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Writing poetry is hard, Will has spent quite a lot of time doing things to his quill with his knife rather than write.

He's lost somewhere in a stack of books and a journal with a fairly blank page in front of him, he loves Kate but how in the world does he say that in pretty language.

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Atton's bruises are gone, save for a very faint ring around his throat, but his shoulder injury hasn't healed yet, so Will may well be able to see the wrappings around it.

"Tell me you're not trying to write poetry."

"'asna really worked."

He looks up and notices the bandage,

"Who'd ye fight?"

"Boba Fett. He tried to shoot me after I won," Atton shrugs. "Well. He held a gun to my head, I threw him away with the Force, and he shot. Grazed my shoulder."

Beat. "Fun fight, though."

Will sighs,

"Ye're na to get shot if ye can 'elp it. Guppy will yell."

"Guppy was surprisingly calm about it, actually. He got me cake. I liked the cake."

"Was good o''im. 'ope that Boba fellow looks worse than ye."

"Well, we both looked kinda mangled. I've healed since then. Broke his nose, though, and his leg."

"Good for that then. Is 'e someone ye know from yer world?"

"No. He's from my world, but four millenia into the future."

"Oh aye so round Gavin's time then?"

"Yeah, thereabouts."

"Least ye werena 'urt too badly then."

"This gunshot wound hurts, though. Can't take any painkillers, they don't work."

"Could Sam's magic aid ye in na 'urtin' as much?"

Dubiously: "Maybe."

"Na good to be 'urtin' if ye dinna need to be."

"I can manage."

"Then let me least buy ye a drink, need one after all this poetry, makes me 'ead 'urt. Also met an older Kate, was strange."

"Oh? Did she say anything about the future?"

"Na too much, showed me a picture o'us with our children an said should be forgivin' o'Kate when she gets back. Guess goin' to be a 'ard time for 'er in 'er world this time."

"It seems t'always be a hard time in Kate's world."

Pot. Kettle.

"S'your birthday soon, right?" Possibly with a tinge of jealousy. It's good-natured jealousy, though, more dude! I'm so jealous! Radical! than I'm bitter and jealous of you, like some sort of resentful citrus fruit.

"Oh aye, 'ad forgotten 'bout it. Wish could do somethin' more to 'elp 'er but dinna always understand 'er world 'nough to do any good."

"Anyone setting up a party for you? I'd offer, but I'm not the organisational type. And you'll be able to help her when she comes back to the bar, so it'll all be alright."

"Nay, will probably just buy e'eryone a round."

"I'm a little jealous," obvious statement is obvious, "don't have a birthday."

Beat. Squint. "Shouldn't people be buying you rounds on it?"