milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Well, yes."

He's frowning now.

"It may be that you're just tired -- you were asleep just a few minutes ago."

"People do not just forget things because they're tired," Mary protests, rather indignantly. "Not important things - and I think who I am and who my father is to be awfully important.

"Anyways I don't feel tired at all - I do not even feel as if it were night-time."

"It's--"

He stops, looking around in some slight confusion, which he does his best to hide.

"--not quite night yet, actually."

Gabriel's frowning even more.

"It could be something in the air--"

"You were asleep too."

Mary is starting to frown herself.

"Have you forgotten things too? You do not sound as if you have. You know who I am and you know who you are - and you know what time it is, which I think should be the first thing that one would forget."

The last thing he wants to do is worry his little girl. Gabriel smiles comfortingly at her.

"It's all right, Mary. But I think we should probably head home soon. Your mother will be worried if we're gone too long."

(And if he can't quite picture Regan with her daughter... surely that's only the weariness, or the bad air.)

"I have a mother too?"

Mary says it without thinking, and then flushes - for some reason this seems almost an embarrassment of riches. But people who have fathers usually do have mothers, don't they?

"Oh - it is so stupid, not knowing this!"

"That's it, young lady. We need to get you home."

He starts to get to his feet, adding,

"And if you're not feeling better in the morning, we'll be seeing the doctor."

"The doctor? No!"

Mary jumps up, hastily. "I don't need a doctor - I don't want a doctor - I am sure it will not help. How can they make me remember things? It will be much better if you only tell me things, and I will remember, I am sure of it -"

Beat.

Then, puzzled: "I don't seem to like doctors very much."

This appears to give him serious pause.

(she always adored her brother)

"... Mary, have you and Simon had a fight?"

Mary scowls at him.

"If I had, I should not remember it, should I?"

"Mary."

It's not quite scolding, but his tone is firm.

Mary heaves a sigh.

Simon is a doctor. That - seems to make sense, somewhere in her head. So: "Perhaps," she admits, more normally. "It would explain why I do not like doctors now, I suppose. But I really don't remember."

It's enough, and more than enough.

Gabriel puts his arm protectively around his daughter's shoulders and turns toward the door.

They don't get very far at all, however, before someone else approaches them.

All in all, it's a while before they reach the door.

But they do reach it. It opens on the year 2520 - not that Mary remembers that, though of course, if it's where her father lives, it's where she must live too - and closes behind them.

This would be Wellard pausing, and looking at both Mary and Gabriel with a wary, worried 'dear lord what is going on now?' look.

The boy's gaping face looks - again - rather like someone she should know.

Mary glances at Gabe to double-check that this is not a hitherto-unknown brother, before saying, helpfully, "You are staring" - which is true regardless of the circumstances.

He is staring, in fact, and this is more than enough to draw a forbidding look from Gabriel.

"Is there something I might help you with, young man?"

It is true- and thankfully a very Mary-like comment to make. But it only goes so far in reassuring Wellard, which is to say, not very much.

"Mary, Mr Tam- are you both alright?"

His concern can ignore the forbidding look, at least for the moment.

"I am fine," Mary says, impatiently. "Everyone keeps asking."

'Everyone', here, being . . . one person, before this. But the principle is still sound.

"I am not at all ill. I have only forgotten things - it is strange, but I do not feel sick. If I had been by myself I should likely have had trouble, but I was not - so!"

"Mary."

It's not unkind, but it's very firm.

"I'm sure the young man was only expressing polite concern."

At the 'young man', he glances sharply at Gabriel. Mary playing a joke he can understand, but not a grown adult. This has suddenly gotten a lot more worrying.

"You've forgotten." Wellard looks Mary and Gabriel. "Both of you."

Mary shakes her head, a little defensively.

"No. Only me."

That's not precisely accurate, of course, but he has no intention of unnecessarily alarming her.

"I'm sure you'll feel much better in the morning, baobei."

"Only you." Wellard repeats, with a glance at Gabriel.

If Gabriel were an untrustworthy sort, Wellard could be worrying more. Granted, Gabriel does seem to not recall him, but his attitude towards Mary seems the same.

That still is not going to relieve all the worry Wellard has right now, though. He takes a deep breath, and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"I do not remember who you are," Mary says, after a moment, when it seems clear that nobody is going to helpfully fill in the blank for her, "but I do know that I know you. I am sure I would remember if you told me."

HINT HINT.

"Quite right, Mary. I'm sure you would."

Gabriel raises his eyebrows at the young man.

"I'd think it'd be only polite for you to introduce yourself."

He may raise an eyebrow back at Gabriel. But only slightly, before he looks back to Mary.

"Robert Wasselford the third, heir to the Duke of Greyshire of Manorgate."

Wellard just about has his fingers crossed that Mary will start yelling at him for that. And if Gabriel really has not lost his memory....

Well then.

Hmmmm.

Heir to a manor is interesting, Mary supposes, but it doesn't seem like it says very much about him somehow.

"And how do I know you?" she presses.

There's not a flicker of reaction to the false name. Not overtly, anyway.

"Yes, Lord Robert, how do you know my daughter?"

Later, he will be facepalming over the alias. Oh well. Wellard manages a wry smile to the both of them.

"You met me here- about a year ago- though I've only met you recently." He gives a nod to Gabriel.

"Oh - so I come here often without Father?" Mary says, instantly interested, and then stops, looking rather wary.

". . . did you know I come here often without you?"

"You've always demonstrated a certain independence of spirit," he remarks.

Dryly.

-Gabriel certainly has not forgotten Mary, it seems. Even if they are both thinking that Mary is his daughter.

"Often enough." A bit amused, but that fades away.

"... If the both of you are alright, then- there is someone I need to find to talk to."

"Good evening, Lord Robert," Mary says.

It's hardly prim at all.

He gives a slight bow, socially correct and formal.

"Wăn ān, sir."

It is easier to be formal than to try to act at ease when he is not. Wellard gives a nod to Mary, then returns Gabriel's bow (though his manner is certainly more British than Chinese).

"Good evening, and I hope to continue to see the both of you around."

A step back, then he turns around to leave.

Marian has been making the round all night. She's still proper dressed, but her dark curling hair is tied back now and her eyes are growing to dark. Not to mention the pile in her arms isn't seeming to get smaller.

"Evening, to you both. Hope you don't mind the intrusion. Does everyone here know who they are?"

And, yes, there is a long lanyard hanging down from her neck, from which the "1" printed on it is peaking out over her pile.

Gabriel looks very politely startled.

"Dāngrán-- I'm Gabriel Tam, and this is my daughter Mary."

A well-bred pause, and then,

"And you, madam?"

"And why are you wearing a number?" Mary chimes in, staring rather obviously.

"I'm not rightly positive, sir." At this point she bowed her head diminutively. "Though they have taken to calling me Mary. Which actually goes along with the name tag," she said, her eyes settling upon the smaller Mary.

"There's a bout of amnesia that seems to be making it's way around the bar tonight. The numbers continue to grow as I ask people throughout. They've lost their names and their memories since before waking up."

That sparks real salarm, and Gabriel gives a swift glance to the younger, blonde Mary before looking back at the one with the numbers.

"Réncí de Fózŭ. Does anyone know what's causing it?"

Mary looks a little indignant. She's Mary!

"I'm sure you cannot be Mary too," she announces. "You must have a different name - and not a number either. But I do not know what it is; I have forgotten too. Only Father was with me so he remembers."

There's a sort of pride as she says it - both in her father, and in the mere distinguished fact of having been struck by an epidemic. It lends a sort of cachet!

Mary eyebrows at the strange language, but she was rather used to the gamut of responses after many hours at this. She simply shook her--and silently agreeing with Mary on numbers and names--answered the preceding questions.

"No, sir. We've little in the way of cause. I've found sixteen, near completely unrelated, people who've all experienced the same symptoms of memory loss starting simply at waking up here."

Her gaze did drop on Mary's last words, before her look shifted quickly to him. "You remember and she does not? Can you tell the precise details of how she lost her memory? You're the first person who's remember and been with someone who didn't."

That was hope. Not even creeping. It was bashing down the door.

He lays a protective hand on the younger Mary's (his daughter, of course she's his daughter, he's always had a daughter) shoulder, using the movement to try to disguise the tiny, swift shake of his head that he gives to the other Mary.

Gabriel's quite well aware that something's not right with him either, although it seems to not be affecting him as strongly as it is Mary. Overwork and overstrain, perhaps. In any case, he has no intention of alarming her.

"She's just not quite herself right now, but I'm sure she'll be better in the morning."

"I am myself," Mary corrects him, with dignity.

"I only do not know all of who myself is."

[Sorry about not being about until now tonight. Horrible family thing reared it's head at eight and swallowed me.]

There are certain things which though she does not remember them, have not forgotten her. One of the is helping people. The second is the subtle way she swept from Gabriel's head shake, to Mary's cross face, to the pile of number tags in her hands without her expression shifting even slightly.

Not-Mary busied herself for a moment, collecting the crest fallen part inside of her, pulling out two name tags, reading individually '15' and '16'. She raised her head, eyes darker than they had been before, but expression clear as she held out two name tags to Gabriel.

"Here. One of these is for your daughter; her number can be either and there is a place to write her name under it. Since you have some idea what this looks like already, I'm requesting you, please, take a second one in case you spot someone I don't."

Her meaningful, if not honest, glance looked over the wide bar area. "It's a large room and I'm bound to miss people."