minds.

"Oh, well, I can see why..."

A helpless smile.

"...no. No, I'm rather not."

The rat is scuttling towards them with the two glasses.

"Neither am I," she adds in a conspiratorial tone, accepting her glass from the waitrat.

She takes a sip of wine. "Mm, that's lovely."

He takes a sip of his.

Except.

It's blood.

And it's Dworkin.

She doesn't choke on her (mouthful of copper) drink, but it's a near thing.

"Hello, dear."

"Hello."

The same charming smile, but without as many teeth, his are falling out.

"Having fun?"

Her smile is charming and brittle and false. It won't last; it doesn't need to.

"Just remembering."

He misses the old things.

The anger fades to a low simmer, then nothing.

"Good memories, I hope."

She wonders if she would (will) be like that after living so long.

"Of estates and grass and frills."

Not really, but close enough.

"When I was young and in the Courts."

She runs a finger around the rim of her glass.

"Which courts?"

One clear note.

"Of Chaos."

His glass shatters.

Funny, without the sound of fragments falling to the ground, it's gone.

She watches the pieces fly and then gone, wonders what the Courts of Chaos must be like and all she can think to say is

"Oh."

"Oh."

He looks down at the hem of his night shirt.

She looks at him.

"You alright?"

"Tired. Old."

He fiddles.

"I think my night is over."

"And your day?" she asks, almost hesitant.

"It cannot come."

He stands, with a confused smile.

"I must away. To bed. I must to bed."

"Good night, then," she replies, offering her own confused smile in return.

"Take care."

"And you."

Daniel bows politely, before making for the door.

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