Stolen Happy Hour!

[scildmaeg]

Today has been a particularly difficult one for the White Lady of Rohan. Her uncle was cantankerous, and Wormtongue seemed to be tripping at her heels everywhere she turned. Eomer is away with his éored, and it is always worse when he is away.

When she opens the door to the kitchens and finds herself instead in the strange bar, she breathes a sigh of relief, a slow exhale soft enough to be barely audible. It has been only a few weeks since she last found a door to the enchanted realm she's certain the bar exists in, but she had been missing the respite she found here.

She approaches the bar to order and is given a note on a napkin instead. "I...I would be honored, Lady Bar," she says, not one to shrink from a challenge.

A moment later, she has her hair tied back, her sleeves rolled up, and has scratched out a list of drinks on the provided slate.

A dark ale
A spiced mead
A honeyed cider

They were the things that had seemed most familiar when she glanced around the available stores.

Comments

[childofrebellion]

(OOC: Yay Eowyn!)

Cassian's traveling when he finds Milliways instead of a tiny cantina. As he heads to the counter, there's a blaster at his hip and a touch of rain in his hair, he's stopping at a humid and rainy port.

He nods to the woman behind the counter, "What would you recommend?"

[scildmaeg]

[ooc: \o/ It's been a while.]

There is almost nothing about Cassian that is familiar to her, from his clothes to his weapon to his accent, but she has begun to accept the reality of a bar where beings from different worlds meet together. She has decided to find it intriguing rather than frightening.

She is, however, still getting used to the casual way people interact here (and to people not knowing her or her position, which has mostly been a relief). It takes her a beat to respond.

"I prefer the mead," she says. "Though I understand it is not to everyone's taste." She is polite, but there is an air of coldness about her.

[childofrebellion]

Her formality and attire reminds him of those from the Core and stands up straighter, replacing his casual pilot posture with that of an officer,

"Then I'll try a glass of the mead, please. I enjoy having a chance to try new flavors here."

[scildmaeg]

Somewhat ironically, his change in posture makes her relax a bit more, and a brief touch of warmth seeps into her.

"It is an experience granted to very few," she says with a faint smile. "You are wise to make the most of it."

She turns to fill a large, clay mug with a sweet, spiced mead from a cask, and sets it in front of Cassian. "Good health to you."

[childofrebellion]

"I try to. Thank you and you as well," He raises his mug to her before taking a sip and closing his eyes as he sorts through the spices he's tasting.

Then opens the again to say to her, "This is delicious. My name's Cassian Andor."

[sunbaked_baker]

At some point in the evening, a red-haired woman comes down the stairs from the upstairs rooms, and approaches the bar. She wears a bright orange t-shirt and purple jean shorts, with her bright red sneakers. They leave much of her arms and legs bare, and do little to hide the scars that mark her skin. Some are burns, most were made by impacts or by teeth. The one made by a blade is mostly hidden below the neckline of her t-shirt.

Having glanced at the specials board, the woman in sunset colors offers the bartender a slight smile in greeting - friendly, but polite and more than a little tired.

[scildmaeg]

Eowyn is far more shocked by the woman's bareness than by her scars. (Though if Eowyn had such scars to show, she might be tempted to the same.) It takes her just a moment to recover from that shock and offer a nod in return.

"Greetings," she says, and there's a coolness to her voice. "Can I offer you a drink?"

[sunbaked_baker]

"Good evening," she replies, taking a seat at the bar. Closer-up, her face has the tell-tale signs of a face recently scrubbed in hot water. Her hair is still damp, clipped up to keep it off the back of her neck. "That would be wonderful - a dark ale, if you would. It has been a long day, and a hot one."

[scildmaeg]

"As you wish," Eowyn says with a touch of a smile. She can recognize that fatigue, she has both seen it and felt it many times. She serves the ale in a heavy, clay mug.

"Is there anything else I might do for you? You seem...weary."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal comes down from the residential corridors, a small musette bag in hand. Print ink is smudged on his fingers, and he smells like a photocopy machine.

He sits himself down at the bar, and looks over to the woman currently on shift.

"One of the dark ales, please."

[scildmaeg]

He smells like nothing Eowyn has ever encountered, and it makes her wrinkle her nose slightly when the scent hits her.

Still, she is very courteous as she pulls ale from a cask into a heavy, clay mug. "Good health to you," she says. Despite her cordiality, she seems a bit cool.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal isn't always the best at body language, so he doesn't really notice the coldness. And he usually smells like nothing other people have ever encountered. A peril of hailing from the far future.

He takes the mug, feeling the ale cooling his hands. "And the same to you."

[scildmaeg]

She nods her thanks and will return to her work, fascinated by the various available drinks.

[thewidewideworld]

The door opens with a burst and a blonde hippy chick in next-to-no clothes trips through the door. Sin grins as the door closes. "Mead. Oh yes, that's what I need right now."

Sin flashes Éowyn a smile. "I'll just be a moment."

A few moments later, a somewhat more masculine (although still deeply androgynous) man in an embroidered tunic comes back down. "Sorry, may I have a cup of mead?"

[scildmaeg]

Eowyn is quite relieved when the man returns more covered than he left. It's still a bit of a shock how much skin people show in Milliways. "You may," she answers, a quizzical look on her face. She's curious about the charade, but she doesn't think it polite to ask.

She pulls mead from a cask into a heavy, clay mug and sets it in front of Sinric. "Good health to you, sir."

[thewidewideworld]

"And you, m'lady." Sinric answers with a bow, sipping his Mead. "You must forgive me, I was visiting a friend's world. A festival of music and dance. Wonderfully hedonistic and just what I needed."

[scildmaeg]

"Hedonistic?" she asks, arching a graceful eyebrow. "You are in need of an excess of pleasure?"

A flush comes to her cheeks, and she looks aside for a moment. It's been a long time since there was merrymaking in the Golden Hall.

[starrydome]

Here is someone who might look familiar as well. If familiar in the way of tales and legends, not in the way of the everyday.

Elrond has just come in from his study, so he is dressed sombrely and comfortably. Leggings, a tunic, a long-sleeved robe, soft boots.



(occ: they’ve met once before I think - let me know, if an elf is inconvenient)

[scildmaeg]

She well remembers. It is an encounter she was unlikely to forget. It's not every day you meet someone who knew Eorl.

Which is why Elrond is greeted with something close to a smile, rather than the wariness she met him with previously. "Lord Elrond," she says with a nod. "It is good to see you again."

[starrydome]

"Daughter of the Mark," he replies, inclining his head.

"Well met in this place between worlds."

His eyes are kind as he looks back at her.

[scildmaeg]

Her gaze is still cool, but being here relaxes her, gentling everything about her.

"Well met indeed," she says. "The hall may be strange, but it is no less welcoming for it."

[boghadair]

Merida's been out at the stables all morning, riding Angus about the grounds until they were both exhausted. He's getting his oats and hay in the stables, and Merida is ready to wet her whistle. She smells sharply of horse sweat and dirt and hay; she should, perhaps, try a bath upstairs sooner rather than later.

The lady standing behind the bar is beautiful; she has a sense of grace and poise that reminds Merida of the fine ladies of the other courts she's visited - and though Eowyn is years younger, in a way of her own mother.

"May I have a honeyed cider?" she asks. Then, belatedly - those manners that her mother has tried so hard to drill into her head finally returning to her - she adds, "please?"

[scildmaeg]

To Eowyn, she smells like home, and it reinforces her resolve to seek out the stables later. She also looks more familiar than anyone Eowyn has seen thus far tonight. More familiar even than the Lord Elrond.

"You may," she says with a smile. There is a touch of coolness to her manner, but less so than usual. She is not so very much older than Merida.

[boghadair]

Eowyn definitely reminds Merida of home too; indeed; they are fairly close in age, now that she seems her closely.

Immediately sensing she's speaking to someone who might understand, she begins to chat away. "It's beastly hot outside! I'm so thirsty, and Angus drank down so much water when I cooled him down I thought I'd...Oh, thank you, lady..." She trails off. Her ears turn slightly. "I'm afraid I didn't ask your name! I'm Merida."

[scildmaeg]

Eowyn finds herself laughing softly as she fetches Merida's cider. It's been far too long since she's heard unbridled chatter such as this.

"I am Eowyn," she says, setting a heavy, clay mug in front of Merida. "Eomund's daughter. Is Angus," she says the name slowly, feeling out the sound of it, "your horse?"