milliways_bar | (no subject)

Will's not bored just in a wandering and talking to new people mood and he's curious about what Cordelia's working on so approaches and gives a decent bow, not elegant but respectful.

Its clear to him that she's a woman of prescence and he's just hoping he doesn't look too threadbare in his medieval clothes today,

"What are ye workin' on, milady?"

She looks up with a distracted smile. "A puzzle. Mathematical shapes."

Will only looks slight blank, he's never really had the time or knowledge for that kind of puzzle,

"Aye, milady, ne'er seen one 'fore."

His accent reminds her a little of the backcountry folk of the Vorkosigan's District.

She slides the paper a little across the table to show him. "Trying to work out which of these shapes --" her pencil taps down one side of the illustration -- "can be changed into these other ones --" down the other side -- "using only the steps given here." The pencil taps twice on the written instructions, and stops.

Will takes a look trying to figure out how it works and peers at the words, Belle's been teaching him to read, but he's only just started.

So he nods to hide the fact that he doesn't understand completely,

"Aye, milady, do ye do these often?"

"Not really," she sighs. "I was trying something different to keep my mind occupied."

"Are ye Bound, milady?"

Since Will remembers that feeling quite well and until he was healed enough to practice outside, being Bound was maddening.

An intake of breath, and her tone is determinedly brisk. "Afraid so. You?"

"Nay, but twas for a few weeks when twas 'ealin' from a fight in Sherwood, milady,"

Out of habit, Will checks that his door is still there, leading to Nottingham and all her troubles.

She nods. "This can be a good place to heal -- I did the same once."

"Aye, it can, milady, tis there war in yer 'ome?"

"Not currently, thank God. No, it was an epidemic."

Over a year ago now. Nearly two.

"Sickness. People were dying."

"Aye, milady, Lord 'as spared us sickness in Nottingham though 'ave other troubles. Did ye lose many souls, milady?"

"There are two answers to that," she says thoughtfully. "Too many and not as many as we might have."

"Aye, tis always the way, milady, in battle or sickness,"

Will says as he gestures to the other seat, looking too old for seventeen as he thinks of the weight and worry of Nottingham.

Cordelia nods at the other seat. "Feel free.

"I take it there's war in your world?"

"Aye and nay, milady, we're fightin' to keep Nottingham from fallin' but tisna war since tis the Sheriff who's 'busin' 'er. King Richard tis fightin' in the 'oly Land an 'is brother tis on the throne, but 'e sees England as naught but a toy, so need men like Robin to keep 'er safe though 'e's been made outlaw,"

Will says slowly, not sitting yet since he's never sure what strangers will think once they learn he's an outlaw.

Enough of the key names have come up -- King Richard, Holy Land, England -- for Cordelia to at least loosely place this fellow in history.

"Understandable," she says.

"Aye, milady, tis a price but tis me 'ome. Forgive me for talkin' so o'me troubles, milady, 'avena e'en introduced meself. I'm Will Scarlett o'Nottingham, year o'our lord 1138."

"Cordelia Vorkosigan," she tells him. "Lately of Sergyar. From ... quite some time in your future, I think."

"Aye, milady, most folks are, ne'er 'eard of Sergyar, where is it?"

"Far from England. Too far to travel in one man's lifetime."

"Aye, what kind of place is it, milady?"

"Oh, drat it -"

Sophie's just realized that she's mismarked one of her patterns. Hastily, she pats her pockets for a pencil, and then makes a face when she realizes she doesn't have one.

"Excuse me, ma'am - might I borrow your pencil for just a moment?"

"Sure." Cordelia hands hers across, cheerfully.

"Thank you," Sophie says, accepting the pencil with relief, and then blinks.

She recognizes the woman - they'd had a brief conversation, once. (She remembers, a little ruefully, how young she'd seemed to her, then.) But the conversation had been brief.

Perhaps she doesn't remember it. It might make introductions easier, at least.

She's thinking through all this while she makes the necessary alteration, and then passes the pencil back.

"Very sorry about that; I should learn never to leave the house without a pen or something. I'm Sophie Hatter, by the way."

It's slightly experimental.

"Nice to meet you."

A pause.

"Sophie Hatter. I think I've heard that name before."

Sophie briefly contemplates telling Cordelia that she's named after a great-aunt of hers just to save explanations, and then dismisses the idea rather wistfully - there's been enough confusion as it is.

"Yes, we've met before, I think. I looked a great deal older then, though. It's - er, something of a long story."

Cordelia's eyebrows go up a little at that, partly in surprise and partly in amusement.

"I imagine so. This place seems to collect them."

"I suppose when you've as much magic concentrated in one place as there is here," Sophie says, glancing over at the bar, "it's difficult not to. Things always do seem to get more complicated once magic gets involved."

"Isn't that the truth." Wry, and definitely amused. "Did your looking older have something to do with local magic?"

"Local to my world? I suppose you could say so."

What odd phrasing. But perhaps that's simply the phrasing that all professional magic users use; she has to admit she still has a lot to learn.

"I'd been cursed - and part of the curse was that I couldn't tell anybody about it, which was really the difficulty.

"I meant local to here, really -- cursed?" And up go the eyebrows again.

There's a Christmas tree close by, watching her curiously (something about the shape of the branches, or the tilt of the red berries scattered over it, gives off this impression).

"Are you figuring out how to make something?" He asks, after a moment or two of puzzled silence.

Cordelia starts violently, staring at the tree.

"...I'm sorry," she says after a moment. "You startled me."

Filif stills, nervous.

He keeps forgetting how easy it is to shock humans!

"Are you all right?"

"I think so."

She's put down her pencil and turned in her chair to face ... him? it? ... the speaker, her startlement slowly turning into fascination.

"Oh, good," he rustles, greatly relieved. "Dai stiho! People call me Filif."

The voice is, even with all of the rustling, masculine.

The words are unfamiliar, but they're clearly a greeting.

"I'm called Cordelia," she says, trying to enunciate the name clearly without being condescendingly obvious about it.

Filif is familiar with Earth names by now, but he notes and appreciates the clarity.

"It is good to meet you, Cordelia," he beams. "I did not mean to distract you from your plans!"

Which, while most of his eye-berries are focused on her, some of them are still tilted towards the mathematical shapes game. He cannot divine what it is.

"Oh -- they're not plans," she says. "Just a puzzle. A game."

"I do not think I have seen anything like that, before. Mostly what I read has quizzes, and mazes," he informs her. "Is it from Earth, then, or somewhere else?"

Multiple planets have humanoids (and even more have games).

She tips her head toward the other side of the room. "I got it from Bar. The principle's familiar, though; it might be an Earth game."