milliways_bar | EP: Kate Barlow

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EP: Kate Barlow | Main Bar

The door opens to a golden sky, so thick with dust it looks like orange meringue.

The soft chnk of spurs precedes the cowgirl, collar turned up and hat low over her eyes. Once the door closes, she tips her hat back and takes a look around. And smiles.

As soon as she settles at the Bar, she's presented with gift after gift after gift after gift, along with a plate of Solstice sweets and a few gingerbread ... robots? She eyes everything with delight, surprised when she realizes how much time has passed. She wasn't expecting she'd be gone so long. She best start on the thank-you notes straight away.

But first, she does happen to have a few gifts of her own. She unshoulders her bag and leaves the tardy presents with Miss Bar.

Dr. Lecter receives a fine buffalo pelt, along with a small parcel of meat, and a handwritten note.

The Sandhu's receive an ornate chess set along with a fine oak board, and five parcels of candy suitable for each family member.

Mr. Tommy Gavin receives a bar of lye soap and a suggestive note on what to do with it, along with a very attractive silk teck tie wrapped in tissue.

Mr. John Marston receives a fine gentleman's hat: it's a high top Derby, and it's bulletproof. The accompanying note says: Keep your head on straight –Kate

Mr. The Kid receives a pair of chocolate brown dancing shoes and a framed picture, along with a handwritten note.

Master Elrond receives a book of poems by Lord Byron, and a jar of Kate's spiced peaches, along with a handwritten note.

Ms. Remy receives a lidded trinket box in the shape of a white cat with big blue eyes, filled with her favorite sweets. The accompanying note is signed: –Blue Eyes

Ms. Ellen receives a set of very practical gifts: a nice length of good rope, tooled leather boots, a fine set of spurs, and a pair of lambskin gloves, along with a handwritten note.

Ms. Dixie receives a set of dime novels and a pair of lambskin gloves in pink, along with a box of chocolate bonbons and a handwritten note.

Ms. Clementine receives a box of saltwater taffy, and while Kate is setting it aside she asks Miss Bar to add a pint of Peach Cobbler ice cream to the parcel.

Enzo & Dani receive a traditional engagement gift: silver spoons, along with a set of silver civil war cannon trinkets, and a gold locket. A formal note of congratulations accompanies the gifts.

Ms. Pyrrha receives a paint box set with several fine colors, and a few horsehair brushes. While Kate is at the Bar, she asks that a bushel of ripe avocados be added to the parcel.

Teja receives a pommel sword and sheath with a gold eagle head hilt and gold inlay along the blade, as well as a handwritten note.

Ratonhnhaké:ton receives a fresh set of writing tools, along with a toy stagecoach and a small parcel of sweets.

William Evans receives a new collection of books, mostly American authors as it's what she could find in Galveston, and a dime novel slipped in. They're accompanied by a small tin of caramels, and a handwritten note.

To everyone else go a jar of spiced peaches and a small parcel of sweets, nuts, and dried fruit.

That done, she settles down to write her thank-yous, occasionally admiring the clay cat and pondering a name change to 'Queen of the Bandits'. No doubt she'll soon break into the sweets, though there's far too much to eat in one sitting. It's a good turn of luck that she feels inspired to share.

[ooc: I've missed all of the fun! Feel free to catch me up and link me to anything you'd like to have tagged, I'm happy to bounce around and see all of the shenanigans. ^__^ This is open throughout the weekend and perhaps longer. Hello again.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sure, like vaccinations, then."

Every country, city, and place have their own health issues to contend with. She can't fathom a life at the bottom of the sea — how very like a Jules Verne novel! — but she doesn't deny it must have its disadvantages.

"Oh, yes, Miss Bar is who I meant. I reckon my words err on the side of too polite when compared to most 'round here. I'm from Texas, on Earth; it's the end'a the year eighteen-eighty-eight."

"Something like that," she nods. "The man who built the city had big dreams, and didn't always think about the consequences for people living there. But that'll happen whenever people move to unsettled territory--but Texas, 1888, you'd know that, wouldn't you? Prairie, desert, more cattle than people."

She remembers Texas from Amir's geography book. They'd spent hours looking at pictures and maps, and daydreaming about living somewhere else.

"It's 1968 where I'm from, but we don't know what's going on in the rest of the world."

She chuckles.

"You got that right. Texas is a big place, an' a good portion of it hasn't been touched by settlers. There are the native folk, of course, but we tend t'stick t'the edges."

Like ticks living off pond water.

"So y'don't have any marvelous contraptions like the telephone, or these 'pad' thingamajigs t'connect you with other places?"

"Not to connect us to the rest of the world," she says. "Mr. Ryan, he built the city--there was a war, and then it looked like there was going to be another one, a nuclear one. So he wanted to build a city somewhere safe, and secret. Once everyone moved in, he cut off communication, so no one could tell the rest of the world where we are and put us in danger."

Which explains her 1940s style. That's when they were isolated.

"Oh, heavens. That's quite an unusual founding indeed. But how long since the last war have y'been underwater?"

It would make sense that there would be no contact, with no way of running telegraph wires to the city. Still seems kinda dangerous, being wholly cutoff like that.

"Can't you ever travel t'shore?"

"They started building a year after the war, and finished five years later. I was born a year after that, and I've never been anywhere else--besides here, now."

Five years is a pretty short time to build a city at the bottom of the ocean. Andrew Ryan was nothing if not determined.

"There are bathyspheres, but some have been destroyed and the rest are on lockdown."

"This must've been a real shock for you, then."

Perhaps more than it was for Kate. Milliways is rarely delicate in how it welcomes new patrons.

"Who's put the bath–bathy—ah, who's put 'em on lockdown? I reckon that means no one can touch 'em?"

"Nothing can prepare you for being outside for the first time," she says with a nervous smile. "We've got some large rooms, some big open spaces in the city, but nothing like that. The ocean floor isn't flat where we are, so you can't see that far in any direction. Here it's just... blue, all the way up."

She's getting better, though. Spent a whole five minutes outside the door yesterday.

"Mr. Ryan put them on lockdown. He was concerned people would try to leave. When Mother took over, she left it that way."

Her brow furrows in concern.

"I have a dear friend here who spent most of her life underground until jus' recently as well. She said the sky was terrifyin' the first time she saw it."

Beat.

"How long have y'been comin' here?"

"I'm not used to walking around unescorted--at home, there's security cameras and robots and things, so wherever I go, I'm under observation. It can feel confining, but it's also a bit reassuring. Out there, there's nothing but sky."

And it makes her miss her father even more.

"This is my first time here. It's been a lot to adjust to, all at once."

Kate makes a low sound of sympathy. She remembers her first time here, and even though she still doesn't get all the ins and outs of future gadgetry, like robots and cameras, she can appreciate the sentiment.

"Back home, a young woman 'bout your age would be expected t'have a chaperon while she's out. I certainly did. I had already struck out on my own by the time the bar first showed up, but it was unnervin' bein' somewhere with so many menfolk. An' all the different customs an' outfits didn't help none, either."

She smiles wryly.

"If it helps, though, Miss Bar does keep an eye on us all. May not be perfect, but there's always someone watchin' out, t'be sure no one does anythin' too untoward. Outside can be a li'l more unnervin', but I work down in the stables most days, an' the fella who works the forge is a real honorable man. There's always someone there t'hear you if y'get in a pickle."

She seems like she might understand.

"We don't have--there aren't any boys in our city anymore. Not many girls, but no boys at all. The youngest are probably ten years older than I am; and Mother keeps me sheltered, she always has. Here, there are boys around my age, and they seem to like talking to me, but... it's strange."

Eleanor tries her best to seem normal, though.

"My father used to escort me around the city when I was younger. He was big and strong, and no one would bother me with him there. I always felt safe."

A soft line forms between her brows.

"Are there any children? Men an' women makin' families?"

She settles on the stool next to Eleanor, giving her plenty of space while still being close enough she don't need to raise her voice. Perhaps it'll give her the illusion of privacy.

"I always felt safe with my daddy, too. He broke horses, raised pork, an' worked fields. But he was more'n strong, he was — likable. Kind. Folk loved 'im."

"There are a few younger girls from the surface, but that's all," she says. "And a few around my age. Ten years ago, there was a civil war, and... and very few children survived, and none have been born since. People still find comfort with each other, still form family groups, but no children."

Which is probably for the best. The people in her city wouldn't exactly be stable parents at this point.

And Eleanor has already reached the end of her stories about her father that don't involve violence. In spite of how much she lights up when talking about him, in spite of her obvious idol-worship, the sum of their relationship is he kept her safe when she was a child.

"Did you do things together? Go fishing, or play games, or build things?"

"Good heavens."

It's murmured softly, her hand going to her mouth. It's not a new story — Ellen went through something similar as well, and there have been others. Still, it's not a kind story no matter how many times you hear it.

So Kate smiles, focusing on the latter half of Eleanor's remarks. She has plenty of stories to share about her father.

"Yes, we did. I liked helpin' with the stock, an' he'd take me out huntin'; he taught me t'ride, too. I was never a delicate child, an' wasn't very suited for needlepoint or piano forte. Though I did sing while he'd play his fiddle, from time t'time."

She's happier with the subject change, anyway. So much of her childhood daydreaming has been about this sort of thing--that her father would come back and take her back to the farm she imagines he grew up on (her daydreaming may have been influenced by reading the Oz books) and they'd spend so much time outside and he'd teach her everything about everything.

"That must've been wonderful," she says with a smile. "And you'd... you'd talk to each other? You'd tell him your concerns and he'd listen and give his advice?"

She smiles even more brightly.

"It was."

It was wonderful, truly. Kate had a very fortunate upbringing.

"Ah, yes. Yes, of course. It was jus' the two of us, y'see. My mama passed away when I was eight, an' my daddy raised me. There were jus' the farm hands, my daddy, an' I. He didn't always know what t'do with a young girl, but he did his best. An' we could always talk 'bout anythin'."

"I lived with my Aunt Gracie for a while, when my mother got sent away. She never had children of her own, so she was happy to have me there, and she taught me a lot of things--how to dance, how to make rice and beans. And we could talk."

Not about everything, though.

"Oh, but that sounds wonderful."

Kate skips nimbly over the remark about her mother. Her first thought is that being 'sent away' means she was committed, and she doesn't want to ask for fear it brings up anything painful.

"I never had any extended family, y'see. No brothers or sisters or cousins t'play with, or aunts an' uncles, or grandparents t'visit. I think it would've been rather nice t'have family like that."

"Both my parents came down to the city alone, without family. I don't know how many relatives I have on the surface; my mother's only ever mentioned her father, and I think he might be gone."

Sofia Lamb is not exactly the warm, family-oriented type.

"Aunt Gracie and Uncle Stanley were friends of hers, people she trusted. Aunt Gracie was from St. Louis, she was a singer. She worked in a nightclub, and when she was on stage, she'd just fill the room. Even when she wasn't on stage, her presence was bigger than her actual self. If that makes any sense."

"Oh, I see."

Her eyes widen.

"Yes, 'course that makes sense. I've got a few friends in show business. It must be odd bein' so disconnected from the rest of the world. But d'you have the same things y'would find in a city on the surface? Nightclubs, for instance?"

"Oh, everything," she says. "Aunt Gracie worked in a nightclub in our city, made some records and everything, until the economy went bad. People who liked the blues couldn't afford to go see her anymore."

The political censorship hadn't helped either.

"They had theaters and diners and shops, a farmer's market--they even had farms, but I never went there. My mother owned a park, with a carousel and gardens, where her patients used to come for art therapy. There were galleries and even a cinema there, and a train that would take you right to the park from other parts of the city. Everything a person could want."

"Really? Even farms?"

Kate finds the idea utterly enthralling. A farm underneath the waves! And everything else sounds so wonderful, so perfect, that she can almost pretend it's not spoken of in the past tense.

Almost.

"It's not that way anymore, though?"

"We were supposed to be self-sufficient, so the farms provided food and helped purify the air too. They had trees, and beehives, and... well, the rest probably looked more like greenhouses than regular farms, but the food was very good."

The prices, on the other hand...

"When the economy went bad, a lot of people were out of work and couldn't support themselves, and Mr. Ryan didn't care. He saw them as parasites. They wanted to work, there just wasn't any, and they weren't allowed to leave. So there was a war. No one actually won."

"Goodness me."

Kate frowns.

"A civil war like that must've been devastatin' to the community. How many people are there?"

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