milliways_bar | (no subject)

We ride at the hour past dawn tomorrow.

Duke Roger's closing words continue to echo through Alanna's mind long after she should have been asleep. Tossing and turning begins to lose any appeal around midnight, so she checks her binding, pulls on her clothes and scoops up a sleepy Faithful. After buckling Lightning to her hips, Alanna pads out of her room, past Jonathan's, and only lets herself breathe once she's alone in the hallway.

The decisions made in the meeting of Duke Roger's commanders are making her extremely uneasy and a little ill. She knows Jonathan is angry at his new command, far from Fort Drell, but Alanna is upset for other reasons that have everything to do with a deep suspicion of the man who decided to place him there.

"Maybe a few hours at Milliways will allow me to rest," she murmurs to the heavy cat wrapped around her neck. "I doubt we'll be able to go there again for a long while, after all."

Faithful fails to respond.

She moves quietly through the halls and is careful to look around before slipping through the door to the bar. It's loud and bright after the quiet corridors of the sleeping palace, but she's glad of the noise, the life. If she can't get to the Dove, this is the next best thing.

Rubbing one of her eyes, Alanna settles into a chair by the fire and hopes a wait rat will happen by soon. She's awake, yet curiously far too tired and preoccupied to see about getting some tea herself.

[OOC: I wanted to go ahead and get this up. I will be around for a bit, but I'll need to beg slowtimes almost immediately this AM. It is open forever, however, and I will be around to tag as much as my super annoying body lets me! :) ]

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Mac's smile had frozen until the appearance of Alan's own, attaching more than he'd like to admit on the desire to see him happy.

"Oh, same old, same old," he says. "Just took hold of some of most delightful silks you have ever seen."

He takes a moment to kiss the tips of two fingers and a thumb. "Magnifico."

That makes her laugh. The word might not be exactly familiar, but it's near enough; also his demeanor is that of every salesman she has ever run across at market.

"Silks," she replies. "I'm not one to fuss over them, but I'll take your word for it."

"Well, you are still just a squire," Mac says, waving a hand dismissively. "When you are a knight and a lord, if you are like the others, you'll be fussing and preening like the fanciest lady."

It might be worth pointing out that Mac is in almost exactly the same outfit he was last seen in, give or take a waistcoat.

Alanna does not cough and look around for the water she'd requested.

She doesn't.

But only because she is exhaling very slowly through her teeth.

"I doubt that very much. I intend to ride off and have grand adventures. Silks seem like they wouldn't travel well."

"Oh really?"

Not that Mac disbelieves him or anything.

"Actually, it can last longer than you'd think. Lightweight, it'll serve you in hotter climes and spare the back of your horse. And of course, you want nothing thicker under all that armor."

Edited 2012-11-19 02:22 (UTC)

Alanna snorts. "I'm always cold. You're just as likely to find me wearing a woolen cloak in the desert as you are up north."

Beat.

"But I thank you for the advice. I will keep it in mind."

Really!

"Is it all just magnificent silks in Milan, then?"

"Oh, no, not at all," he says easily.

"Sometimes it's silver and gems, too."

Her eyebrows go up.

"Is that all you do? Trade in silks and silver and gems?"

It sounds teasing, but she's honestly curious.

"Sometimes I seek out small items for the more... discerning gentleman."

He wrangles scraps and junk for Leo.

"Nobles?"

Alanna sighs and stretches out her legs, studying the now highly polished surface of her boots.

"Do you always come here from the same place?"

"Not always," Mac admits.

That, at least is the truth, because there's no reason to lie about it.

"Do you?"

Her lips twist into a smirk. Then, "Thus far."

She adjusts her position again, fiddling with the hilt of her sword. Next she picks it up, resting it on her lap and staring at it, then the fire.

Alanna is restless.

"We're riding out from the palace tomorrow. I don't know how long we'll be gone from Corus. I'm hoping I'll be able to find my way here through other doors."

If only so she can shove Jon through them when she needs to protect him.

Mac's frown is thoughtful, and has nothing to do with the worry Alan might not come to the bar for a while. He watches the fiddling with a furrowed brow.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Drell River Valley," she answers, voice toneless. "Duke Hilam of Tusaine thinks to take it for his own."

She lifts her gaze to Mac, studying his frown, returning it.

"War."

"Oh."

His frown deepens.

"No point in asking you not to go, I presume?"

"Why?"

Alanna's smile is both bemused and a bit saucy.

"Would you miss me?"

Even so, she shakes her head no; there's no point.

A shrug. "It's my duty."

And she wants to go, really.

"What?" Mac splutters, eyes wide and flustered. "No!

"I mean," because it's not fair that he wouldn't miss him. It's just he doesn't want Alan to think he'd miss him that much, "it's dangerous. War and that."

Alanna smirks.

"That's the idea, anyway. But don't worry. I'm hard to kill."

She really, really hopes.