milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Since she left London, Jane has felt numb, she could not say for certain what she has done with Cassandra in Plymouth. They have walked by the sea and she knows they must have talked but her thoughts keep circling around to Tom telling her they cannot be together.

When a door opens onto Milliways, she stares for quite a long time before walking through. She is not dressed for much company other than her sister with her dark hair in a long braid down her back and a simple blue dress.

It looks as if a battle has been fought here with a great many repairs under way, but Milliways seems to have survived.

When she reaches the counter, she runs a hand along the wood as her tea appears and says quietly, "Thank you. I fear I have missed a great deal."

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"Do not fear," Urquhart says, out of the dark corner where he has been leaning. "I don't think you missed anything you'd want to have."

At his voice, she spills a little of her tea,

"That sounds quite ominous, Mister Urquhart. Would you care to explain?"

"I wasn't here for the end of it, either, Miss Austen," Urquhart says. "But it seems to have been several apocalypses at once."

She looks around once more, the signs of repair and damage are obvious, "I see. Was anyone harmed?"

"None of them lastingly, I take it," Urquhart says. "But rather a lot of things were broken in the process."

"It seems as if they are in the process of being mended. I am relieved to know that no great harm has come to anyone here,"

It would be another joy lost to her.

"Yes, people have been working rather hard," Urquhart says.

Other people.

He reckons he was one of the damaged things, so shouldn't have to help with the repairs.

"Perhaps I will see if I can be of some assistance,"

That would provide a distraction from her own thoughts.

"You don't have to, Miss Austen!" Urquhart says. "You didn't damage anything, after all."

If she wants to help, then he'd feel honour bound to help her with it in turn. Chivalry, even the budding 13th century chivalry that he'd known in France, wouldn't possibly let him do anything else.

"I know, but it would be remiss of me not to,"

It will keep her from having to discuss any of what has transpired in her life.

"What would you like to do?" Urquhart says.

Well, if she decides to help, he will help her with the helping.

"I do not know what might be needed,"

She takes a drink of her tea and looks around once more, there must be a chore she can take on.

"We could do some gardening," Urquhart says. "There's seedlings to be put in where plants were trampled, and seed boxes to be prepared, and so on. We can see what the lady who runs the garden has laid out. I help with watering and weeding in the summer, anyway."

"Yes, that would work. I can easily explain away a small amount of dirt," It will be something to do.

"But first, I must let you finish your tea in peace, Miss Austen," Urquhart says.

"Of course, yes," She is aware that she should be asking more about what has transpired but she doesn't know where to begin.

"I don't really know what happened," Urquhart says, noticing her hesitation or uncertainty. "I wasn't here at the end. And the ones that were here wax poetic about it."

"That must make it difficult to know what truly occurred."

"Yes," Urquhart says. "So 'some apocalypses with random amounts of monsters, red skies, earthquakes and shenanigans outside the window' must suffice for now. I'm sure I'd understand about the shenanigans if I asked the right person, but it's not the time yet for anyone to indulge a merely curious dead medieval Scotsman."

"I see. I am quite certain when you decide to learn the details that you shall."

"Yes, I mean to, in all it's bizarreness and with a lot of science from the future which doesn't scare me at all," Urquhart grins.

"No, of course. I recall how you are rather impervious to fear and other emotions,"

She found it a strange thing to be proud of but it was what he chose.

"Yes, at some stage, a man has seen so much horror, the fine instruments in his soul that adjust such emotions appropriately just break down," Urquhart shrugs. "At least that's what I've come to understand. It doesn't effect everyone, but strikes at random. I read about a man who drove a big engine, in the future, that goes very fast and with terrible power, and driving one of them is a dream little boys have, just like they might dream of being knights in my time. However, if somebody wants to end his or her life, throwing themselves in front of such an engine as it comes hurtling down its immovable track is a very certain method of doing so. With the first three times that happened to him, that man driving the engine could deal with it just fine. After the fourth time of the same, he broke down utterly and had to give up his beloved trade."

"How terrible to feel such pain associated with what you love,"

Her writing is a kind of protection from her current pain. She can write and create a kinder world than her own.

"Yes," Urquhart says, "I think if it's connected to what you love and are proud of, it's worse. That is a very wise observation of you."

He thinks a moment.

"I was a knight, what every little boy dreamed of being, in my time," he muses. "A crusader knight proud of his mission and faith and honour. And then, I saw it all trampled into the bloody sand, and I couldn't take it."