milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Here's someone who hasn't been in the bar for a while: Gredya, still thin, clothes a little more ragged than the last time she was here, carrying a pair of dead rabbits. She goes into the kitchen with them, and comes out again without them, and sits at the bar.

"Bar. There is a story. In that bible book. The little man has a weapon, he kills the big fighter with a rock. I want that story. And I want to see how to make that weapon. I want books and pictures. And one of those dictionary books."

Before long she's set up camp in a booth, doing research.

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It's--oddly reassuring to see Gredya in the Bar again. Joly, on his way to grab lunch, nods a hello towards her. though he won't approach her if she's too intent on her studies to notice. He knows how that is.

She does spot him: she's intent on her studies but she's also very rusty with her reading these days, and she's looking up and rubbing her forehead and stretching her shoulders uncomfortably every few minutes. This is hard work.

So she spots Joly while she's rolling her shoulders and yawning, and when she's done yawning she smiles back. Hey, it's that small helpless person! He's still around!

Amazingly, he is! Not on account of any sudden tendency to sensible behavior on his own part, though.

--Oh, there's something he should probably tell her, if she doesn't know. He goes over, near enough to see something of what she's reading. "Hello, Gredya. Have you only come in today?"

She nods a greeting, or maybe just a confirmation. See, she's friendly! A friendly werewolf! "I was in the forest all summer.'

"Ah! Welcome back then.--Oh,what are you working on?" Yes , he has news, but there's definitely a project happening!

She looks a bit amused at the welcome back, but sure! And she doesn't mind answering questions. "I think we need to make weapons. Weapons that are good for people who don't make many things. Or live in houses."

"Oh." It's a sobering thought. "I'm sorry that you need to." He really, really is. " But I can't say it's a bad idea." Not lately, especially. "--I wanted to warn you--if no one else has- there's a new visitor here, a giant lizard sort of fellow. He talks, he's a person and not a stray animal , but he's , hm." How to explain so it doesn't just sound like a silly humans problem,or even just a Joly problem? "He likes to attack people for very little reason-not hunting, just attacking-- and he could be very dangerous."

Gredya frowns. "Like another dragon? We have that dragon that comes here."

"Yes, but she's very sociable, really. This one--ah, he's about so tall--" Joly gestures, somewhat over his head "--no wings, very large claws and teeth. And, ah, weapons, of various sorts. I don't think he breathes fire; he was certainly attacking people very carelessly, and he never did breath fire, but I suppose he might. Or might have a flamethrower." Hmm. "--Security would have taken that away when they arrested him, of course, but if he can go back and forth to wherever he got the first set, then that doesn't help much, does it?"

She listens gravely to this. "I will watch for that. If he makes trouble I will tell friends."

Or possibly just try to kill him if no one is there to see, but...

Joly nods. "That's the best idea, I think; he is very dangerous. But I'm sure you'll be fine. Well." He's Joly levels of sure about safety, which are nearly never absolute. But Gredya's surely very used to other predators and such, she'll...probably be all right?

"--But what's this weapon you're studying?" He tilts his head, to see the books better.

Quentin's on his way to find a place to sit balancing a plate of pancakes, a donut in his mouth and some coffee when he passes Greyda's booth without a disguise.

He's always curious what people are reading and glances down, "Is that a slingshot?"

"Sling," she answers. "It is a sling. You know about them?"

...He smells like food.

"A little yes, they're basic but useful weapons," He's growing teenager who needs food.

"You use them? You make them?"

"I've used them and made them when I was younger but its been a while. Why are you interested in them?"

Quentin finishes the donut in his mouth and rearranges the food he's holding to try and be polite as he talks.

She looks at him speculatively. "It took you long to learn? To make them, to use them?"

"No, to either one. I mean it took some time to get my aim good but not that long."

"What did you kill with it?"

This is a reasonable question for a stranger, right?

He stares at her, "Um, nothing, I knocked things down and annoyed people with it."

She stares back, then laughs a short barking laugh. "Useless. I don't need toys."

"I mean they can be dangerous if it in the right place and with metal or big stones. I've just never used them that way."

She pulls over a book with pictures: hunter-gatherers, shepherds, Iron Age soldiers. "They hunt with them. They kill other men with them. But I don't know how quick you can learn that."

"Its not that hard if you know how to use a bow or anything else that involves aim."

"Wyr don't use bows," she says--automatically, but the frown is real. They don't use bows, they don't use weapons that involve aim. "But my son is learning."

"Wyr? Can I join you?" Its hard to talk when his hands are full of food.

She shrugs. There's a seat. He can sit in it. "I am Wyr," she says shortly. "We hunt. Without weapons."

The way she says it makes him think of Raj and he nods before starting in on his pancakes, "I'm Daoine Sidhe, we use weapons but I have a friend who doesn't use weapons other than his claws and teeth. Slings are probably easier to learn than a bow."

She looks fractionally, fractionally, less hostile at that. "Yes. We hunt on four feet. With teeth."

A sudden fierce smile shows them off: ordinary human teeth, by the look of them, but brilliantly white without a hint of use.

At the smile, he relaxes a little, her teeth must change like the Luidaeg's and Raj's, "From what I've seen, if you can do that, its the easiest way."

She laughs another laugh, only slightly less harsh than before. "It is always hard. But more fun that way."

"So if that's how you usually hunt, why the sling?"

Father Harman enters, carrying some books, smiles as he spots Gredya, and turns to head in the direction of her booth.

"I haven't seen you in a while!" he declares. "How are you doing?"

He gets a proper smile in return. "I am well. The children are well." And, after a pause, a concession to sociability that few non-Wyr would get, "You are well, too? We always watch the church. Make sure no one bothers it."

"Thank you," Father Harman says. "Your children are probably grown now?"

"Grown, yes. In spring, summer, probably some of them will want to leave, or else bring mates into our pack."

"And they can read and write, too?" Harman asks. "What else did they learn?"

"They read and write. I make us all practice." She glances over at the books and taps them. "Even if I forget many words. But Karel, he still has ideas." Her smile turns a little wry. Father Harman probably remembers Karel and his ideas. "He is good at throwing stones. He can hit a rabbit. Wyr don't fight that way, don't hunt that way. But I thought...a sling, that is something easy to make, you don't need house to keep it in. You don't need to make arrows or bullets. I thought, maybe this time he has a good idea to try."

"Wood, pebbles, bit of plant fibre or animal sinew," Father Harman nods. "He can make it, use it, and discard it when he shifts his shape."

"Yes." She nods approval, and glances again over the illustrations she's found. They show the ancient Greeks' sling missiles, inscribed with rude messages. "These are metal. Lead. But rocks, they work, yes?"

"Round pebbles of the right size are best," Harman says. "Easy and effective."

"The kind you find by a river. Or the sea." She looks distant for a moment, thoughtful. "We can get those."

"Easily," Harman says. "That's why a sling is such an ideal weapon for people with very little material culture -- you don't need to invest many hours in making it, just some training in using it."

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