milliways_bar | (no subject)

Allie tapped her lips for a moment, looking quite older than the nine years she possessed in her life, before looking back at him.

"Maybe I could run in and just ask Mistress Bar for a container to hold the flowers so no one gets hurts and see what she gives me?"

He pauses to think about it, and then looks at her with uncertainty, because he doesn't know the bar very well but it doesn't seem to be to him the sort of thing you should gamble with.

He'll do what she likes, he's just... not sure.

"Yeah, either," Allie admits, even though he's said nothing.

"Maybe I should just bring Zahaan or Dr. Guppy out here the next time I run into one of them."

Warmth slips into his voice.

He likes Zhaan. She's one of his oldest friends. She helps him when he needs it and plays with him, no one ever wants to do that.

Allie smiled at the way he said the word, and looked back at him.

"I work with her in the infirmary."

He likes her. He bets i would be nice to get to work somewhere. And the infirmary, that's where he went when George got hurt.

"I heal people," Allie said, sort of absently.
One of a very many things, which meant very little to her (until it was needed) and very much to others somehow.

"I'm trying to help where I can. Though I'm still looking for an immeadiate teacher."

He thinks, sadly, that it's probably too late for him, isn't it? But it's good. Maybe she can keep George from getting into even more trouble.

In careful, careful English,

Allie is not a person who believes in too late. Especially not for someone so helpful and having a home.

She nodded though, "Started mostly with George and his ribs. He was one of the first people to treat me to the Bar the night I arrived."

Santi's face splits into a grin, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the marble. Isn't it beautiful? George gave it to him.

Santi helped too. He sat on George's legs to keep him from moving and making it worse.

Allie looked at the marble, and there was a most definitely a conflicted flicker of something that never quite rose into her expression, before she pulled a blue marble out of her pocket.

"Me, too."

He tucks his away again and smiles, because then she knows that George can be friends (Santi has friends, Santi has friends.)

"Friends are very nice," Allie said with a nod, and then suddenly, without warning, a smile dawned across her face. "Do you play soccer or baseball?"

He shrugs, because he will play anything if she'd like to spend a bit of time. He's not particularly good with balls and things, but everyone knows a bit of football.

"I was talking to George, during hide-n-seek and we were considering setting up a soccer game for the kids. And when I mentioned to Alex, he said baseball was better, which, of course, I had to argue because i was goalie back home, but he offered to coach a team for baseball and Rapunzel aid she would make sure all wagers on our games went to those in the bar who need help with tabs, especially kids."

Even in the dark she's flushed with excitement as she rattles on to explain it ll.

Santi thinks soccer, because he played with Ajedrez yesterday and it's easier and more people get to play at once, rather than waiting and waiting and waiting.

And thus Santi won Allie's heart entirely (....as if he had not already anyway), and she giggled.

"One more vote for soccer it is. I'm going to be putting notes up for all of it soon. So the kids can submit votes and we can have bunches of fun."

He pauses, hopefully, and looks around. Gesturing-- there's a flat space there. They could play outside.

He could... he could stay in his. Should he wear a sheet or not?

Allie raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, catching more the image and understanding of the problem than the words, though she was not one to step on toes.

"Yes?"

And he can't play in a sheet. He crashes into things. Maybe he could watch from the trees?

Or meet as many children as possible and then maybe play?

She smiles, because of how simply it's put, and because she thinks he needs to know even that it being the truth its still okay.

Allie was studying him for a moment very intently, and then she asked curiously, if quietly and maybe a little shy. "Can you think really hard about what you use to look like?"

He shakes his head.

Sometimes when you die you forget things. His mother's arms are there, but not her face. His father's smile, but not his eyes. Presences but not names. The orphanage, but not his house before.

Allie's brow wrinkles a little and she pressed her lips thinking still.

"I could make an illusion based on an image you wanted, maybe. Or we could just find you something else to wear, that covered, but would allow you to see and run without having cloth that might catch."

He starts.

How is that possible?

"It's one of the other things I do," Allie said sheepishly. "Here. I'll give you an example. Ummm. What would be a good--oh, I know!"

Allie nodded for him to look toward the tree, where suddenly there was a completely real looking facsimile of George, the younger, sitting under the tree reading comic books, mumbling the lines and laughing.

"It's not real. Well, not George."

It was a real illusion.