milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It's unusual, really, to see the star much of anywhere on her own.

But she's there all the same - curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire with her legs over the armrest and a long white jacket slung over her lap. There's a neat slice on the side of one coatsleeve and a larger hole in the shoulder - and the fine, white string she's attempting to wrangle has stubbornly wound its way down her arm and doesn't seem particularly inclined to cooperate with any amount of frustrated glaring.

She's terrible at this. (Which, truthfully, is most of the motivation for not attempting it upstairs - where certain people could wake up and see.)

She's terrible at it, but that doesn't seem to make her particularly inclined to give up. She continues on, frowning stubbornly, curses soft and mumbled against bleeding fingers and messily tended material.

Interruption would be a blessing. Unless you happen to be a very angry sewing needle offended by the sort of language your tiny, prickly child might be picking up, mind you.

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"A star?" He blinks, then leans forward a little to scrutinize her closely. "You're a star? How come you don't look much like one?"

He touches her arm with a finger, poking really, and gives her an impressed look.

"How come you're here and not in the sky, then?"

"Well," she leans forward in turn, narrowing her eyes and poking him right back. "How do you know what we look like - met one before, have you?"

She smiles, eyes bright and skin brightening.

"I fell down."

"Well, no," he admits, grinning. "But I always thought stars were just lights in the sky. Not people-looking things."

He shrugs easily. "It's okay, though. So, how'd you fall?"

"Truthfully, when I was younger I was relatively convinced that people were all somewhere around this big," she holds out a hand, thumb and index finger parted slightly. "So I really cannot blame you."

Her fingers fold back into her lap.

"I was hit by a necklace. It's not all that pleasant, I wouldn't suggest that you try it."

"You got hit by a necklace?" James looks at her doubtfully, then lets out a laugh.

"Who threw a necklace that high up into the sky? Can people even do that?" Unless they know magic, or something.

The laughter makes her shimmer. He's rather cute like that - in a midgety sort of way.

"Utterly ridiculous, yes?"

"From what I understand," she elaborates. "It was tossed by a king - some sort of grand scavenger hunt for his sons."

James huffs, crossing his arms.

"Well, that's sort of dumb. What kind of silly king would do something like that?"

Hitting stars, and all that. It's weird, really.

"Things work strangely in Faerie," she tilts her head, voice low and musical, as if telling a story. "People do all matter of odd things - eating innards, kidnapping storytellers, flying pirate ships."

Though she's rather fond of the last one.

"You come from a really strange world," he says, expression lightening a bit as he listens with interest.

"I'm from the Wizarding World in London. And I'm afraid we've just got wizards and muggles there. No flying pirate ships that I've seen."

Her head tilts inquisitively, "And a muggle is?"

She does look suitably impressed to be in the company of a wizard, however, going so far as to sketch a slight bow for his benefit.

"And no flying pirate ships?" she frowns, clearly disapproving. "Now that is a terrible pity - forget the disapproval for inappropriate vocabulary."

"Muggles are people who aren't born with wizard blood, so they can't do any magic like wizards can," James explains smartly.

"And no. No flying pirate ships. You've seen one?"

"Ah," she nods. "So, they are essentially regular humans."

The waitrat returns around then, pushing a tiny cart brimming with all matter of sugary confections that would make dentists around the world weep. (Or see dollar signs before their eyes - either way.)

She flashes a grateful smile and leans forward curiously, offering a flippant, "Flown on one, actually."

James grins upon seeing the massive collection of candy (oh, his parents will not be pleased if they knew), but pulls his attention away from it for a moment in favour of flying pirate ships.

His eyebrows raise, impressed. "You did? What was it like? Were there real pirates - what are air pirates like, anyway? Are they the same as sea ones?"

"They catch lightning," she elaborates, turning a particularly colorfully packaged bit of something between her fingers. "And they have terrible table manners."

A quick grin.

"Knives are often tossed."

"They catch lightning?"

Okay, that is the coolest thing he's heard all day.

"Wow - did you get to try it, too? I would've liked to try it." He picks up one of the pumpkin pasties and begins to unwrap it.

"In metal nets and complicated jars."

She smiles, a bit sheepishly this time.

"I would have," the words drawl a bit more than is strictly necessary. "Except I have this habit of not being expressly fond of thunder."

It's not her fault, she swears!

James starts to laugh.

"That's okay. My sister can't stand lightning and thunder, either. She says she's fine, but I know she doesn't like it."

"You may feel free to do it for me next time."

More than welcome, really.

"I will consider it my duty to the piratical cause."

"All right!"

"I will hide in my cabin."

She arcs an eyebrow.

"Bravely."

He snorts out a laugh, nearly choking on his current candy of choice.

"It's okay - I won't tell anyone."

"You better not," she narrows her eyes in a mock-threat. "I know pirates."

She pops something rather chocolaty into her mouth innocently.

"I'll know them too, if I come and catch lightning," he says smugly, sticking his tongue out.

His expression becomes a grin.

She narrows her eyes into a rather unimpressive glare - purposefully, given her usual glaring standards are more than impressive.

"Ah, but they were my pirates first."

Arguing is refreshing.

"So? I can still take them. They'll like me better because I'll be out there helping them!"