milliways_bar | Milli-timed to Tuesday the 28th

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Milli-timed to Tuesday the 28th - New Orleans Mardi Gras

The bar room of Milliways is always full of sound - the clatter of dishes and clink of glasses, chairs being scooted back or further in, footsteps upon the floor, rats squeaking, the background murmur of conversations overlapping one another.

But tonight the main door to the bar opens to the mouth of an city alleyway, to a caucophony of noise and music, full of seething crowds and colorful parade floats, the smells of food and sweat and smoke and beer and those colorful fruity drinks sold in yard-long plastic glasses with umbrellas in them. Mardi Gras is in full swing and New Orleans has outdone itself this time.

Yrael enters, trailing laughter from a section of the crowd on the other side. His white hair is decorated with purple, gold and green feathers, his pale face partially hidden by a sharp, glittery cat mask of gold, behind which his green eyes are bright. Over his white shirt this evening he wears a shiny waistcoat of purple, gold, green, and black. It's clearly party time, big time, show time -

"And then some!" he grins, seeing Milliways. "Fat Tuesday is upon us, Milliways! Welcome to Mardi Gras! Come, dance, explore! Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

Yrael will make sure the door stays open for any party-goer who would like to partake in the joie de vivre, and the Bar can certainly provide a change of costume...

(ooc: The post will be open all weekend and into next week as needed! Usual party-thread guidelines apply! Tag in! Threadhop! Meet new people and get into trouble! :D Yrael will be around, but his mun will not be able to tag much until Monday evening. <333333)

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"I suspect there's a great many things here Mr Norrell would find scandalous." Says the scantily clad individual on his arm.

"Indeed. He would have been running for the safety of his library inside a minute." He glances around. "The magic here has a life all its own."

Sinric watches a group of dancers flutter past them, all beads and flashing colours. "Born of the life here, I think. Grown wild on the joys of the festival."

He nods, turning to watch the dancers as well.

"You may well be right. And they do not see any need for restraint."

(He's a restrained man himself, in his own way, as much as Norrell - but he can respect those who aren't.)

Sinric smiles and presses a little closer to Childermass' side. There's still a chill in the air, even here. "I like it. If feels like my kind of magic. Like something I could easily give myself over to."

Which in a way he had, with a handsome youth in an alleyway. Buy that had invigorated him more still.

"Perhaps you could ask our host if you could stay a little longer", he suggests, not objecting to Sinric using him for warmth and shelter. "To learn more of it."

"I would enjoy that. But I suspect like all wild parties, it would eventually take its toll." Hangovers, magical ones especially, are no small thing. "I understand the festival last some days. That will be enough for me."

Childermass nods thoughtfully.

"It's odd - in my own world, and in Milliways, I can tell magic being done. I was near to fainting, in my first moments in the bar - but here, I can feel it but it has not taken me nearly so badly. Perhaps because its nature is quite different."

"Perhaps because it is suffused with the place, ground deep into every pore over century after century." Sinric smiles, letting it suffue him too.

"You may be right. So that it is... softer, somehow, or more natural to the place and its people. It is my theory that the magic of my world came into it from Faerie."

"And left with the king?" He asks softly, pressing a little closer against a cool breeze. Several men (and more than one woman) give Childermass a jealous look.

"That is when it began. It is as if he closed a door, or stopped up a spring."

He wraps an arm around Sinric, without groping him.

"Then perhaps, like this place, there are pockets of it still thriving. One need only search for it."

The corset that gives his androgynous figure such feminine shape is firm and tight, but not so thick that his warmth can't be felt through it.

"If there are, I think it most likely they are in the North. Perhaps the dwellings of the Aureate magicians... or perhaps even at Hurtfew, since Mr Norrell can do great works of magic there."

"Then there is hope." Sinric's eyes drift to a stall outside a shop of 'magic'. He runs his hands over the charms and fetishes, feeling nothing but the in-ground warmth panther place. These were trifles for tourists but they amused him all the same.

Childermass reaches out for them too, but lets go after a moment.

"I don't imagine anything with real power would be set out for anyone to take."

"Shall we go inside?" He asks, his painted eyes sparkling with mischief. "And see if we can find something... real?"

"I think we really ought to", he says with a flash of a smile in return.

The interior of the shop is so busy with things in jars, piles of books, things hanging from the rafters that even little Sinric has to duck to get under them.

He steps between the shelves with fingers outstretched, a hint of gold at their tips that might be mistaken for paint.

Childermass glances at his hands, remembering the golden net, and turns to engage the shopkeeper in conversation.

(His accent comes through as strongly in Italian as it does in French, so this isn't entirely easy.)

"Ah!" Sinric makes a little warm, surprised little sound and fingers a simple enameled pendant.

The shopkeeper eyes Childermass, "Your lady has good taste. That was owned by a priestess of the old ways. A horse of Legba, the god of crossroads."

Sinric's eyes laugh, even as he keeps his face a mask of girlish glee. He meets Childermass' eyes and shakes his head minutely. It's all a pitch but the pendant is pretty and matches his costume.

"I do believe she likes it", he says with a halfway smile. "What would your price be?"

The man names a price, too high for what it is. Sinric shakes his head, making his blonde tresses dance. "Oh no, monsieur." His French is archaic and exotic. "I could not. It is too much."

He walks over to them, the sway of his hips draws the eye down his dancer's legs. "Might I suggest a trade? A kiss for the necklace?"

Childermass, aware of magic, might well notice the hypnotic power in those words as he holds the shop-keepers eye.

He does, even if it's not aimed at him, and he straightens to keep an eye out.

Just in case the man is resistant - or if not, in case things get out of hand.

"Seems like a low price for such a precious thing." The man answers, clearly interested but bargaining. And he notices Childermass straighten. "And wouldn't your man here object?"

"What if I could promise it was a kiss like no other?" He purrs seductively.

As to the other question, Sinric shrugs and lets Childermass answer for himself.

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