(no subject)

[likeroaringlions]

It's raining, it's pouring, Stirling Castle is boring...

William Douglas has been shooed with varying degrees of deference out of the kitchens, out of the stables, out of the smithy and the armory and the kennels. And sent with no deference at all out of his father's chambers, where Balvenie and Livingston are deep in conference. Thick as thieves, the pair of you, William had said, and as a result he's pressing a cold cold glass of ale gingerly to a slightly swelling lip.

Come on, is there anything on that television? Anyone to talk to? He'd asked the bar for something to make pictures with, like that foan or instamattick someone told him about, and all he'd gotten was a few sticks of colored wax and a sheaf of white papers.

Comments

[just_cant_lose]

'Aren't you a bit old for colouring in?'

Maybe not. Jim wouldn't have pegged William as the drawing type, but heigh ho, he's been wrong before. Probably. Some time.

[likeroaringlions]

"Am I?" He'd bristle in offense, but honestly he has no idea if he should be offended or not. "I'm no artist anyway, that's sure. No crown today?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Mmm, no. I gave it back.'

He is plucking the strings of a violin worth a few million quid, but he wouldn't expect William to appreciate that.

'What are you drawing?'

[likeroaringlions]

"Aye? More trouble than they're worth, crowns. But you made your big show? Friend noticed it and all?"

William's not really drawing, any more than Jim is really playing the violin right now: he holds up a paper to show a line of Ws in different colors and an experimental squiggly line that turned into a sort of recognizable sheep. "Some sort of fiddle you've got there?"

[just_cant_lose]

'Oh-' a tiny smile, '-I should think I got his attention.'

The show's only just getting started, but there's no need to go into it any further. He nods, picking a few more notes out, jiggling his leg that has the bow laid across it.

'A violin. Do they not call them that in your time?'

He honestly can't remember.

[likeroaringlions]

"Fuck, I think the proper name is..." Uh. "Lira da braccio? Da gamba? Braccio, that's arm, lira da braccio. Anyway, it's a fucking fiddle. You play it?"

He wouldn't have figured Jim for a musician, but hey, why not? Thieves likely learn all kinds of things.

[just_cant_lose]

Everyone seems to find it weird. It's funny.

'No, not really. It's not mine.'

He tilts his head in the direction of the piano.

'I used to play one of those a lot. Not much time for it these days. I don't suppose boys in your Scotland get forced into music lessons much.'

[wheatencrown]

Demeter's reacquainting herself with Milliways and smiles when she sees William and sits down beside him, "Working on something?"

[likeroaringlions]

"Eh?" Oh! He quickly puts on his talking-to-girls grin. "No, the bar just gave me these things. Maybe you know what to do with them?"

[wheatencrown]

"Create something lovely. Were you hoping for something else?"

He seems young and full of a lot of energy, perhaps not the sitting type.

[likeroaringlions]

He snorts a little at create something lovely, but collects himself. Girls, aye? "I'm sure you could, lass, but I'm no artist. You can see it here." His papers, indeed, aren't showing anything very impressive: a row of Ws in different colors, a random squiggle turned into a sheep, a fish.

"I'd been hoping for one of those--" he's probably got the words wrong, that's probably the problem, unless the bar just thinks he's been bugging her too much for things-- "those things that make the pictures that look just like the real thing, aye? You know them?"

[wheatencrown]

"I do. What were you planning on taking pictures of?"

[likeroaringlions]

"I dunno, just--anything." A sudden grin that's probably a little too hopeful. "Pretty girls?"

[onceaviking]

A tall, blond man walks up to the bar. He is pale and all dressed in black.

(Modern, tight clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt. Boots.)

He moves like he is used to being watched. And like he is used to people moving out of the way.

He leans on the bar and asks for the usual.
A bottle appears.

[likeroaringlions]

William Douglas isn't used to moving out of the way. Well, only for a very small handful of people, and Tall Pale Man in Black isn't one of them. So he raises an eyebrow at all the assurance and tight clothes. "Regular here, are you?"

[onceaviking]

"Oh yes," Eric says, as he leans against the bar and surveys the clientele.
"Very much so."

He sounds American. But doesn't really look it.

[likeroaringlions]

Well, William wouldn't really know American if it came up and ordered a drink next to him. Though he's met some Americans here by now. "Christ, I might end up a regular myself."

[onceaviking]

Eric turns his full attention to him.

He really is very pale. He's also only breathing when he is talking but since he is talking now it might be hard to spot.

"But new at the moment? "

[likeroaringlions]

"Been here a lot of times," William asserts immediately. "Been coming here since spring."

He shifts a bit in his seat, not quite comfortable under that scrutiny, and not quite sure why.

[whiiiip_laaaash]

Well, there's a puff of breeze and a vaguely familiar guy in grey seated across the table from him. Does that count?

"Who'd you piss off?"

[likeroaringlions]

William blinks. That was fast. "Uh. Walked into a door. How're you? Were you--didn't see you come in."

[whiiiip_laaaash]

"Huh. Most of the time people who say that have black eyes." Peter shrugs and picks up one of the crayons. "Nobody sees me coming. Not unless I want them to. I'm good at that. How're you doing?"

[likeroaringlions]

"Aye? Must be useful in the hunt, stalking up on deer like that." He picks up another of the crayons and pushes it aimlessly across the paper. "I'm all right. There's fuck-all to do at home right now so I came here. You?"

[whiiiip_laaaash]

"Never been hunting, but I could do it, I bet," says Peter. "It's a speed thing, not a quiet thing. Deer aren't that fast."

Not to him, anyway. They'd have to have... I dunno, rockets or something.

"Eh. I just heard a news story about a guy who was a soldier in a war that's been over for thirty years. He'd been in the jungle on some island and didn't know the war was over and they just got his commanding officer to show up and give him his discharge papers so he could go home. Figured I'd come here and see if they could show me some stuff about his country. Seems like they have everything else."

[likeroaringlions]

"Not that fast?" Ha, if you say so! But his eyes go wide at the story. "Christ--so he was stuck on that island thirty years? That poor bastard. Does he have anything to come home to? What is his country?"