Katherine "Kissin' Kate" Barlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ikissdhimbck) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
milliways_bar2013-11-12 02:02 pm
ikissdhimbck) wrote in milliways_bar2013-11-12 02:02 pm
Entry tags:
Invitation on the Message Board
Sometime after the bar returns to normal — or what passes for normal in Milliways — a note appears on the message board. It's written in a fine, looping pen, on paper embossed with pressed flowers.
Angus Urquhart
of Monadhliath
A wake will be held to honor the passing
of the man most knew as Urquhart
Wednesday, at two o'clock
November the Thirteenth
to continue until dark.
All are invited to attend,
and may bring a bottle of aged whiskey to send off their friend (or foe).
(Should any wish to help with arrangements, inquiries may be left below.)
The wake will be held by the lakeside.
of Monadhliath
A wake will be held to honor the passing
of the man most knew as Urquhart
Wednesday, at two o'clock
November the Thirteenth
to continue until dark.
All are invited to attend,
and may bring a bottle of aged whiskey to send off their friend (or foe).
(Should any wish to help with arrangements, inquiries may be left below.)
The wake will be held by the lakeside.
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-A.
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She ends the note by saying he can get in touch with either Kate Barlow or Dinah Lance, giving brief physical descriptions of both, and makes herself available at the Bar.
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"Yes, I am."
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She rises immediately, standing to her full height of five feet, and extends her hand.
"S'a pleasure t'make your acquaintance. That would be lovely; y'knew Angus, then?"
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He nods at the hand and marvels at her height. It's not often he's taller than anyone around here at five-foot-six.
"I did, but not well," he says, already distinctly uncomfortable. "Did you? Know him well, I mean. Well, of course you did. Sorry. I'm.. sorry for your loss."
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"Thank you. It's all right, why don't y'have a seat?"
She offers him a cup of tea, gesturing to the stool beside her.
"I have heard your name before, if I'm bein' honest, but it's jus' nice knowin' who left the note. Angus an' I weren't terribly close, but he was a good man. Well — he was a complicated man, but I understood that about him. M'not sure how many friends he had, but everyone deserves a proper sendoff."
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He takes the seat and notes the tea before nodding dully, in response to her comments. "Urquhart taught me that to put down roots is not such a bad thing after all."
And how to plant a clean line of spargel, but that's Autor's secret.
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"You're a wanderer too, then?"
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He purses his lips, looking out over the bar. "Sometimes I think Bar drags us in here so we'll find people we'll want to put down roots with."
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She glances into her own tea cup, and nods.
"S'not a bad guess. I certainly never expected I'd grow so fond of the place, or meet people I cared so much about. Angus had a joyful heart. Last I saw him was when it was snowin' outside. We got in a snowball fight."
She laughs, shaking her head as if to say 'can you imagine?'
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"Last I saw him"--he was running towards an open door--"he teased me, and cooked me lunch," the boy says, on a few soft breaths. "He... probably could have picked me up with one arm, he was so strong."
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And an even sharper wit.
She reaches out, gently brushing Autor's hand.
"M'sorry for your loss, as well."
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"Aside from the music, is there anything I can provide for the wake without... actually being there?"
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She folds her hands back in her lap immediately. He's clearly upset, and she doesn't want to make things harder on him.
"Miss Dinah is providin' flowers, an' we'll have a table set up if y'wanna leave a token. Since there won't be a burial, it's merely what y'feel is appropriate t'say goodbye. If y'know his favorite songs, I think he'd rather like that most."
She smiles softly.
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He cups his chin in his hand, keeping his eyes on her face--and not the door. It easier, now; he's not gasping anymore when he thinks about it. "Dinah's flowers will be good, though. I'll try to find something appropriate."
The boy can't smile at her, not really. But he can take the tea she offered, with hands that are fairly steady.
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She can't tell if the news of no burial upsets him more, though he seems a little more at ease. This isn't her first wake here, though the oddities of the circumstances never truly get easy to bear.
"Milliways does provide her own unique circumstances when it comes t'the dead. Whatever y'choose I'm sure will be appropriate. An' if y'can't think of anythin', I'm sure little things will crop up tomorrow y'can lend a hand with."
However, the music should be plenty. Urquhart had a gay heart filled with little regret.
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He stands, offers a little bow, and leaves his tea untouched.
[OOC: And yours to wrap/counter if you have one, I think. Thanks for the thread!]
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She missed a lot by leaving the bar over All Hallows'. She can't say she isn't glad to be spared the nightmares, but there always is that lingering guilt when she sees what it's wrought on those who stayed. Particularly when there's been a death.
She retrieves her tea, and sighs. She'll make it a point to look out for him tomorrow.
[ooc: Perfect, thank you!]
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If you're okay with an instaslow...
But he's on a stool just below it, trying to copy it word for word on a piece of parchment.
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(She's still proud.)
"Whatcha doin', Ratonhnhaké:ton? Don't tell me you've already outgrown your lessons an' are employed as a scribe."
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"But I don't think I'm very good at it."
Frustrated, he lets his writing instrument clatter to the floor and holds the parchment up for Kate to see. He's about halfway done, and has clearly tried to emulate her handwriting for the first few words - and the transition to his jumbled, scribbled guesswork on the rest of the English alphabet clutters up most of the rest of the page.
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"Why, this is wonderful, sweetheart. You've done a marvelous job."
She rests her hand on his shoulder and smiles at him. No sympathy, no walls, no pretend congratulations; honest-to-goodness happiness is all.
"Don't worry, you'll improve. This is what we call cursive writin'. Y'learn it after you've mastered your letters an' your vocabulary list. So this is very good for a first try."
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Then, as he fidgets:
"...but all I did was copy you..."
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She holds the parchment back out for him, as if by looking at it a second time he'll see something new.
"An' here you've only been practicin' a few short months. I'll show y'how t'write on your own, but y'see how you copied that 'U', an' the 'W'? That's fine work."
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His timid side comes out as he slowly draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his shins, looking up at Kate with those big brown eyes over the tops of his knees.
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She won't press, she'll simply say in a hushed voice like she's sharing a secret:
"I think you've earned yourself a slice of pie."
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Pray tell, is that a blush creepin' up on his cheeks?
(It is.)
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"Now, no need t'be shy."
But she doesn't press in on him, doesn't prod him into moving, doesn't move herself. She lets him make his own decisions.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
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I can help provide food, or anything else needing to be done. He was a friend to me, and I'd like to see him properly honored. Let me know by note with the Bar, or I can usually be found in the kitchens. -Sunshine
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Kate,
So long as the tables are strong enough to support it all, that's all I need. I'll be in the kitchens tonight and tomorrow morning, if you need me. -Sunshine
That left with the bsr, Rae heads to the kitchen. There will be pies aplenty, as well as the chocolate rolls Urquhart had helped inspire. She can make much of it the day before, and leave the cinnamon roll dough to rise overnight. It'll be ready for her to finish in the morning.