milliways_bar | (no subject)

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medusa

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Ah, London. Full of a variety of bars in which one can pass their time and lose their worries. Mrs. Lovett had had enough of local bars and really didn't desire to deal with their usual patronage. So she wound through a few extra streets and came up to a door that seemed promising.

Opening it, she stepped inside and stopped cold.

"Oh, fiddle. I forgot to take off my apron."

The clash of times and people are apparently lost on her as she weaves towards the Bar, head down, hands scrubbing at a flour stain -- one of many -- upon her apron.

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"I'm sure it doesn't matter," comes a low, clear voice from near the fire. The owner is a small, dark-haired woman embroidering a red cloak.

A small, dark-haired woman with large golden wings and black snakes tumbled through her black braids.

Giving up on the stain, she looks up as she's spoken to. At least she thinks she's the one being spoken to.

"I just prefer to be more presenta- oh, my, aren't you an interesting one. Did you just come from a ball? Those wings are amazing- they can't be from London! I'd've seen them a'fore." As if she knew everything about fashion.

She speaks with a lower-class London accent. A fairly old accent, at that.

One day, Medusa will speak English, and English with a British accent. Now...her accent is odd. Unplacable.

(Morocco, circa 1800 B.C.E.)

Still, she grins at the compliment.

"Thank you, miss. And no, they aren't from London. I was born with them."

Taken aback, Mrs. Lovett places a hand to her chest.

"Why, that's... dear, people don't have wings."

But then, she always was a bit of an odd duck. She makes her way slowly nearer, leaving behind thoughts of a good stiff drink for the moment.

"Do they?"

"I do. My triplets do. My siren sisters five do. My older sister Ekidna did, when she lived. My father does, when he so chooses...People, but not human."

"Amazing, simply amazing. I ain't never heard of such a thing!"

She shakes her head, brushing hands on her apron absently.

"Might be from different worlds, ma'am."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Lovett lifts a hand to tug at her hair a bit.

"That's such a silly thought, ain't it? Diff'rent worlds. I mean, unless you're talking about heaven and hell, but you don't look anything like I'd imagine an angel to look."

"I'm not an angel, but a Gorgon. And here...there are many worlds. You stepped from yours into here."

It just boggles the mind. Even a mind as off-kilter as Mrs. Lovett's.

"My world? Why, we're in London deary. Just outside that-" And someone else enters and she's baffled for a moment at what's outside.

"Huh."

"There's the, uh. Window over there, ma'am."

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