first entrance.

[flawlines.livejournal.com]

It's snowing in London.

Cold air comes in through the door before an actual figure does — so does snow, fluttering in the air for a moment longer before it falls to the ground.

The figure itself is lean, for lack of a better word. (His robes seem a little too big for his frame.) 'Beleaguered' is probably the best term to put to his appearance; his clothes fall solely in the grey or brown color categories, and, darned and patched in several places, they do nothing to help his pale complexion. Scars dot his skin, those on his forehead only partially obscured by light brown hair that is already greying.

Initially, he doesn't seem to realize that he isn't where he intended to be. (It's been that kind of day.) He's rifling through one of his pockets, looking for something that he never actually gets around to finding. Two steps in, he stops cold. For the briefest of moments, there is something very, very sharp about the look that he casts about the bar. It doesn't go away, per se, but it does quickly get shuffled behind his usual mild-mannered persona.

(For those who keep an eye on such things, his right hand almost immediately forms a fist, wrist twisted so that his thumb points directly down towards the ground.)

Alright, he thinks, alright.

He can figure it out, one way or another.

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[flawlines.livejournal.com]

She isn't one of the first people that he notices. His immediate concerns are the people closest to him, but the look that she's giving him is one that he's all too familiar with. He blinks a couple of times (that looks means I know what you are and it's often meant you're out of a job again) before offering up a quick, hesitant sort of smile.

Remus Lupin, the wolf, is no laughing matter.

Remus Lupin, the man, on the other hand, has never been one to make waves.

She's seated far enough from him that he doesn't make any effort (yet) to speak to her or assuage whatever fears she may have. (He wonders, yes, how she knows about his condition — it usually takes most at least a little time to figure things out — but his physical state, he supposes, would be enough to put a person on edge.) Instead, he takes a few steps to the side so he isn't directly in front of the door, trying to gain a grasp on the bar proper.

[katyafeline.livejournal.com]

He smiles.

He smiles?

A werewolf hasn't smiled at her in decades.

...

Not after they cleaned out that den that was hunting humans at random from the tunnels underneath the Fountain House. She'd been seventeen, and what her fighting style lacked in grace, it was made up for in enthusiasm and the energy of sheer terror.

No matter.

He smiled. Generally that's not something done. At least not between her and werewolves. There's some Dark witches and warlocks she'll at least nod at, having come up against enough times that they know each other in the street. There's Anton's family of vampires.

So now the wide-eyed stare has morphed into one of complete confusion. What she wouldn't do for the strength to do more than catch faint hints from the Twilight.

[flawlines.livejournal.com]

A few beats pass before Lupin tries anything else.

(The place is — a little incomprehensible.)

"I'm sorry," he begins, almost mumbling before he clears his throat, raising a hand as if he didn't already have her attention.

"Could I bother you for a few directions? I seem to have made a wrong turning somewhere."

[katyafeline.livejournal.com]

.......

A polite, well-spoken, friendly werewolf.

She stares at him in stunned incomprehension before that little voice that says 'he asked a question, idiot child, answer him'. A lot of the voices in her head sound a lot like her childhood instructors.

"You did not mean to come to Milliways... sir?" She asks, Moscow heavy in her accent. The 'sir' is an honorific she's never given a werewolf before...

But. But.

Katya is very confused.

[flawlines.livejournal.com]

(He doesn't entirely know what to make of her reactions. Usually, simple surprise doesn't last very long, and turns into either outright disgust and fear, or awkwardness.)

"Ah, no," he replies, cocking his head to one side. "Milliways, then? I — don't actually believe I've ever heard of it before."

[katyafeline.livejournal.com]

She is over three-quarters of a century old. This is the very very first time she has encountered a polite, well-spoken werewolf. And of course, she's as weak as a mouse, which is already disconcerting to the fighting tiger of Moscow.

"It is a bar, at the end of the universe. People come here by many ways... but most through the door, from their own world."