milliways_bar | Two Guys walk into a Bar.

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Two Guys walk into a Bar.

Well. Not quite. There is one Guy is holed up in an otherwise empty booth, referencing the current state of Milliways against the last chapter in the book he is reading.

There is, however, a small face peeking around the Door. He seems to have found the magic room that hides in his home once again. It is a shame that his brother and sisters are not near so that they can see he was telling the truth before.

Still, that does not mean he cannot see if the

queenofmay is still here. It's with this in mind that the small boy enters and hovers next to the Door.

[OOC: Two Guys. One dead, one tiny. Have either one, the other or both!]

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"Perhaps, we should get you out of the way," of all the insanity taking place in the main bar for the most part. It takes the breadth of the consideration in the bright, beaming face. He is so very young, still, isn't he.

And at least he wasn't crying. (At least she wasn't wondering if he was hers.)

"The couches over there might be more comfortable?" More childproof by far than high traffic areas where people looked between all the newest intruding objects and appearances in Milliways.

"I had cake!" Because obviously, sharing this excitement is more important than any kind of response to a question.

Still, Guy places his small hand in hers and moves towards the couches.

It is not the answer to the question she asked, but it is the answer to why his fingers, when taken by hers, are sticky. She led him toward the alcove with the chairs and couches and fireplace regardless, without letting go.

"Did you, then?" Trying not to note he might be the only beaming, happy person in the room. "And what kind of cake did you find?"

"Yes!" There is still the buzz of cakecakecakecakecake in Guy's excited energy and when he licks his lips he can still taste the few sticky remnants that the elder Guy's napkin missed.

"It was spice cake! Mama only lets me have cake for special occasions but Guy said I could have some!" It's only now that he remembers his former companion.

Marian couldn't possible had heard that right.

"Guy -- Sir Guy? -- Gave you you cake?" But even as she was asking the question, fingers a touch more possessively on the tiny hand in hers, she'd looked up from her. And she was scanning the bar all around her for the first time.

The boy nods vigorously, pointing with his other hand in Guy's general direction.

"He knows Mama and Papa!"

And he is tall like a giant.

He would. Marian has the urge to brush her fingers across her face just having to consider this truly, deeply impossible providence the Bar has just saddled her with.

But there is a small hang flung out that way.

Which is when she locates Him. Sitting in a booth.
With a piece of cake on a plate. Facing her. Of course.

It's more like half of a piece of cake when Guy notices Marian looking at him in a way that makes him wonder if he has cake filling on his face too, even though he is using a fork.

He does like cake. Some things don't change.

Right. Not awkward at all. Holding the hand of incredibly tiny six-year-old Guy. Staring across the room at him dead.

All that cake might have given Guy a little too much energy. Just a tiny bit.

He tugs on Marian's hand a little to regain her attention.

"Princess?"

She looks down, at the instant, but sudden familiarity.

His voice is coming from much lower, and the register is higher, because he is young, and if it had been Marian instead of Princess, she had heard herself bade like that before. By him. That near plaintive, focused note, even in a child.

"I'm coming." Leading him, by his hand, and thus both of them toward the couches. It was only awkward to think that He was, also, watching her, with his younger self now.

To the dead man eating cake in a booth, watching his younger, living self in the care of the woman he loves makes a certain amount of sense.

Perhaps he has always loved her, but spent much of his life not knowing.

The younger Guy, however, merely trots excitedly after Marian. "Do you like spice cake?"

"Honestly," Marian says, when she sits on a couch cushion, waiting to see if he will manage or might want help. "When I was your age, I was enamored with berry pies."

It takes a little work, and a little puffing and scrambling, but Guy manages to climb into a comfortable position on the couch. More or less.

He does scrunch his nose a little at the mention of berry pies.

"Our cook makes sour berry pies."

Marian wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. "That would be a terrible thing. I do not like those. My favorites were from fair's that would come through in the late spring, and you could smell even half the drive to them."

O_O

Berry pies that are not sour? This is a marvel to Guy. A marvel enough that he thinks very hard about it.

"Can you take me?"

Marian was a little confused by the guilelessness of the request, leaving her considering her own words just said before. "To a fair?"

He nodded eagerly.

Guy wanted berry pie that was not sour.

And fairs had games and sweets and excitement!!

"I do not know when another one will be coming up." Another one where the point was not to catch Robin Hood in an archery contest. "But-" She added, to at least save of brushing aside such joy and focus. "Should it happen in the future, and I have the ability, perhaps, I will see if I can. Or at least bring one for you."

:D:D:D:D

That is the expression of a very happy, excited little boy.

"Would you?" Guy practically licks his lips in anticipation of a sweet berry pie, before declaring, "I would be very good."

He has discovered that sometimes he has missed out on treats because he has not been as good a boy as he should be. He does not like missing out on treats.

Marian smiled, repressing a laugh, as she shook her head. "Are you not very good, already?"

Except the words had fallen out of her mouth, before she could take them back. Before she could question once more, how something so small and so innocent could become the man likely watching her from across the room still.

"I am good!!!"

YES. There shall be no jeopardising of a maybe trip to the fair.

"But Mama and Cook do not like me to eat the pastries in the pantry."

He thinks carefully.

"Or play with the dogs in the mud."

This time she does laugh, softly, it escaping first. Before she reached out out to tuck some of his wayward hair behind his ear. "They probably do know what is is best. Do you have many dogs?"

One small hand is produced and one, two, three, four, five fingers are counted out before a second hand appeared.

A single thumb extended from the second fist before Guy wrinkled his nose and frowned a little at his hands.

Has he forgotten anyone?

He doesn't think so.

"This many!" Guy turned his hands to show Marian. "But they are Papa's dogs really."

"Six," it's a gentle prompt, and it's only when she leans against the couch, that she realizes she's getting carried away in this. Questions whether that is smart. Feels that elastic tension that makes her want to glance over her shoulder.

"Do you have a favorite?"

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