milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a man in Milliways tonight that looks...a little tired. He's occupying a chair too far from the fireplace to be affected by it, hand resting over his eyes and pressing gently on his temples. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, as are the top few buttons of his shirt, and he looks like he has a headache, though probably less actually painful and more annoying.

He ends up with his curled fingers resting against his mouth, staring past the arm of his chair into space as he thinks.

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The things about staring into space is that things travel through that space. Like girls with blue hair and red eyes.

James, ordinarily, would not comment on this--it would be unseemly for a man of his age and standing to be so open around a young woman he doesn't know. But the blue hair catches his interest, and he watched her for a few steps before murmuring to himself: "How extraordinary."

Not long after Ako comes back the other way and settles back down sideways in an armchair to start back in on a notebook with a pencil. There are occasional pauses where she reaches down and grabs a book or staples stacks of paper from the floor for reference.

James watches her closely for a long few moments, but ultimately doesn't draw attention to himself. There's no reason to; she's doing research the same as he was not long ago--or perhaps not exactly the same--and he shouldn't bother her.

The coloring is interesting, of course, but he presumes it's a very odd dye, or she's not from his world, which given her clothing and their shared locale seems a reasonable assumption.

It is during one of those pauses to reach down that Ako knocks over her drink. The immediate result of this is a small flurry of activity and panic as she tries to save the books from a spreading puddle of Pepsi.

James at this point is still relatively young; no suit encumbers him and nothing really hinders his movements in his present state of what would be scandalous undress were he not in the bar.

He bends down to help her, picking up the stack of papers and books from the drink she's spilled. "Careful," he says.

"Thank-you," says Ako as she wipes some of the soda off a page before fanning the book to dry.

"I know but I didn't want to lose my place. I think it's a little late for that now."

A hand appears over his shoulder, holding a glass of brandy, James's favorite.

"And how was your day, old man?"

[ooc: I'm heading straight to bed, but slowtime?]

"Trying," he answers dryly, taking the drink with a wry twist of a smile. "As you should know, you were at least part of the cause."

"And yours?" He knows that Nikola by whatever point he's at is far older than he is currently, but he's always seen Nikola as something of the child of the group. He can't take much issue with being called old man. Much.

Nikola smirks as he takes a seat across from James. "You may have to refresh my memory on the date."

He takes a moment to enjoy a sip of his own drink before answering. "Busy. A bit trying as well."

He names the date easily--it wasn't a terribly memorable one, still months before they took the Source blood--but smiles lightly at Nikola, mouth twisted just enough to make it a point that he's being sarcastic.

"And what were you up to, dare I ask?"

Nikola smirks again, swirling his wine in his glass. "Saving the world, of course."

"Of course," he says lightly. "Aren't you always?"

Nikola chuckles. "It's a habit I picked up in my youth."

James can't help but wonder how much his friend has changed from his current time to whatever Nikola's is. "Among others, yes," he agrees, looking the inventor over with an amused expression. "I seem to recall a fair amount of baiting John and myself."

"Nonsense." He grins. "I never baited you."

"And you don't deny it for anyone else?" he chuckles.

"Certainly not for Johnny."

James raises a brow slowly. "You really never did like him, did you."

It isn't a question.

"Frankly, old man, I'm not sure why you did. Or anyone else."

"The same reason you trust Helen," he says. "Intelligence, wit...good chess partner." James shrugs lightly. "Though you might well have substituted something for that last."

There's just enough in his voice to be clear that he's being sarcastic, though his face remains impassive.

"Calling Druitt witty is like calling a rainshower winter."

And he doesn't comment on Helen as a chess partner. He knows she's quite good at chess. He's only speculating on anything beyond that.

"You might see more than anger out of the man if you weren't constantly trying the limits of his patience."

James knows Nikola is brilliant, and on another level of thought than the rest of them, but he's also arrogant with it. More than once he's wondered if Tesla simply doesn't know how annoying he is--or if he does and simply doesn't care. He'd rather the answer be neither of those, of course, but the options are otherwise slim. "But I hardly came here to rehash my day."

"That implies that he has patience to test." Which he's seen very little evidence of.

"What would you rather, then?"

"Almost anything else." Almost because it has to be complex enough to hold his attention, but anything else because as long as it doesn't deal with Oxford or this near-obsession of Helen's on hematology he'll take it.

"Chess or cards, you choose." It's a pity he hasn't seen that white cat again. It was quite the source of entertainment.

"Cards, then." He wants to see if his poker face has improved at all since they were so young.

"Piquet?"

He feels fairly confident Nikola will ~~forgive the mun if she doesn't actually know how to play it~~ be familiar with it still, and it's as easy a game as any other, as well as playable with only two.

~~He'd better as his mun doesn't know either.~~

"All right." He's quite familiar with it still, even if it has been a very long time since he played.

James accepts a deck of cards from one of the rats--though he doesn't exactly trust those things yet--and begins to flip through it, flicking out the cards they won't need. "You're unusually agreeable."

Nikola arches an eyebrow. "I have no reason to be otherwise."

"Fair enough."

Once he's done paring down their deck, he deals out a number to Nikola and the game begins; it's easy for them both to play and hold a conversation at the same time. "Tell me, when did you decide to lighten your accent?" Because James strongly suspects it was a conscious decision on his part.

[ooc: sorry things are taking so long with this thread, but the past few days have been difficult.]

It was, and it wasn't.

"When did I decide to finish perfecting my English, you mean?" He still could speak with a Serbian accent if he chose, but he sees the lack of it as a measure of how well he speaks English, which in fact, it is.

[ooc: No worries. I'm all for slowtiming.]

"Yes, that," he says, rather absently though with a gentle smile. "It's improved considerably."

"I've had quite a bit of time to work on it."

"Pardon me, but have I left a small pouch here by any chance?"

The voice is rich, deep and well-modulated. The owner of the voice is very tall, very long-haired, and very much looking like he just stepped out of an artist's idea of a Medieval court - if said idea involved long, embroidered tunics and thin, silver circlets. And leaf-shaped ears.

James looks up--and promptly blinks. He's never seen any sort of clothing precisely like that, though it distinctly brings to his mind images of pre-Renaissance Europe, mid-fourteenth century perhaps. The circlet would designate nobility as if that weren't writ plain on the man's face, and the ears...well, he has no idea about them. Perhaps a birth anomaly, perhaps not.

"I...don't believe so, no. There wasn't one when I arrived," he says, still looking up at the newcomer. He doesn't know quite what to make of this.

Elrond sighs and shakes his head a little "It is a good thing my hands are stuck to my arms or I would loose them too," he says, shaking his head at himself. He is smiling though.

That brings a small chuckle out of him, a twist of his mouth almost a semblance of a smile. "Surely not," he says. "Perhaps you should tie it to a belt?"

"Or rather," Elrond replies with a half-smile, "I should stop untying it." Then he gives a sort of half-bow and introduces himself, saying, "Elrond Half-elven."

"That may well improve your ability to find it," James says slowly. "James Watson. I will say your name is quite...unique."

"I take it that there are no elves where you are from?" Or perhaps, they simply do not marry Men. Not that the elves of Middle-earth ever made a habit of this.

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