milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: Practice talking to girls]

Trapped. That's what Harry's been these many weeks past, and of his own doing too -- that's not to be denied. The more he must smile and bow and expend his manners, the more he wishes for a horse and a sword and a Scottish border raid. When a door in Philippa de Coucy's house opens into Milliways instead of yet another solar full of nursemaids and noble daughters, to say his relief is palpable is only to concede to the limits of language.

So, though his hair is combed and he's trussed up in his finest visiting suit, it's a pretty good time to meet young Harry Percy. He's making a beeline for the Bar, intent on trying some new food or drink that's beyond the scope of his era. Go on. Ask him how his quest for a wife is going.

11 PM CST Oh no, guys! You're wonderful; I have to go to sleep. Will tag up tomorrow!

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Shit-eating grins are constant across all centuries, it turns out.

"Nay, sir, not a whit, though if such a wit as yours can little cope with normal speech, I'll speak more plainly, for I'd not have you so plagued as would rob you of your drink. "

OMFG

Do headaches count as plagues?

His teeth on edge, he exhales a rasping sigh as he massages his brow.

"My wit is fine, thankyouverymuch," he growls. "And like hell your speech is normal. Does everybody talk like a fuckin' sonnet where you're from?"

"A sonnet?" Really? Harry scoffs. "Better I should pass my time plucking daisies or summoning ghosts. Though," he muses, "there's no man yet that I have heard of who's distinguished himself spouting poesies on the battlefield. If there is a reputation to be made, why, surely the heat of the fray is as fine a forge as any bower."

Goddamn fuckin' iambic pentameter.

~~Free verse is more his thing.~~

It's funny, the more Tommy listens to this kid talk, the more he thinks he understands him. Also, the more his brain hurts, but that's just a side-effect.

"Poesies-- on the-- ...Yeeeah. Look. I'm from the year 2006, okay? New York City. America. We might as well be from different planets. I would tell you to speak English, but you'd argue that you already are."

Harry tends to make people's heads hurt anyway: as far as side effects go, it's definitely a known one.

"I know what America is," he says, somewhere between affecting injury and amusement. "I've met many of your nation already. Thou speakst true, though, 'tis a grave concession to call your American speech English. Such grievous distress inflicted upon the tongue and ears! What a marvel we may communicate."

"Heh. Yeah, well, you wanna talk about 'grievous distress,' I'm a natural fast-talker, you meet anybody from New York, and I mean real New Yorkers, born and bred, guaranteed they can spit words out at a mile a minute. You oughtta hear me after a couple cups of coffee or when I'm pissed off, swear to God, even my girlfriend can't understand what the fuck I'm sayin' half the time 'cause she's from Texas and--"

Shit. Shitshitshit.

He wasn't supposed to refer to her with the g-word. Would that word mean what he thinks it means in Harry's world?

He was rambling anyway.

"Well. You see what I mean." And he quickly takes a sip of coffee.

You're in good company, dude. This guy monologues in paragraphs when he gets going.

As for that g-word, Harry's preferred company is grizzled soldier types who are primarily concerned with border raids and how to pass the time between them. So, no judging -- it's always good to learn new synonyms for "doxy."

"And what is Texas to New York? I think I've not met a one of you who does not come from this New York."

"To put it simply, New York is city; Texas is country. Know what I mean? Two different worlds, different ways of life. I'm all about the high-rise buildings and crowded streets; she's all about the open fields and riding horses. I'm sure you've got that sort of thing back home, right? Where exactly are you from anyways?"

"Your lady is more of my mind; I've little taste for London or York, though I must needs stay when I am called to court there. Today I came from a household in Oxford, but I call Northumberland my home. My family keeps the border with Scotland, and though it is a rough business, I'd fly to the field on an instant rather than bear another hour of this." He plucks disgustedly at his shirt. That he actually means.

Tommy feels a twinge of regret at even having mentioned his lady but when she's constantly on his mind like she is right now, it's hard not to bring her up. Promises, promises.

A thought strikes him anyway.

"You been out by the stables here yet? You do know this place has a stable, right? When Kate comes back-- Kate Barlow, she's my-- uh, friend-- she helps take care of the horses-- when she comes back, I'm sure she could set you up with a ride sometime, y'know, just for fun or to let off some steam or whatever. You can get to see a lot of the grounds here that way. I've heard people describe it as bein' a lot like Scotland, so you might find it familiar."

Harry makes a thoroughly disgusted noise. "Scotland! I have the good fortune to be granted a door to the very end of creation, and it resembles nothing so much as Scotland. Wherefore should I even come?"

...after a quick glance at Tommy and some surprisingly sensible second thoughts: "Yet I have heard there are stables, and I should be glad of a chance to ride, if I may. Do you ride?" That, you know, may have been an overture, or a nice gesture, or something along those lines. It would make sense to respond in kind.

At that, Tommy chuffs out a wry laugh.

"Do I ride? Uhhhh, nah. Well, I mean, I was treated to a lesson here once, but it ain't something I plan on taking up regularly. Too much of a city slicker, y'see." A sharp flash of a self-deprecating smirk.

"But hey, Scotland-esque or not, I bet you won't find giant squid in your lakes back home or fire-breathing demon bunnies in your forests."

"Is't so?"

Harry's eyes light up.

"We must go. You must show me." He stands up. "Finish that and let's away."

He might be trolling.

He's probably not.

"...Wait a sec, you want me to--?"

When exactly did Tommy become a Milliways tourist guide? Right now, it seems.

Blink.

"Um. Okay. Sure, why not?"

He gulps the last of his coffee down before offering him a hand to shake.

"I'm Tommy, by the way. Tommy Gavin."

The hand-shaking is strange, but he'll go according to custom. He's too excited by the prospect of giant whatever-it-was and other beasties and a stable.

"Harry Percy. Give me but a minute, I'll get no joy of it in this foppery." He rests a hand on the counter. "My lady?"

A neatly folded set of clothes appears -- leather pants, a shirt and a leather jacket, all of which seem familiar to Harry, who beams. A pair of boots appears a moment later. Harry nods to Tommy. "I'll return anon. Stay here."

Tommy watches as Harry orders up a whole new outfit, but it sort of makes sense to him because what he's currently got on really isn't suited for tromping around outside.

"No problem, I'll be right here."

Well. This should be an interesting outing. Not exactly how he expected to spend his time here, but it's not like he has anything better to do.

[[ooc: OH MAN I LOVE THIS. Right at this moment I am falling over dead with sleep. Do we want to pause, fade, slowtime... OOM it later? I'm up for any of the above!]]

[ooc: Hahah BEST. I would really love to play this out, however slowtimey it gets, because at some point they absolutely have to talk about girls. XD]

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