(no subject)

[the_taxman]

A gust of harsh, engulfing humidity comes in when the door opens. So does a spare, rawboned man, with an unkempt ponytail and a graying handlebar mustache.

Rust looks around, a little surprised — but the surprise vanishes off his face quickly.

His mouth twists, as though to say, isn’t this a fine joke, and he goes straight to the bar. Within a minute he’s got a Lone Star longneck and a lit Camel Blue.

Might as well drink here as anywhere.

Comments

[theunsmiling]

"Do you mind company?"

The voice comes from a young-looking woman with flyaway dark hair, green eyes, a boyishly pretty face, and jeans.

Plus her T-shirt, which reads Vetustior Humo.

She's got coffee and half a donut. Powdered sugar is a menace. Plus her grip on her cup doesn't look all that steady.

[the_taxman]

Rust glances at her, glances at her shirt -- not with any intent or appreciation, but for information -- and, for a split second, his expression lightens.

(It's funny.)

He shifts on the barstool, takes a drag on his cigarette, says around the smoke: "Seat's open."

[theunsmiling]

She flashes a quick smile, putting down the coffee cup with what appears to be relief.

In a second she'll look around for napkins, just in case.

"Thanks."

Michael shakes her head, looking down at her half-eaten donut.

"I'm almost looking forward to the day when I can't eat this kind of stuff anymore."

But in the meantime, sugar. And caffeine.

[the_taxman]

He taps into the ashtray. "Heard there's a diabetes epidemic."

[theunsmiling]

"That and heart disease."

Her response is flippant, but she checks herself for just a moment.

"I'm just lucky neither of them runs in my family, I guess."

[the_taxman]

His gaze slides in her direction for a moment, then away again.

"Seems like there'd be nothing stopping you, then."

[theunsmiling]

"Eventually my indiscretions are going to catch up with me. Or so every magazine cover from here to Japan tells me."

She laughs a little, taking a sip of coffee.

"I figure if it's in print, it can't be wrong, right?"

Lies.

[the_taxman]

He nods at her shirt.

"You sure?"

[jackdaws_master]

It's the air outside that gets Kenway's attention. Feels wetter than Nassau did when he left. So he looks up sharply, just in case- but no, no, it's none of the folk from Jackdaw's crew. He's fine with that.

The tobacco smoke's bound to get his attention, though. Back home, it's hardly ever seen in units so small.

[the_taxman]

Rust is also paying attention to the bar.

It's been a while. There are things on the walls.

There are people around.

Half-lidded, he turns a little on the stool, takes in the view behind him. Smoke briefly obscures his features, and clears.

[jackdaws_master]

"Interesting cigar you've got there, friend," says Edward, nodding towards the man's smoke. "I don't believe I've ever seen one near that small, or that finely made."

This is, of course, Milliways, where the lights don't give smoke nor heat and the landlord's so rich he can serve everyone in glass instead of mugs or other sensible stuff. Who's to say they haven't fined up other products as well?

[the_taxman]

The outfit's suggestive. Either he's the real deal, or a very serious reenactor.

Rust is hoping for the former. There's not a damn thing romantic about the past.

"Machine-made," he says, and taps a cigarette out of the pack.




What the hell. He holds the pack out for the other man, meaning for him to take the cigarette.

[jackdaws_master]

"That so?" wonders Edward, eyebrows raised. He considers the pack a moment before gingerly extracting one of the cigarettes. "The man behind that machine must be wealthy indeed, if he can tune his work carefully enough for this kind of craft."

Blast it, there's no candles about, and no- ah, no, he takes that back, some kind soul's left a candle burning at their table in their absence. It's as good a way to light the thing as any.

"My thanks, friend," he says on his return, candle in hand and cigarette as yet unlit. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

(He's still trying to figure out why one end of the thing is so different from the other. 'Filter' is not a word in his vocabulary.)

[the_taxman]

Rust watches this process. The jury's still out: live or Memorex?

"Name's Rust Cohle," he says. "That thing's a cigarette. Machine puts out thousands of them."

[jackdaws_master]

"Edward Kenway," says Edward. "Pleasure to meet you. Did you say thousands? Bloody hellfire."

There's nothing in his experience that can turn out thousands of anything, save perhaps she-fish putting out eggs.

[mostcharmingsmile]

Gilderoy hasn't been here recently. Perhaps he forgot Milliways existed. Perhaps he remembered and couldn't find his way. Perhaps time doesn't pass for him, and absences don't matter.

He wears a purple dressing gown a most dashing lavender cravat, and, of course, his winning smile. The lovely Bar has provided him with many strips of parchment, and he's writing his named in joined up letters on each one. His peacock quill dips and swirls as he goes.

"Oh, hello, hello," he says to the man sitting next to him. Maybe he'd like an autograph! Gilderoy will certainly ask.

[the_taxman]

Well.

Someone's been to New Orleans.

Rust gives a nod. Doesn't reply. Smokes.

[mostcharmingsmile]

Gilderoy coughs. It's a cheery cough.

"I never understood the whole - what is that called? Cigars? Pipes, oh yes, of course, I know pipes. It's terribly interesting, though."

He signs another strip of parchment with a flourish.

[the_taxman]

Maybe he's a performance artist?

Rust says, neutral, "You never smoked anything?"

Seems improbable.

[mostcharmingsmile]

He pauses mid-r.

"I can't recall. Surely I must have. I've traveled the world."

[the_taxman]

I can't recall. Rust's gaze sharpens a little.

"Where'd you like best?"

[mostcharmingsmile]

He finishes writing his name. He's used to not remembering.

"I have a picture of me standing in front of the Great Pyramids. It's my favorite picture. My hair looks ever so perfect."

[starrydome]

Someone tall and regal with long, flowing dark hair steps up to the Bar next to him.
The shoulders are broad, the face oddly beautiful, and the voice is pleasantly deep and resonant.

He orders a cup of tea and gives the Man a polite but friendly nod in greeting, as an earthenware mug appears.

The steam smells like a forest at dawn.

He is dressed in a tunic, trousers, and boots. The colours muted, like storm clouds and weak rays of sunlight.

[the_taxman]

Rust has to blink once or twice, take in and let out a breath, to verify that it's not his traitor brain playing tricks on him.

Must be the Renaissance festival back in town.

His eyes slide to the left, and then back to his beer.

[starrydome]

Elrond has met people here before who were made uncomfortable by elves.
He tries to be mindful of this.

So instead of drawing the Man into conversation, he asks Bar for things needed for letter writing. Ink, pens, thin parchment.
It appears and he settles down, after making sure the counter is clean and dry.

He does not write with the exaggerated movements of someone demonstrating a lost Art. Neither does he write like someone eager for others to look at how well he can do something strange and exotic.
He writes like someone with letters that need written.
His hand is sure and he writes quickly. Not everyone can do that when writing Tengwar.



{ooc: just for the record, I am always okay with short threads and people passing by if that is what works :) }