EP: Kate Barlow | Main Bar

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate comes inside trailing clouds of dust behind her. She's been working the stables, as usual. Today was a hot one, and it didn't seem fit working the stock so long as the sun was high, so she set about cleaning and organizing instead. She takes off her hat and sets it on the Bar, wincing apologetically as dirt puffs up and settles on the lacquered surface.

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss. I'll clean it up. Meantime, could I get somethin' cold?"

A pint of peach cobbler ice cream pops up as she settles herself on a stool. She eyeballs it dubiously. How can you put a respectable cobbler in a bucket of cold ice cream? She don't believe it can be done. Naturally, she won't dismiss it out of hand without giving it a fair shake. For science, and all.

She opens a ledger and starts going over notes, scooting the pint closer. Every now and again, her hand strays to her chest, absently playing with the necklace she's wearing. It's strangely soothing.


[ooc: Open indefinitely, inside the bar or outside.]

Comments

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton ponders this for a while. On the one hand, most of the sweet stuff here is way too sweet for him - chocolate and marshmallows are right out, so to speak.

But if it's good enough for Kate...

"Yes please," he says, shifting in his seat so he sits up a little straighter.

[ikissdhimbck]

She smiles, turning to ask Miss Bar for a spoon.

Unlike most chocolates, and certainly unlike marshmallows, this particular ice cream is made with wholesome ingredients rather than chemicals. The sugar is real sugar, the fruit flavoring comes from real fruit. It's sweet, but it doesn't have that saccharine bite of high-fructose corn syrup, or the whang of artificial flavoring on the back taste.

She scoops him up a decent bite with a little peach and a little 'crust', and holds the spoon out to him.

[lifethatisscratched]

He takes the spoon and tucks it into his mouth, processing the multitude of different flavors in the spoonful. It's certainly not like anything his people have - the sap and berries they harvest from the trees aren't this cold, for one, and certainly not this flavorful.

When he pulls it out, the spoon is clean of ice cream.

He smacks his lips. "It's...cold," he says. "And tasty, too."

[ikissdhimbck]

She snickers.

"It's especially good on hot days like today. They make different sodas an' floats outta it, too."

They'll take it one at a time, however. She'd hate for him to get a stomach ache, or suffer from another 'brain freeze'.

"Would y'like a li'l saucer of your own?"

[lifethatisscratched]

He has to think on this for a second - on one hand, it's tasty and cold. On the other hand, he doesn't think he'd like explaining any strange-looking stains on his clothing to Mother.

"No thank you," he says, setting the spoon on the bartop. "I'm okay."

He's silent for a while as he looks around the Bar, pondering what he can in his seat. He looks up at the board - the specials from the last Happy Hour are still up there. Someone, it seems, has forgotten to erase them.

And he can't make heads or tails of it.

Couldn't understand a bit of Howard's newspaper, either. Or Renee's writing.

And he'd like to get by on a little more than pictures.

He sighs in frustration, fidgeting with his thumbs.


Suddenly, an Idea.

He looks up to Kate. "Miss Kate?"

[ikissdhimbck]

She nods when he dismisses the offer, watching with curiosity as he makes his examination of the bar. He's a curious little fella. That's good.

She straightens when he addresses her, returning to the present.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

[lifethatisscratched]

"You said you were a teacher, right? Of letters and ge-o-gra-phy?"

He's going somewhere with this pretty soon, trust us.

[ikissdhimbck]

The corners of her eyes crinkle with amusement.

"Among other things, yes I am."

[lifethatisscratched]

He nods, once, and bites his lip.



"Will you teach me the language of your people?"

[ikissdhimbck]

She blinks.

"Oh. Oh, well I — sure. Sure, sweetheart."

[lifethatisscratched]

He shrugs and fidgets in his seat. "I just - there are a lot of things in this Bar that I cannot understand. And I don't want to have to ask other people to tell me what they mean."

Howard's newspaper is the first to spring to mind, along with Stiles' book.

"Clan Mother has said the men who go out to trade with the men with white faces must learn to speak their language, too." He looks up at her. "I would like to be one of those men someday."

[ikissdhimbck]

He sure does have a lot of drive and moxie for a child of his age. She had one very enthusiastic four year old in her class once, but most children hold off on any form of ambition until they're a little older. She grins, leaning down to his level.

"That's a wonderful goal t'set for yourself, an' a very adult choice. I'd be happy t'help you learn."

[lifethatisscratched]

He reciprocates, the fidgeting dying down. "Thank you," he says. "When can we start?"

[ikissdhimbck]

"Well, tell me what y'know 'bout readin' an' writin'."

English is a whole new ball of wax, but if he has a basic appreciation of his native language it'll help her figure out which building blocks he needs and which he's already familiar with.

[lifethatisscratched]

"Um."


Okay, the fidgeting's back.



"My people do neither."

[ikissdhimbck]

There's no judgment in her blue eyes. She simply nods, wheels already turning on the best place to start, and smiles.

"All right, then. In that case, we could start right now if you'd like."

[lifethatisscratched]

"Now? Really?"

His expression brightens, and he nods.

"Yes, please."

[ikissdhimbck]

She smiles broadly.

"Miss Bar can provide you with the tools I'd usually have for my students. Ah, ma'am?"

A few things appear in front of Ratonhnhaké:ton: A tablet, a pencil box, and a wooden ruler.

"Thank you. This here's gonna be your paper, for writin' on. Looks like most'a the pages are lined, but this is what they call a ruler, so's you can make things straight. An' in here—"

She opens the pencil box, which is filled with a few lead and juniper wood pencils, and a chunk of an eraser.

"You've got pencils, t'write with, an' that bit right there will wipe out any mistakes y'make. Does that make sense so far?"

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton takes one of the pencils out from the box and tests the tip. The Iroquois, of course, have nothing like this, and it invites curiosity. His hands fiddle with the wood for a bit, testing the give before putting it back into the box and nodding.

"I think I understand. So far."

[ikissdhimbck]

"All right, good. Now, tell me, d'you do any whittlin'?"

[lifethatisscratched]

He shakes his head. "I have seen the elders do it. Mother says I will learn soon."

[ikissdhimbck]

She nods.

"In that case, once y'need your pencils sharpened y'can come ask me, an' I'll help you. Until then, your first lesson is t'get acquainted with your tools."

She flips open the tablet to the first blank page.

"Draw shapes. Draw animals, or people. Anythin' that y'like."

[lifethatisscratched]

He stares at the paper, brow furrowed - then nods and picks up a pencil in his hand. He holds it like a sculptor would hold a chisel, and, like most children when they are first given a pencil, applies too much pressure.

The pencil's only recourse is to have the tip snap in half.

Ratonhnhaké:ton blinks once, twice, holding the pencil up to his eye.

Then he remembers Kate is sitting next to him. His eyes go wide for a half-second before he tucks his arms in-between his thighs and crosses his shins, whistling a tuneless thing. Every so often, he glances at her, as though to check whether it's working.

(You saw nothin', Kate.)

[ikissdhimbck]

She giggles.

(She saw nothing.)

"Here, lemme show you."

She picks out a different pencil, and holds it the proper way. She shows him so he can copy her in a way that's comfortable for him. Since his hands are smaller, he likely won't be able to hold his pencil exactly the same way, but that's all right for right now.

"Then y'jus' drag it 'cross the paper. The lighter y'press down, the fainter the line will be in color. If y'press too hard, well. You're gonna break the tip."

She etches a fancy 'K' on the paper, just to give him an idea.

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton follows along, holding the pencil similar to the way she's doing it. Then, as prescribed, he presses the pencil to the paper and drags it along, producing a long, somewhat straight line.

He cocks his head, then rubs his fingers across the line, as though to test its durability.