milliways_bar | (no subject)

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In a bit of numismatic irony, American coins (including the brass dollars) are mostly copper--except for pennies, which are mostly zinc.

This has very little to do with anything, except that Weyland has busied himself, the past few days, with defacing currency in pursuit of creation. Or, possibly, to turn the $4.73 in pocket change he'd brought with him into something of much more value, just in case. It's best to make the most of what you have, when you don't know when you'll be able to get more.

Either way, he has turned his handful of change into a handful of feathers--swan feathers, to be precise, only smaller and varying in color between copper and silver--and currently, he is at a table near the bar, turning a length of wire into a length of chain to string the feathers on.

He doesn't mind company, and he is even not smoking at the moment, as the forge has given him his share of dirty air for the day.

[tiny tag: Weyland]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There is a book about Quidditch put on the table. With the rest of this stuff.

He glances over at the book, as it appears, and then looks up.

"Good afternoon," he says.

Ginny smiles. "Oh I'm interrupting you?"

"Not at all," he says, "I can do this and listen at the same time. How are you?"

"I am good. Just what I hoped figured out a way to help with people's tabs."

"Money would seem to be a problem around here, especially for those who cannot go home," he nods, twisting the wire around the tip of the pliers. "The bar has a bit of a monopoly--one cannot find a different hotel, and unless one can eat what can be found outside, food is equally controlled."

"I've never thought of it like that but I guess that's true. Are you bound?"

"I am," he says, "but money isn't yet a problem for me. There are things I can sell if I have to, and with luck I will be able to go home before I have to sell too much."

He hates the idea of being in debt. Being in debt means other people have power over him.

Ginny smiles.

"Oh I see well if you need help..." She shows him her sign.

Got Bar Tab?
Then this may be the thing for you. I was talking to friends and got an idea.
singles auction, it seems like something that would help. I don’t think you have
to be single. Just offer companionship for sale. You know just a friend
for the evening or day depending one what is worked out. Don’t have
a tab but still want to play? Simply play then donate it to a fund or friend that
didn’t want to participate. Or keep the cash there is no rule that says you have
to apply it to any bar tab. For questions, inquiries or just plan curious.
See Ginny Weasley.

He sets the pliers down, looking at the sign.

"I doubt I am the sort of companionship most people would want to pay for, but if you need participants..."

Ginny nods.

"I don't think it can hurt. Would you like to sign up to me auctioned off then?"

"It would be something to do," he says after a moment. "I hope there will be a buyer."

Ginny smiles. "I think there will be. I don't know the auction time."

She passes him the signing up Parchment.

"This won't cost me my soul, I hope?" he asks, glancing at the parchment.

Ginny looks at him and smiles. "I don't think so. Just a little time."

"Very well," he says, and extends a pen from his swiss-army hand to sign his name: Weyland, in ornate and precise script.

Ginny looks over and smiles.

"Ohh pretty writing."

"Thank you," he says, retracting the pen back into his hand. "I built a writing machine once, to amuse a king. It was a thing of beauty, and it wrote just like that."

"I am impressed. By all of it." She rolls the Parchment back up.

"I can't write that neat even when trying."

"I would wager that I've had a lot longer to practice it than you have," he says, with a flicker of amusement. "And writing was much different then, too. When paper is rare, people don't want to deface it with bad handwriting."

"I guess, That is true, as for much longer practice you don't look that old"

She smiles slightly. Yes she remembers her told her he's immortal.

"This isn't quite how I normally look," he explains. "Though I don't know that I look much older, even then. Time is a strange thing."

"Yes it is. I think you look good." Oh boy did she just say that?

"...thank you," he says after a moment, not entirely accustomed to that kind of compliment. "The result of a good bit of magic, nothing more."

"I don't think it matters why, you just are. What are you making?"