milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

There is in Milliways an immortal who is busy looking over papers and setting the affairs contained on them in order for an absence of his; at his elbow there's a large mug of coffee, brewed strong and black, but he's not drinking it.

No, on the contrary it has cinnamon sticks, black peppercorns, cloves and cumin powder in it, and while the smell is very aromatic, the taste isn't very good at all. But it serves its purpose as he's mixing henna dye paste, testing the mix every few minutes to see how easily and darkly it dyes. Depending on when you come by, he may be in progress of a tattoo on one hand up to the wrist.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"That is a very tame spring-flood, indeed, if it doth not spring high upon this house," Poins says.

The seas are rougher where he comes from.

"This is why they call the ocean pacific," he reminds Poins. "The storms here are rarely so rough as they are on the other side of the world."

"So men may build their house upon the beach, and place foundations safely in the sand," Poins nods.

"Indeed. But come along, we can walk a little ways on the beach. It's bright, I warn you, but it is pretty."

"Such warmth and sunlight, and such southern balms!" Poins says. "For sooth, that needs no warning!"

"But the sun can burn here, and it aches terribly, and there is no way to cure it, only to treat the sensation a little."

"Then one must stay within the house, and not go out?" Poins says, confused.

"No, just be careful of how long you spend in the sun, that's all."

"Not being fair, I will not burn so soon," Poins says. "Just tell me when I had enough of that bright sun?"

"I will," Ganymede says, smiling as he opens the door to the beach for Ned, and follows him out. The afternoon sun is lengthening and setting over the water, turning it fabulous colors of blue, green, orange, pink.

"This is my home. This is beautiful to me."

"Tis beautiful not just to thee, but sweet and lovely to the eyes of any man that hath them," Poins says, looking around, and breathing in the sea air, deeply.

He takes of his leather jerkin.

"There are some that do not care for the beach," he says. "The same as I do not care for mountains, or for being held with my feet off the ground."

"The latter is an odd thing for any man to have aversion to," Poins says, thinks, and adds, "unless he was abducted by an eagle."

"Many simply don't like the feeling of being picked up. My son isn't terribly fond of it himself," Ganymede says with a shrug, kicking his shoes off and walking barefoot in the sun-warmed sand.

"But then, he's seven, and apparently going on thirty."

"Thy son?" Poins asks. "I thought thou wert a -- Ganymede?"

"I am," he says. "My lover has a son, and he is mine as well. He lives with us." He suspects that since the house is quiet, Dorian and Christopher are still out, playing with each other.

"You seem surprised, Ned--did you not think I could have children?" It is possible, yes, but unlikely.

"Thou art a man, thy lover is a man, where would thy offspring hail from?" Poins says. "But it is feasible, if he has had a woman."

"And he has," Ganymede answers.

"Such a thing could never be, in the old time I come from..." Poins muses.

"Why not?" he chuckles. "Do men no longer sleep with their wives, and secretly have male lovers? Or other women? You cannot tell me no one does it."

"They do!" Poins says, "but hardly would live another man instead."

Long, ponderous pause.

"Unless pretending one was but a servant, a country cousin, some such harmless thing."

"Why not?"

"It is called sodomy," Poins says, archly, "and gets you an appointment with the stake, the gallows, or the sword, like to a thousand other things fell men like me do daily."

"And you aim to tell me that because there are consequences men won't do it."

"Like to the other thousand things, they will," Poins says, "but do them skulking in the shadows, as those things will not bide well in daylight, such as this."