Samantha Stewart (
takingthechance) wrote in
milliways_bar2014-07-09 09:17 pm
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(OOM: In which Sam gets a boyfriend. Sort of.)
When Sam walks in tonight, for once she isn't in uniform. She doesn't really have anywhere to where her dress to tonight, but she couldn't bear to wear her uniform a moment longer and it really was too early in the day for anything else.
Besides, she likes it. It's a pretty blue, and frankly, the world needs a little bit more pretty at the moment.
When Sam walks in tonight, for once she isn't in uniform. She doesn't really have anywhere to where her dress to tonight, but she couldn't bear to wear her uniform a moment longer and it really was too early in the day for anything else.
Besides, she likes it. It's a pretty blue, and frankly, the world needs a little bit more pretty at the moment.

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When Sam enters, he's at a table, stretched out with a sipping glass of whiskey and some chocolate cookies in his loose linen shirt that still has hay in the folds, "Good eve, miss, ye look lovely."
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"What? Oh, sorry, thank you, I mean. It isn't much, but I was able to get the piecing right." It might be the last bit of new fabric she'll see in a while, so she's rather pleased she didn't make an utter hash of it.
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His accent is definitely English, full of Nottingham and other older sounds.
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"I was just going to get an ale - did you want me to bring you anything?"
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"Nay, but thank ye, I'm doin' well. Lady Bar's been feedin' me up after a day o'mowin' 'ay."
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As he's sitting he can't manage a proper bow but ends up with half of one.
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"Err."
It's very rare that anyone can strike Sam speechless. Will should feel proud.
"Really?"
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She looks slightly poleaxed and he offers her his hand to help her find the seat.
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"And you know Robin Hood?" Look, she's found her questions again - if Foyle couldn't break her of the habit, Milliways doesn't stand a chance.
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Will's never minded questions and pushes the cookies over her way. Also he sits up, since he was swimming so he knows he's not at his neatest. There's hay in his hair and shirt and his wrist scars are just visible in his loose shirt.
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Her drink arrives and the rat squeaks at her to get her attention.
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"Do mine eyes deceive me?" he says, his tone playing up his genuine surprise. "Or have you shed your cocoon of a uniform and emerged as the marvelous butterfly that you are?"
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"I don't know about marvelous butterfly..." Sam had just been glad all of the seams matched up in the end.
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"Excessive flattery never hurt anyone, darling -- especially the kind that's well-deserved," he confides in her with a gentle wink.
"Is this for a special occasion, or...?"
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"People can be quite horrid." Her chin goes up, completing the study of 'Defiance in Blue'. "I haven't anywhere to go tonight, but... well. It seems I do after all."
She needed some distance between all that'd gone on in the last couple days and now - the dress was the start of it.
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"You are here, and here should do in short notice, no?"
Her hand still in his, he brings her to an empty bar stool beside his own.
"Although surely you would want to show off your dress other than at the end of the universe. Perhaps somewhere more local. A dance, I'm thinking."
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He smirks, and settles onto his stool, leaning back against the bar.
"But what's this about no more dances?"
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Her uniform still reeks of smoke. She rather hopes she can get it out before tomorrow.
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"Oh. Well. That certainly puts a damper on the whole being free, having fun bit," he murmurs.
He looks at her, brows still drawn.
"Have you been all right?"
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There's the blatantly obvious lie - 'Of course I have, whatever are you worrying about me for?'
There's the misdirection - 'Well, it's ever so much worse for other people.'
There's the ugly truth - 'You didn't see them, piles of coffins stacked right up to the ceiling, and the crowd burned a perfectly lovely man yesterday for no other crime than being Italian, and that judge...'
"Dance with me." Because she has a wealth of answers, and a dearth of any she likes.
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"I would be delighted to, darling."
This time, he sheds his coat and leaves it draped over a stool. His white tuxedo shirt is neat and new (thanks to Eric), though with loose cuffs and halfway unbuttoned like a bohemian, true to his own style.
After offering his hand to her, they approach the jukebox.
"Your choice."
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She gives Emcee a sidelong (and rather challenging, actually) look.
"Do you know the jitterbug?"
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