milliways_bar | EP: Kate Barlow | Main Bar, Library (age spell plot)

It had been a quiet day for Kate when the loud BWA-BOOOOOOOM shook the bar. She'd just settled down after her nightly chores in the stables, easing the tension out of her back in an armchair by the fire, sipping on a hot tea with bourbon in.

(It's getting close to All Hallows' Eve, and that's making her anxious.)

However, she didn't have all that long to think about the approaching holiday before she was seeing the room from an even lower vantage point, face scrunched in distaste at the liquor on her tongue. She blinked at the teacup and quickly set it down, jumped to her feet, and looked around the strange room.

" ... Daddy?"

Kate Barlow, aged twelve, was off in search of her father.

What she found instead were the libraries.

Now, far calmer, a young Kate sits amid a pile of books, occasionally sweeping cautious glances around the room. She's finding the words of Jules Verne to be a comfort at present. Clearly she slipped and bumped her head during chores, or stumbled onto a glorious vessel somewhere in deep space. She isn't quite sure what to make of it right now, but anywhere with an endless supply of science fiction can't be all that bad.

[ooc: open forever! you may find Kate in the library or the main bar. if your character wants to be in on a heist, they can take this opportunity to meet Kate. the actual heist will happen in a later post, so it's not required you tag this one (I'll update all interested parties once it's all in place). if you'd like me to send Kate round to one of your posts, just let me know!

tiny!tag: age spell plot]

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He might take note of the awe she struggles to keep out of her eyes. She's never heard of Lithuania, but he must be well off to travel from place to place like that.

She keeps her expression stern.

"Then they must be awfully boring places, where you can't have any fun! Someday I'll travel to Tombstone, an' Deadwood, an' Dodge City. An' they'll all still be there, and as rotten as they ever were!"

She lifts her chin proudly.

"That's the Wild West," he says. "I think the places aren't there any more, or if they are, they got all boring. No outlaws and sheriffs and posses and Indians any more."

Beat.

"Paris isn't boring, and I have a lot of fun. We were going to the opera when I came here!"

So, there.

"Well, where I'm from they is too there, an' we have all those things, an' I am much less borin' than you!"

Her daddy would have himself a fit if he heard the way she was talking right now.

Hell hath no fury like a young Katherine Barlow.

"Well, it would not be fair to compete," he says. "You're much younger than I am, and apparently from some barbarous place."

"How dare you!"

She bristles. Did he just call her a barbarian?

"I'm a whole twelve years of age, an' I live outside one of the finest towns in East Texas! That's in the New World."

"So I gathered," he says. "And a contrary little thing you are. Well, Texas, what would you expect."

"I'd have less call to be contrary if y'weren't so rude. You'd think, traveling an' seein' operas an' all, you might have some manners. Y'can polish a pig up till he shines, but he'll still be swine."

So there.

"You don't have to be anything, little one," he says. "Except learn more. Then you won't have to be an outlaw but can instead be, I don't know, a travelling librarian? With donkeys? Did they have that where you're from?"

Her nose crinkles.

This fella is strange.

"What's the difference between a travelin' librarian and an outlaw but a bunch of books? I like stories 'bout the James brothers, but I already know what I'm gonna be. A teacher."

She gets to her feet, every last inch of her hellfire and pride.

"How can you learn anything if you stick your nose up at it?"

"You'll be a snarky little schoolmarm!" the boy says, almost delighted.

Kate isn't sure what 'snarky' means, but she's sure it must be an insult.

"Better that than an old boor's missus!"

"Definitely," the boy says. "I wouldn't want to be that, either."

His answer startles her.

And she can't help but giggle.

"You wouldn't hafta worry 'bout such things. You're a boy."

"I wouldn't want to marry a screeching ogress," he says.

"How crude."

The words are nearly involuntary; she's still smiling, real soft. Amused.

"But wouldn't she hafta love, honor, an' obey you?"

"Nope, she'll ask the same of me," he says. "With special emphasis on the 'obey' bit."

She snickers real soft.

"I think, if I am to marry, I should like a partner rather'n a keeper. That's how it should be."

"I think so, too," he says. "But it often doesn't work that way. Men and women can be very different."

"I'll say."

Is the rolling of her eyes targeted at him? Probably.

However, her expression isn't quite as severe when she tilts her head, studying him carefully.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Hannibal Lecter," he says.

Pause.

"And you?"

"Miss Katherine Barlow, pleased to make your acquaintance."

The introduction is nearly automatic.

"How old are you?"

"Nice to meet you, Katherine," he says. "I'm seventeen and you are, what, twelve?"

This time the eye-rolling is very surely targeted at him.

(Nobody tell her daddy just how impolite she's been.)

"Yes, you're very good at guessin' things you already know."

"Of course," he says. "So, I guess I'll go and find more books."

"There are plenty of books, if you'll bother t'read any of 'em."

Yes, definitely a strange boy. Kate will keep her eye on him.

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cook_the_rude - 2013-10-19 14:40 (UTC) - Expand

ikissdhimbck - 2013-10-20 04:11 (UTC) - Expand