(no subject)

[cant_kim]

The front door opens, letting in a draft of chilly air and sooty fog. The girl boy youth on the other side is crouched down near the lock; as the door opens, she breathes a sigh of relief, slips inside, and pockets a few bent bits of wire. "Call that a lock," she mutters. "Could of milled it with my eyes closed."

She makes a stop at the Bar to order a mug of ale, then heads for the fireplace, shaking moisture off her cap as she goes. It may not have been raining, but she's been hunting down a place to kip for the night long enough that her well-worn coat is looking a bit damp.


[ooc: open 'til it scrolls!]

Comments

[equal_of_any_man]

There's a man in his mid-thirties in the dress of medieval era by the fire, sorting dried herbs into small muslin bags.

He greets the new-comer with a welcoming smile and moves his things out of the youth's way. "Come warm yourself by the fire. There is plenty of room."

[cant_kim]

Even after a few years of coming to Milliways, the clothing of people from other times gives her pause. She's half-used to seeing the clothes of the future, though; this cully's something else.

She hesitates momentarily -- but the promise of a warm fire and her curiosity outweigh her general mistrust of strangers. She gives him a nod as she settles onto the hearth. "Thanks."

[equal_of_any_man]

He nods to the pot near his knee. "There's tea then, if you wish some? I have more than enough to share."

[cant_kim]

"'M all right," she says, lifting her ale, and peers at the herbs he's sorting. "What's all that, then?"

[equal_of_any_man]

"I'm making fortifying teas for my village. We've had a mild winter but that seems to bring illness and discomfort in the early Spring. The Bar is kind enough to allow me an area in the greenhouse in which to grow and dry healing herbs. I like to have remedies ready on hand, should my people need them."

[cant_kim]

"You a gallipot? --Er," she corrects herself, eyeing his clothes, "a, uh, a apothecary?"

[equal_of_any_man]

"A herbalist." He explains with a soft smile. "It was my mother's trade. And so I've learnt, my father's. It would seem it's in my blood."

[manofbusiness]

Childermass is already there, glancing up to nod in greeting as - he? - sits down.

"Evening."

[cant_kim]

Kim's automatic assessing glance towards turns into a look of surprise. Proper clothes, well-made but far from showy -- though with that ragamuffin hair he'd never pass for a toff.

"Evenin'."

She settles down onto the hearth, still stealing curious looks. "Those your own togs, then?"

[manofbusiness]

"They are." They're not new, that much is clear, nor the latest fashion of their time, and in a place or two they've been carefully darned - but they're still more than serviceable. "Are yours?"

[cant_kim]

She snorts.

"Bought and paid for."

All right, that's stretching the truth a little. But the cap's the only thing that's stolen!

[manofbusiness]

Close enough! Childermass isn't going to fault her for stealing what she needs to live and keep warm, anyway.

He nods acceptance. "Name's Childermass."

[cant_kim]

"Kim," she allows.

"What I mean is, you ain't from the future like most of the coves 'round here."

[isawit]

Selina is sitting near the fire but not necessarily in the newcomer's path. Dressed in jeans with worn knees and a leather jacket that's zipped up despite the fire, she spinning a piece of wire that looks suspiciously like it could be part of a picking set. She's also looking as if she's deep in her head.

[OOC: Place holder for later. Going to be running afk soon.]

[cant_kim]

Kim settles down onto the hearth, glancing over the other patrons gathered near the fire automatically: easy mark, steer clear, too modern to tell, too modern to--

Hullo. She frowns curiously at the girl.

"Any good with that?"

[isawit]

Selina glances over and the wire casually disappears into her sleeve.

"Depends on who's asking." She takes in Kim's attire and body language, guessing she's more her kind of people than most here. Unless, she's wrong.

[cant_kim]

Kim snorts.

"Do I look like a nabbing cull?"

[isawit]

"I'm going to guess no," she replies with raised eyebrows. "Though it wouldn't matter if you were cause I don't do jobs here. And yes. I am pretty good and getting better."

[OOC: About to disappear for weekend chores. I might be back tonight though.]

[cant_kim]

Kim raises her eyebrows right back, reaches in her pocket, and twirls her own lockpick for Selina to see before tucking it away again.

"Smart. It ain't a good spot for the sharping lay."

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin's on the couch by the fireplace as he's getting sick of the fog in San Francisco. He's working his way through a huge basket of sweet potato fries as he reads.

When Kim sits down, Quentin looks her over, her clothing might be from earlier though he's seen some Fae wear better quality versions recently, "Rain or fog? They both have a way of adding to the damp."

[cant_kim]

"Fog," she grumbles. "Bloody jerry of a fog."

She glances over at him and frowns. "You're that constable's nephew, ain't you?"

[heatherandsteel]

His disguise is down this time and he smiles,

"Squire to a detective, but something like that. Fog is awful. I'd rather have proper snow or cold instead of fog that's just asking for monsters to hide in it."

[cant_kim]

Her frown doesn't go away.

"I wouldn't know from monsters."

Unless you're using a fairly broad definition of monster that includes cutpurses and burglars, in which case, she would know very well from monsters.

"But it does get right into your bones some nights."

[heatherandsteel]

"I hope you never have to, they're awful and make everything messy. It does,"

Fog doesn't act like anything else.

[cant_kim]

"You deal much with monsters, then?"