milliways_bar | (no subject)

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In spite of the inhospitable weather in this odd little world, Sandry has been very keen to explore outside at Milliways. So she'd worn the warmest clothes she'd had at hand (which, given that it's summer in Emelan, aren't all that warm) and a thin cloak that she'd located in Dicipline Cottage's storage room, and struck out towards the lake to see what there was to see.

She'd made it about fifteen minutes before she'd retreated back into the bar.

Sandry, for the record, is not fond of cold weather.

Now she's standing near the hearth, hands tucked underneath her arms, hopping up and down slightly, hoping that her fingers will thaw out well enough to be able to spin thread again someday.

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There's a boy not far away, only a couple years her senior and looking amused.

His table has a sign, and two small piles of sketches, though he seems to be quite ignoring them.

"Cold?"

"Cold? It's freezing outside," Sandry replies.

Not ceasing to hop.

"Is it like this all the time? Or does it warm up?"

"Sometimes it is summer," he says, with a bit a laugh. "Elsewise we'd never get the boat built."

"Are you from someplace warm?"

"Emelan," Sandry replies.

She takes her hands out from under her arms, cups them over her mouth, and blows on them, warming her fingers and, as a bonus, her button nose.

"It's summer there. And even in winter it's never this cold."

An aversion to cold weather was one of the reasons Sandry had not been keen to go live with her Namornese kin in the north. She vastly preferred her great-uncle, Duke Vedris and his more temperate realm.

"Ah," he says, with a small smile. "The name's not familiar--is it on Earth?"

This is Finn carefully skirting the issue of cold winters. He's known a colder one, and longer, and it was the best (worst) winter of his life.

"No," Sandry replies. "I've met a great number of people from Earth though. Is that where you're from?"

The warmth from the fire has begun to sink in a bit, causing Sandry to remember her manners.

"I'm Sandry. It's nice to meet you."

"No," he says, "but most people here seem to be. I'm Finn dan Shahar--I used to live in Brennin, in the world of Fionavar. It is good to meet you, Sandry."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" Sandry agrees. "And I think half of those people are from a place called England."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Finn dan Shahar." Sandry cocks her head curiously at him. "Used to live? Where do you live now?"

"Yes," he laughs, slightly, "that's where most of my friends from Earth come from. And--you can call me Finn."

Then his face closes off, a bit. "Here. It's a small world, but it's not uncomfortable."

"You live in Milliways?"

It strikes Sandry as odd, but only for a few seconds. She's met people here who are Bound, and in her short life had gotten used to the notion that people live in all sorts of different ways, in different circumstances.

She smiles.

"I would think it must feel like quite a big world here. What with all of the people who come and go."

[OOC: Ack, sorry, I looked away for too long!]

"Yes," he says, not expounding. "I--."

Finn stops. "That's--"

And he shrugs. "The people here are kind, for the most part."

What he doesn't want to say, not to a little girl he doesn't know, is they're loud and they make no sense and the clatter and they suffocate and no matter where I run I cannot get away (I do not know these stars and I don't know how that can be). So he doesn't. But there is a stiffness about him.

[OOC: No worries!]

"I've found them to be so, yes," Sandry agrees without hesitation.

The shift in Finn's manner does not go unnoticed, though Sandry has no real idea what to make of it.

"What sorts of things to you do, living here?" she asks. "You mentioned something about a boat--do you sail on the lake?"

"Sketch," he says, nodding to the piles of sketches by him, "and--we're--Henry and I are-- building a flying boat, actually. It's not done yet."

Sandry steps closer to look at the sketches, and raises her eyebrows appreciatively. She's not much of an artist herself, unless it involves cloth and thread, but these look quite good to her.

Even though she can't quite wrap her head around what the subject of the sketches is supposed to be.

"A flying boat?"

Most of them are of the outside, actually--only some are of the flying ship.

"Well," Finn says, embarassed, "Henry would call it a ship. There's something to do with one of his friends and magic--mostly I just help with the carpentry."

The sketches of the outdoors are quite pretty, but the ones of the ship are the most eye-catching for the sheer strangeness of the subject.

"There's a great deal of magic in my world, but I've never heard of any sort of magic that could make a ship fly," Sandry says.

Finn shrugs. "The sky magic likely could, but I think they would have to keep up the powerflow so that it might stay in the air, and few of them would be willing to risk that. And the priestesses of Dana--"

He breaks off with a laugh. "They would find it very childish, I think."

"Why?" Sandry asks. "I imagine a ship that could fly would be quite useful."

Sandry very much appreciates things that are useful.

"Perhaps not at sea. If there was a storm it would probably fare worse than a ship on the water would. But it could fly over land, couldn't it?"

"Yes," he says, "but they find most things that don't directly deal with Dana to be childish," he exlains, with a shrug. "And they get very cross if you disagree."

"Dana is one of your gods?" Sandry asks matter-of-factly.

In Sandry's world there are many pantheons of gods and goddesses spread among various cultures and kingdoms. And for the most part they seem to manage to coexist peacefully.

"I've met some priests and dedicates who are like that. The stuffy ones," she adds dryly.

"No," he says, sharply, "I worship no gods."

Then, gentler, "But some in Fionavar do worship her. And she is better than most--I have reason to be thankful to her."

Sandry draws back ever so slightly at his sharp tone and gives him a quizzical look.

But people's relationships--or no--with their gods is a very personal thing, so Sandry decides to try to turn to a safer topic.

"Where will you fly in your ship once it's finished?"

"Sorry," he says, quietly embarassed. "Ah--we plan to go exploring, mostly. Not with our first ship, it's too small, and mostly just to make sure we know what we are doing."

"It sounds exciting."

"I've never flown on a ship, of course. But I've always like sailing on them. They're so busy with all the people on board, but then you look out on the sea and it's quiet and peaceful."

Said the child with the strong stomach and sturdy sea-legs. Her mother hadn't been half so fond of ocean travel.

"I've never sailed," he says, with a quiet smile, "but the sea is beautiful, and flying--"

Finn shrugs, self-conciously.

"You don't want to come down."

"My parents liked to travel," Sandry explains. "I spent a lot of time on board ships. And in carriages. And on horseback."

But no flying.

"You've flown before then?"

"Yes," he says, "were your parents merchants, or?"

"Nobles," Sandry replies.

"But they never cared for staying in once place very long. They liked to see new things, meet new people. I think we traveled over half the world when I was growing up."

"Well, probably not half," she adds with a smile. "But we traveled a great deal."

He smiles back.

"You must have enjoyed that."

"I did," Sandry says wistfully.

Not so much the traveling--though she had enjoyed seeing new things and meeting new people too.

But it was the company of her mother and father that she had enjoyed most of all.

"But I find I like staying in once place now too."

"Are you at a school now?"

Sandry nods.

"At a place called Winding Circle Temple. I've been there since early spring."

He smiles at her. "Long enough, then, if it is winter where you are now. You're training to be a priestess, or...?"

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