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When Sonya next enters Milliways, she's carrying an insulated box and dressed for PT (that is, wearing black sweats and a grey t-shirt with ARMY printed on it), a duffle bag over her shoulder.

Inside the box are various food stuffs with the labels written in chinese, which she sets by the table closets to her. "Bar, could you give this to Dr. Lecter next time he's here. Tell him it's from Sonya Blade and payment of the session." She's not sure how helpful he was, given what happened, but that didn't mean she was going to skimp one what was owed him.

The box disappears and Sonya pulls the bag from her shoulder, pulling out a set of fighting gloves. While not especially difficult on the other side of her door, things back home have been emotionally trying and she needs to blow off steam away from her comrades. Milliways is just the place to do it.

An hour later has Sonya back in the main bar, showered and in a fresh change of clothes. Her mood hasn't entirely lightened up, but she's less liable to punch someone now. Infront of her is just a ham sandwich and a bottle of water: eating's a chore at the moment, but also a necessity after the schedule she's had.

Certainly botherable, even if appearances show otherwise.

ooc: Catch Sonya either in the main part of the Bar or at the punching bag. Tags will be slow, but wanted to get this scene out of the way while I had time.

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Amanda makes it a point to stay in shape and is pleasantly surprised when she see's someone familiar at the punching bag. Though she can't quite place it yet.

Putting her own bag away pulling out her sword for her own workout.

Waiting until a good moment she greets the other woman, "Good Afternoon."

Sonya was at the bag for a good twenty minutes before the woman addressed her, not as long as she'd usually go before stopping, but given the force of her punches and kicks it was long enough to work up a sweat. Still, it may've been a good minute or so before she stopped, the woman's greeting taking a moment to sink in.

"Afternoon." she grabbed the bag to get it to stop swinging. "Were you wanting to use this?"

The sword draws some attention, but after working with bows and arrows, she lets it slide.

Shaking her head, "No, I just wanted to make certain that you knew that I was here and wielding this." she lifts up the sword, "I don't want there to be any accidents."

She nodded, knowing well enough that accidents happened, especially around weapons when others weren't aware of them.

"Well, I'm done for the moment, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Moving from the punching back, Sonya reached for her supplies to grab a towel and water bottle.

Amanda nods at her then moves away and starts working through some kata's, increasing speed and force. The woman is wielding the sword as if it is an extension of her, almost effortlessly at first.

She watches a bit, stretching her arms to keep from getting stiff. While she's 'toyed' (roughly speaking) with swords, they weren't as serious as her training with other weapons.

"You've been training long?" Certainly it didn't look like what she was doing was a hobby of hers.

Pausing for a moment she considers her answer before turning to Sonya with a smile, "Yes I have." she adjusts the sword so that she is holding the hilt in her palm and the blade is behind her arm as she speaks. "Most of my life in fact. How about yourself?"

"In fighting, the same." she motioned to the sword, taking a seat at the bench. "Those sorts of weapons, just a few years."

Even if it was legal for a 14 year old to train with a knife, she wasn't sure she'd trust herself to work with a knife, let alone a sword at that young of an age. She was violent enough bare handed when she was young, to give her a sword would lead to too many bad things.

Amanda looks down at her swords, "What year are you from?" she can't recall though she has her suspicions.

She'd been here too long to feel strange at being asked that sort of question. In this place it was as common as being asked 'where're you from?

"It's 1991 back home. What about you?" Tit for tat after all.

Sonya closed the water bottle before giving it a slight wave. "Want some?"

"It is currently 2014." she waves it off, "No thank you, I haven't been working out enough yet to be thirsty."

"If it is 1991 then why are you learning the sword?" Sonya doesn't strike Amanda as the sort to pick up a weapon for a hobby, but she could be wrong.

She shook her head. "It's '91 back home, but I started learning the sword back in '88." Of course, being from different timelines, there was going to be some confusion, she figured.

"Preferred weapons are the rifle and knife, but." She shrugged. "They were offering lessons and I figured what the hell." She held out her hand. "Sonya Blade."

"Fitting name." Amanda accepts her hand, "Amanda." she says with a smile.

"I prefer swords and knives myself, though even then only when necessary."

"And completely coincidental." She added with a slight smirk. "I was considering a career as an army chemist, but things happened."

Things happened, people were killed. What better way of deadening pain then making sure everything else hurt too much to care.

"Knives are handy, but rifles are regulation weapons, something of a necessity." And really, she liked her rifle-it saved her life on occasion.

"I don't use guns myself but knives and swords are a must for me." she says with a smile, "Which is why I train."

"Perhaps sometime we can practice throwing knives out back? Set up some targets. Competition is always good for training."

Cosette ~~here via Millitime~~ is sitting at a nearby table with a personal-sized pizza on a plate in front of her, and a glass of wine. She hasn't touched the pizza yet; she's alternating between examining it with interest, and gazing at the room around her with open fascination.

She's only managed to pick at half her sandwich once the hunger pains have gone, instead surveying around the room. What catches her attention isn't so much how young the woman is with the glass of wine (milliways and its pull after all), but rather her dress and contrasting with the modern pan pizza.

"You're going to eat that pizza or just meditate on it?" Just because she had a lack of appetite didn't mean she'd encourage the wasting of food from others. She'd been to places where kids would give their right arm for a decent meal-to say nothing of the guys on base when faced with MREs.

Edited 2014-05-27 02:47 (UTC)

Cosette looks over, a little startled.

Yes, the woman in the peculiar workman's clothing is addressing her. "Pardon?"

She motioned over to the pizza. "I'm asking if you're going to eat it or just ponder it?"

Sonya noticed the young lady's accent and for a moment thought she didn't understand her, but then milliways often translated other peoples' languages to their own-or maybe that only worked on the dead?

She'd wait a moment to see which one it was.

Perhaps she's asking for charity.

Cosette glances down at it, and back to the woman. "I had intended to eat it," she says. "Bar gave it to me -- she called it 'pizza', do you know it? -- but I could spare some, if you'd like to try it too."

She pronounces it with a French twist rather than an Italian one.

She shook her head and pointed over at her own sandwich. Not that the pizza didn't look good, but she was only eating for fuel at this point.

"It's a common fast food where I'm from. Usually shared, but what you have is small enough for one person." Or large, if she wasn't used to this sort of food.

Cosette is now even more confused as to why the woman was asking about whether Cosette was going to eat her meal. But, well, all right! The information is interesting, anyway.

"I've never seen it before. I asked Bar for something new that was good to eat. If I may ask, where is your home?"

Bar's little note with the pizza didn't specify the origin. Next time she'll ask. She's curious about this bar, and about the personality she has.

"Pizza's usually good to eat." And looking at the girl's clothes, it would be new to her.

It takes a moment for Sonya to answer the last question, as it's a loaded one and she says as much. "I'm currently stationed in Hong Kong, a port city in China-the pizza there's not too good."

If not for lack of trying, but how could they except decent pizza in a country of both Asian and British influence.

Well, it's certainly better than the pizza in 1830s France.

"Oh!" Cosette is genuinely surprised, and fascinated. "China! How far! It must be so interesting. Is your husband in trade, or in the navy?"

Lance was killed just two months ago. The sting is still there though it's numbed by now, and Sonya has to remind herself that the girl didn't mean anything by it.

"The army, I'm an officer in my own right. There was a man..a fellow officer, but he was killed in action two months ago." She wants to push her plate aside, but she's not eating it anyway so there wasn't much of a point. "It's far from France, and suppose it would be interesting, especially if you speak the language."

Well, maybe interesting wasn't the right word-informative probably fit.

She wondered if maybe she should take a few hours off to sight see, but she remembered she didn't have the time.

Cosette bites her lip.

She should have noticed the mourning colors, she thinks. Even in such a peculiar cut, the black and grey are plain to see. There are other reasons to wear mourning than a husband, or a beau, but they're all reasons to ask such a question delicately.

"I'm sorry. That was insensitive -- I didn't mean to be cruel. I'm sorry for your loss."

"But you're an officer?"

A vivandière or the like, she would understand, but a woman officer?

Sonya would've liked to have said it was his time, but it wasn't-as far as she was concerned, every death wasn't at 'their time'.

"Mine wasn't the only loss." There were others who lost brothers, fiances, husbands-they all experienced it.

She sighed and pulled out her military ID from her wallet, handing it over to the young woman. "It's 1991 where I'm from, women have been serving in the military since the 1930s."

Not in combat at first, but branching out. "Some days I really should just give a seminar on women in the military in this place." She wasn't the first one to exhibit shock.

Cosette accepts the ID, marveling at it. She doesn't understand the purpose of it -- it's very little like the badges of the police of her time, none of which she's even seen, and even less like a passport for travel -- but the shiny material is nothing like anything she's seen or touched. "Oh!" she cries softly. "What a marvelous little picture of you."

...Yeah, Cosette's pretty new around here.

"1991? Truly? That's very far in the future -- for me, I mean, of course -- it's 1832. But how do you serve? Women aren't strong like men, it must be very difficult. It must hurt your heart very much to carry a gun, to think of shooting at men. We're not made for such things. You must be very steadfast, madame."

Cosette is also very sheltered. Women aren't officially part of the military in her day, but that doesn't mean they haven't fought, and killed, and led men, and even been well known for doing so. But neither the convent nor secluded life with her father taught her about many of the messier parts of history, even recent history.

Sonya sighed and took back the picture. "Most women aren't, but we're put through the same training as men, and the branch of military I'm in, the same conditioning."

It's clear to her that the young lady is pretty sheltered. "No, it doesn't hurt, because I know deep down that if I don't kill the men, then some of my own men risk being shot."

In a way, that was the sad thing-it no longer bothered her to kill. "After awhile, you become used to it."

The idea of a seminar was starting to become more appealing. "And it's mademoiselle, if we're being technical. I'm not married."

Well, not really. For all intents and purposes, she's married to the army.

"I suppose," Cosette says, politely uncertain.

She can't imagine it herself.

"Mademoiselle -- pardon. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Cosette Fauchelevent."

The way she spoke, Sonya didn't think there was much supposing. Probably difficult for her to wrap her head around.

"Lieutenant Sonya Blade." She didn't often say her rank in this place, figuring she wasn't going to impress anyone-or saw the need to impress anyone, but since the girl already knew she was an officer she figured she might as well add it in. "In the army I usually just go by 'ma'am', 'Lieutenant Blade', nothing to indicate if I'm married or not-once and awhile the guys will address me as 'sir' if it's that serious."

It hardly mattered in the army either way.

"Pleased to meet you."

A woman lieutenant. How strange! Everything she says only makes it more peculiar.

Still, when in doubt, Cosette will always choose friendliness.

"What was that little picture you showed me?"

That earned her a look. Maybe Bar didn't translate writing as it did language.

"That was my military identification card: shows everything from pay grade and rank, serial number, branch of military I'm in, birthdate..general information."

Vaguely, Sonya wondered how it'd happen if she gave the girl a reading list-she hardly looked like she had anything especially trying she had to do.

Olivier has himself set up in a corner, the surface covered in herbs and little bottles, soft muslin bags that he's sewing closed with a deft hand. He looks up to see her with a smile, "Good evening. How are you?"

She returned the smile, drained as it was. "I'm better. Few rounds at the punching bag does wonders."

Hell, the guy's seen her at her worst, what did she have to hide from him.

Not entirely hungry, she picked up her water and moved over to his table. "What sort of herbs are those?"

"You are a lady of strength." he nods to her with respect.

He looks over his table of work with a sigh. "I am replenishing my stores of remedies. There are so many medicines here that would benefit many but it would be wrong to take there back with me. So here I ready the medicine of my world. Tinctures to ease pain. Poultices to stop bleeding and to clean wounds. And this," He holds up the little bags of tea. "To calm the stomach of sea-sickness should we need it on our journey."

"I'm a lady who has to compete with men twice my size." And ones that assumed that if she didn't back something up, there was something wrong with her.

Mindful of the water bottle, she studied what he had at the table. That he wished to, but couldn't bring remedies back home was understandable, as he'd have to explain milliways without coming off as mad. "Probably better than what we have for motion sickness-pills that prevent you from getting sick, but the side effect is that they knock you out and make you feel loopy."

Not the best way to go when trying to keep alert.

"I hope they are good enough to show you respect for it. Otherwise they are unworthy of your notice."

"I have a few remedies that addle the senses too much but they are used only for the strongest of pain, when it is best that the senses are not wise to the pains of the body."

She shrugged, leaning slightly in the chair. Not slouching, but appearing a little more relaxed than she was a moment ago. "The guys I work with, sure. For the others, it's nothing I'm not used to."

She's had to build a thick skin in the army and took pride in the accomplishment.

"That poppy juice did do the trick, but if I was to bring that over to the base they'd accuse me of smuggling or some such thing. Opiates are highly controlled in my time."

"Dr Lecter voiced a similar concern. But the poppies are I make it from are not the stronger of their kind. There are others, the red poppies. Those make a drug that is quick and strong and addle the senses. The white poppies bring only dreamless sleep and a time without pain."

"I'm curious as to how you know the difference in side effects." Something his mother told him, or something he found through trial and error. "Are you sure it's from the poppies themselves, or maybe just the strength of the medicine?"

Talking about this was a better distraction than what her mind was on moments before he arrived."There's also dependency without physical with drawl. The body doesn't need the drug, so there's no physical dependency, but a person gets so used to functioning with it, that it becomes a sort of psychological crutch."

"It was a part of my mother's training. She had, on occasion, customers who wanted the stronger drug. We never dealt in such things for addiction is tarnishing to the soul and takes away from the grace of Allah. They were often rude in their forcefulness, as such sickness can make men. Mother made sure never to have such drugs, nor their makings in the workshop."

When he mentioned addiction, Sonya felt her stomach fall in itself, thinking back to what she saw in Hong Kong..and her own family. It was only thanks to her training and a few deep breaths that she didn't betray such feelings.

"I know what addiction does. My mom battled against drinking when I was growing up, then when my brother was killed, she just gave up the fight. I remember her getting plenty aggressive with me when I wouldn't allow her outside because I knew her 'friends' were enabling her."

She knew what addiction could do all too well.

"I am very sorry to hear that." Olivier whispers softly. "I have seen families struggle with such pain." His mother helped many of them cope in her own way. Sometimes a good listener can make all the difference.

She gave him a small smile. "Some good came out of it, it's what drove me to the military." At the very least, it was something that drove her to her career.

Sonya looked at his work again. "Wish I could've met your mother, she sounds like a strong woman."

Strong in the ways that counted, that was for certain. She could imagine it wasn't easy raising a kid by herself.

He smiles distantly, bringing the memories of her face to name. "She was a strong woman, proud but kind. She had a smile that make anyone feel safe and welcomed." He closes his eyes a moment. "I miss her very much."

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