milliways_bar | (no subject)

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So often back in her world, Rae is already at work when the sun rises in the morning. Dawn is her favorite time of day, and yet she so rarely gets to see it - really see it - to take in the ending of darkness and bask in the beginning of light. To witness the daily reminder that no darkness lasts forever.

But today she gets to, thanks to Milliways. She is seated on the picnic table near the back door of the bar, with her hands wrapped around a faintly steaming mug of tea, looking out towards the lake and the mountain beyond it, and the brilliantly-colored sky above them. The surface of the lake reflects the brilliant, fiery oranges and reds of the sky in each glimmering wavelet, and the snow-covered peak of the mountain glows golden where the early light touches it.

The early December chill feels good against Rae's skin, still warm from her pre-dawn run around the lake. She is relatively well-rested, her muscles warmed but not wearied by her run, and - almost startlingly - she feels at peace.

Sunshine knows better than to question peace when it comes. So she sits, basking in the sunrise and her own peace while they last.

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"They are," she agrees, musing, contented to be at peace for now while it lasts. "Perhaps we don't notice their beauty as much as we would otherwise, because they are so reliable. The sun always rises. The sun always sets. Each day follows night follows day."

And here she is, soaking in the early golden light as much as any plant might, let it feed what food cannot.

"Sometimes it's good to remember, and appreciate another sunrise."

"You're quite right," he says. glancing out the window. "Sunrises are one of the loveliest of a normal day's blessings, and it is good to take note of it sometimes."

After all, there were so many small things in the world that should be appreciated more. Like candies and fair weather and the smell of a good book.

The red-haired woman smiles at him. There are faint scars around her neck - burn scars, but well-healed - and others that disappear beneath the collar of her jacket. Set in her skin and hair, so faint that it might go unnoticed, is a webwork of tiny pinpricks of golden light, like a net that might have been thrown over her. It glimmers, occasionally, when the light hits it right, but otherwise is quiescent, barely there at all.

"Usually around this time of the morning, I've been at work in the bakery for a couple hours already, the coffeehouse is opening up, and our earliest customers are arriving and asking for the first of the morning's cinnamon rolls as big as your head, fresh and still hot from the ovens."

"You work in a bakery? That must be quite the enjoyable work," he says, eyes glittering mischievously at the idea of sweets, especially those rolls. If he notices her scars -- and he notices everything -- he is polite enough not to say anything and let them pass unremarked. "Especially with cinnamon buns that are so very large."

She grins at him, though perhaps the tinge of wryness to her grin is her noticing him not remarking on the scars. "Head Baker at Charlie's Coffeehouse in Old Town, New Arcadia, purveyor of all sorts of breads both nutritious and delicious, as well as experimental baked goods and all of the sweetest treats with no redeeming social value that one can hope to encounter."

"My friends call me Sunshine."

Edited 2018-12-06 20:51 (UTC)

He chuckles at that description, especially the mention of 'no redeeming social value'. "Well, that sounds like an utterly delightful bakery, then," he says, before adding, "And it is a pleasure to meet you, then, Sunshine. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

"Pleased to meet you as well," she replies, beaming. Rae feels quite strongly that 'Albus Dumbledore' is a fantastic name. "I like to think of it as a delightful bakery, certainly. Or a bakery full of delights."

Like her Death of Marat is a trifle dramatic, as well as a dramatic trifle.

"I'm quite fortunate that both my regulars back home, as well as patrons here are quite willing to taste-test new recipes for me and give me their opinions."

"What do you do in your world, Albus?"

"Ah, and if you have so many loyal regulars, then they must be quite the delicious taste-tests, then," he says.

"Back at home, I'm a teacher," he answers, smiling. "I teach at a secondary school in Scotland. I've been there for several years now and I rather love the place."

On one hand, she is rather surprised by his answer, but on another, it totally makes sense to her. He looks a bit like a teacher, if a bit more striking in appearance than most teachers she's known. "Oh, neat! I've... actually not met very many teachers here, which is a shame. It's good to love one's career home."

She knows that feeling well.

"I've been told that some of the landscape here is based on Cal- ah, Scotland. The northern part of the island of Albion is called Caledonia in my world, rather than Great Britain and Scotland, I mean. I've gotten used to running into some differences in place names between worlds, here."

"Ah, but that's so fascinating, to know that we have similar lands even as they exist in entirely different realities, with entirely different names," he says, clearly interested in such a concept. "But you are saying that some of the area of the bar is based on Scotland, then?"

"Some of it, at least originally," she smiles. "I think a lot has been added on, like the forge, gardens, greenhouse and mountain, but the open grassy area behind the bar, the lake, and a good bit of the forest were based on a bit of Scotland. I heard that some former barman - well before I found the place - was homesick, and a friend of his from the same world made the outside area based on where they'd spent their childhood together."

"I've hardly been a few hours drive from New Arcadia in my world, and never so far as Caledonia, so I don't know how accurate the recreation is. It's quite pretty, though."

"How fascinating. I had no idea the people here had influenced the setting so strongly," he says, and really, that does open quite a few interesting possibilities. "I'll have to take some time to explore it to see how it compares. I imagine it must be quite a beautiful site if it even a passing recreation."

"Milliways is a bit unique like that," she grins. "But definitely give it a look. Even in the greyer days of winter, it is quite lovely, and not just for beautiful sunrises or for an excuse to come in for something hot to drink."

Though the brisk chill does make one cherish the bounty of hot drinks available in the bar.

"Have you been coming to Milliways long, or did the place show up for you just recently - hiding behind a classroom door or something similar?"

"Very recently. I only first arrived here a few days ago," he says with a small laugh. "But I admit, I've quickly grown fond of it. Luckily, it did not whisk me away during class, which would have very much confused my lesson planning skills. Instead, I stumbled upon it whilst running an errand in London."

"It likes to show up in my bakery when I'm not expecting it," she grins, wry. "Generally when there something fresh out of the oven, so I'm suspicious of it's motives."

But not really. They are motives she understands.

"What do you teach?"

"Ah, but at least that means it is fond of your baking," he says with a small grin. "So you know how to summon it whenever you need."

Ah, the subject matter he teaches. His one very blatant lie that he's been giving ever since he arrived. "Maths and science. I've been teaching it for several years now."

"If only it were that reliable," she remarks, wry, glancing at him.

Sunshine, Albus may have noticed, is the kind of person who is easy to read. Everything she thinks shows up on her face.

When he mentions what he teaches, her Dark Sight registers the lie in his shadows, and the recognition of the lie registers on her face. But it is followed a moment later by the deliberate acknowledgement that people lie for a variety of reasons, which are - by nature - their own business.

"Teenagers?" she asks with a tinge of sympathy, instead of calling him on his lie and asking what he really teaches.

Edited 2018-12-18 19:29 (UTC)

He sees that flash, the slight change in her expression and the way it quickly disappears. In turn, there is a slightly acknowledgement in his own features, a tiny quirk of his smile.

And yet his tone doesn't change, still friendly as ever, seemingly blissfully unconcerned or unaware of any change. "Exactly. I teach secondary school, so I have them through all of the fun teenaged years," he says. "They're mostly all good kids at heart, but of course there's all sorts of school drama and that sort of thing."

She gives a sympathetic wince at the mention of school drama. Rae remembers all too well. "Oof. High school drama. Some things are universal, I guess. Most teenagers are... well, they're teenagers."

It's the kindest thing she can say about them. She is of the opinion that all seventeen-year olds are idiots, one way or another.

"But a good teacher can make all the difference in the world. Even for wretched students," she remarks, wry. "I'm pretty certain the efforts of my subversive literature teacher are the only reason I managed to graduate, most of the time."

He laughs heartily at the first part. "They are certainly teenagers," he agrees. "But it's an important time period all the same. And we all were teenagers once -- it's only fair they get their turn for such dramatics." After all, Dumbledore's late teens were very eventful for the wizarding world at large!

"Ah, how lovely that you had a teacher who made such strong efforts," he says with a smile. "Especially one who teaches such a fascinating subject."

"So long as they survive the dramatics, yeah?" Sunshine chuckles. Some students are more dramatic than others. "June Yanovsky taught an elective on Other literature, my senior year, despite a lot of parents not wanting it taught. It probably saved me - hers was just about the only class I was making an effort in, at that point."

It was a bad time, during the last few years of the Wars. Teens - old enough to understand just how bad things were getting, but not old enough to really help do anything to make them better - did a lot of things to try and dull the fear that had infiltrated every corner of their lives.

"Though she never said anything, I'm pretty sure she went to bat for me against the school admins, so I even had half a hope to graduate."

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