milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The front door opens, and Morwen enters the bar, for the first time in a while. She gets a glass of water from Bar, and then something - actually, someone - at a nearby table catches her eye.
It's a gamble, but she's never learned anything by not asking questions, so she goes over and says, "Young man, why are you wearing a skirt?"

And he looks up from the remains of his pasta, and grins, and says, "Why not?"

"...Well, I can't argue with that logic."

So: Two characters for the price of one, at a table. Bother as you will.

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Cimorene is over by the bar with a cool glass of cider, but upon seeing two of her friends sitting together she wanders on over.

"Hello Morwen. Angel," she says with a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

Angel grins, and moves his plate out of the way a bit. "Sure. Any sign of the door yet?"

Morwen raises an eyebrow. "I take it you've met, then."

"Well, she calls me a friend, and from what I can tell, that's a pretty big honor."

"Angel and I met back when I first came into the bar," says Cimorene fondly.

"And no sign yet, I'm afraid," a little less fondly. "I'm sure it will be back one of these days."

She doesn't sound as confident as she used to.

"I'd tell you to be firm with it, but when the door won't present itself... that does get a bit tricky."

"...Be firm with a door?" Angel's not questioning it too much - there is sentient furniture around here, after all - but there's that hint of skepticism. He's froma far more normal world than the other two, after all.

"It works wonders on my back door. You'd be surprised."

"Magical doors often have very different temperments from normal ones," explains Cimorene.

She shrugs at Morwen, "I'd yell at it if I thought it would do any good," she says, "but you're right. It's not even there to be yelled it. Or argued with, or bribed, or cajoled. Maybe Bar could put in a good word for me..."

She mulls this thought over for a minute, then shakes her head. "No. If that worked then nobody would ever be bound, would they."

..........Bribing a door? Right, that's Angel completely at sea.
"I think I'll just take your word for it. But you're probably right about the last bit - Bound's not a very easy thing to work around."

"Really, I'm surprised the thing kept Telemain in here as long as it did," Morwen says. (Not that it was a problem, he needed the rest, but if anyone could figure out a way around it...)

"Telemain?"

"Old friend of mine."

"Really?" says Cimorene, surprised. "I didn't know you two knew each other before."

"He's a magician," she explains to Angel, "And he probably would have spent weeks coming up with ways to circumvent the door's magic."

"If I'd told him about Bar on his first night in, he would have worked himself to exhaustion trying to analyze it."

"...He's that bad, huh?"

"Well, he was more than halfway to exhausted already. But yes."
For all Morwen finds the man next to impossible sometimes, there's a certain amount of fondness to her tone.

"Oh, he absolutely would have," confirms Cimorene. "He's a real academic. I think he and Mendanbar had some fun discussing the intricacies of the magic in the Enchanted Forest."

"I've heard of dedication to one's work, but that's just a little bit overboard."

Morwen smiles. "I dare say they did, as long as Mendanbar could keep up with the technical aspects."

"...I don't want to ask, do I?"

"Probably not, but you'll know if you hear it."

Cimorene grins. "The magic of the Forest is unique," she says, "and Mendanbar has full access to it as King."

"And I think he can hold his own. Even with Telemain."

"Well, yes, but there have been days where I could barely hold my own once he got going." And Morwen knows him very, very well.

"...I'm definitely not gonna ask."
Occupational hazard of Angel's Earth being so supernaturally boring. At least he knows when he's in over his head.

"Well," Cimorene tries to explain, "according to what he's told me, which isn't terribly much, the magic sort of floats around in the air like...invisible strings. And he can see them. And manipulate them to create the spells he wants. Or he can use his sword..." here her explanation fails her.

"It's fairly complicated."

"Honey, I appreciate the effort, really. But you're from the same world and you're in over your head. I don't even have a magical frame of reference, other than the stuff here. It's not gonna work."

Morwen raises an eyebrow. "I'm inclined to agree. I doubt anyone alive understands the Forest the way Mendanbar does, though Telemain will certainly have a good go at it."

Cimorene just shrugs. "He seems to come by it naturally, so his explanations are sometimes difficult to follow. Not as difficult as Telemain's, of course. But Mendanbar can do magic with scarecely a thought. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"There likely isn't anything quite like it."

Angel shrugs. "You'd be the expert."

"She would," agrees Cimorene with a grin. "She's no slouch when it comes to magic herself. She's taught me a thing or two myself."

"I'm hardly an expert."

"Of the three of us here?" Angel points out.

"...Fair enough. But my point stands."
She is, in her own way, as much a stickler for accuracy as Telemain.

"And technically, you're the only one of us who lives there," Cimorene says. "We don't have a lot of ambient magic floating around the Mountains of Morning, after all."

"Besides, who would be an expert?"

"Someone who knows how wizards do what they do. Preferably without being one."

"...I've heard a bit about the sort you've got. Good point."

Both Angel and Morwen are thinking some variation of: Give it time, Cimorene, you'll be there soon enough. But that's for her and Mendanbar to sort out, so neither of them are actually going to say it.

"Telemain seems to be the closest thing I've met to an expert then," says Cimorene. "Maybe he'll have some ideas."

"You can certainly try. But even he doesn't know everything, much as it pains him to admit that."

For some reason, Angel finds that very funny. Possibly because he's met some similar people along the way.

"No one can know everything," says Cimorene philosophically, "but no harm ever came from asking."

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