milliways_bar | (no subject)

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While the adult is away, the child will play.

A boy comes into the bar, ten years old or so, though he looks quite younger due to his slight frame and elfin features. He is wearing short wool trousers and a hand-me-down schoolboy's jacket. His boots are battered, but still holding together, and his socks come up to his knees. A floppy, flat cap that he hasn't grown into yet sits on a head of jet black hair.

He's been here before. The memory of this place had faded away, like a distant dream -- perhaps it is still a dream -- but he knows where he is, and he smiles secretly to himself.

When he makes his way to the counter, he is greeted with a plate of cookies, a glass of milk, and a 1910 issue of National Geographic magazine in German.

"Danke, Frau Bar," he says politely, and he takes his treats with him over to the fireplace. After setting everything down on the coffee table, he sits cross-legged on the floor and opens the magazine on his lap. As an afterthought, he pulls the cap off his head. He keeps forgetting to do that when he's indoors.

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There is a little grey cat, and he approaches the boy with very feline curiosity. Also, milk.

A cat!

The boy stares at it for a moment, just to see what it will do. It must be friendly, approaching like this. The stray alley cats he's most familiar with usually hang back and wait for scraps and rarely come close enough to be petted.

Instinctively wanting to share, the boy piles his cookies onto a napkin and dusts the crumbs from the shallow dish. He then carefully pours some milk into it--spilling a little on the table as he does so.

"Oops."

Thew cat jumps onto the table, rubs briefly against the boy's hand, then licks his lips in obvious gratitude and begins to lap the milk off the table.

The boy smiles at the cat's friendliness and the softness of its fur. As it laps up the milk, he strokes its back with a gentle hand. It's oddly soothing.

"You're a very pretty cat. I wonder what your name is."

The cat seems to understand, looks around as if making sure he's not being observed, then dips a claw in the milk and makes a few odd scratches that might read GRAF.

[[OOC: With lil'Emcee's native language being German, I think Count might give his name in that language, and neither Gothic nor English... ;=)))]]

So, it's not only surprising to see the cat actually take his statement into consideration, but to write out its own name as well.

But this is a magical place. This might be a magical cat. Or at the very least, an incredibly smart one.

The boy peers at the letter formations. It's a simple word that he is able to sound out and read.

"Count," he says (in German), and he looks at the cat. "Your name is Count?" He giggles a little, because now he is talking to a cat who understands him. "It's a fine name for a fine cat," he says, scratching Count behind the ears. "My name is Hansel."

Count preens, and licks his paw. Yes, that is his name.

And then, he looks at the boy, winks, ears forward, and then butts his head against the child's hand. Nice to meet you.

But then, his attention returns to the milk. He is a cat, and has feline priorities.

!!

Hansel glances around to see if anyone else heard the cat talk. No? Just him? Okay.

"I have never met a cat like you before," he says, and now he is having a conversation with a cat who not only understands him, but can speak to him as well. "Do you belong to someone? Or are you your own cat?"

The cat might as well have spoken aloud, so clear was his message -- but he did, in fact, not.

But he understands, and gives a loud, questioning yowl.

A pale man with long, dark hair and dark clothes turns around in the chair by the fireplace he is occupying, and calls to the cat, "Count, one hopes you're not holding a waitrat hostage again?"

He remembers the child.
Last they spoke, he to was very young. Such is the strangeness of Milliways.

Now, he is an adult. And one who will smile kindly at a child and ask, "Are they good?"

As a way to strike up a conversation too see if real food might be warranted.

Elton's is dressed in soft trousers and a tunic, all of it various shades of blue and grey.
The embroidery along the hems is pretty and sparkly. The circlet restring on his brow is regal.
But his voice and his eyes are kind and not at all aloof.

The boy is brushing cookie crumbs off the page he's attempting to read (he's still learning) when he looks up, and-- his eyes go wide with awe.

But he isn't dumbstruck. There is a keen, quiet intelligence in the boy's gaze, and with a quick flick up and down he takes in a lot -- maybe not everything, for there is quite a bit to absorb, from the sparkling hem of those robes to the circlet on the elf lord's brow.

And then there are his eyes. They seem...familiar.

"Yes, sir," he replies politely. "They're very good." Compelled to share with whomever he meets, he holds the plate up to him. "Would you like to try one? They're shortbread."

Again, this feels familiar.

Hospitality is very important.

"Thank you. I would like that. Perhaps I can offer something as well? Fresh fruit perhaps. Or berries?"

He sits down next to the boy, his robes stabbed just so.

He brightens and nods eagerly. Fresh fruits and berries are a rare treat.

"Yes, please! What kind? We get apples from the market but they're usually mushy, and sometimes grapes, but they're often sour."

He then has a moment of uncertainty when the elf lord sits beside him. Should he be doing something more formal and civilized? Like getting up off the floor and sitting on the couch, for one thing.

The quietly rebellious side of him decides to remain sitting on the floor.

Elrond seems at ease next to him, asking a rat to bring blueberries and apples.

There seems to a faint glow to his skin as he sits there, a light in his eyes.
But he is also very solid and not like a fairytale at all.
B
The rat returns with fragrant apples and blueberries, ripe to the point of bursting.

Edited 2019-08-20 15:01 (UTC)

He has a...comforting presence. More like a guardian, since he is an adult, but also familiar like a friend.

The fruit arrives, and frankly he's a bit stunned.

"It's so colorful," he can't help remarking as he plucks up a blueberry. The fruit that ends up on Berlin street carts are drab in addition to mushy and sour. He pops the berry into his mouth and chews, and his mouth is immediately filled with a sweetness he's never tasted before.

Elrond has shared meals with many children, often seated just like this, on the floor.
Sometimes, per the child's request, under a table.

He takes a bite of the shortbread. "This is very good too. Very sweet."

He nods at the blueberries. "Those grow closer to where I live now. Most of them are eaten just like that. Some we turn into preserves, so they will help us remember the harvest come wintertime."

The boy nods as he eats another blueberry. "Yes, we have preserves, too, it's good on toast, and sometimes on shortbread biscuits for an extra-special treat."

As an experiment, he breaks a biscuit in half and eats it along with another blueberry. "Mmm, this is better," he remarks cheerfully.

Then after a moment, he says, "My name is Hansel. What's yours?"

"My name is Elrond,"Elrond replies, delicately picking out another berry.

"At home, people has called me many different things and as I am old, I have acquired many names throughout my life, but here I am Elrond."

In mid-chew, the boy's eyes grow wide again.

He searches the elf lord's face for a brief moment, as if trying to connect who he sees before him and the feelings of familiarity. And then of course, it clicks.

"Elrond... But we've met! Haven't we? You were just a child then."

Elrond smiles.

"We have. But for me it was a very long time ago. Time is often strange here, like a river flowing in both directions at once."

Hansel considers this as he wraps his mind around the possibilities. For a boy who has just learned to read, how to grow his imagination and be inspired, it is rather overwhelming and requires a fortifying sip of milk.

Then with his dark eyes alight with curiosity, he asks, "Have you met me as a grown-up?"

Elrond hesitates briefly.
Then he nods.
"I have," he says. "Several times."

The burden of foresight is often too heavy for Men. But knowing this might be a good thing. If his life is hard.

"Really?"

Hansel isn't sure how to take this at first. He has so many questions now, but he can hardly put any into words.

"What- what am I like?"

He has never really had to consider what he would be like as an adult. In certain ways, he has already had to grow up, but people change, don't they? Like Elrond. He is now dressed in beautiful robes when before, when they first met, his clothes were careworn and he was as small as Hansel.

He tries to be mindful of not - influencing unduly.

So he considers his answer. And then he says, "You make music. Beautiful music that people enjoy."

"Me?" he says, grinning, but skeptical. But even as he shakes his head, he shrugs and reconsiders the possibilities.

"Well...I do like to sing and dance a little. I used to go into pubs, and the men would toss me pennies for a song. People wouldn't say it was beautiful, though."

But it was his first audience.

"Music takes practice."

He smiles.

"The one who raised me used to say that you must practice scales and notes till you know them by heart. And then you must forget them, so you can hear the music that is within your heart. And play that."

"Practice," Hansel groans.

(Even his adult self would still groan at it.)

"I don't think there's music in my heart." He shrugs, not quite understanding the sense of it. "Music is okay, I guess. It's a way to make a living, if you're good at it, and if people want to see you perform. Sometimes you don't even have to be good. I've seen singers who can't really sing, but they make people laugh and enjoy themselves anyway. But I don't know."

He shrugs again. "You probably met somebody else."

"It was you," Elrond says, smiling at him.

An elven smile is a wondrous thing.
Bright and joyful.

"And you were good at just that. Making people enjoy themselves. But you were also good at playing and singing."

Hansel makes a small, thoughtful noise. It's still hard to envision it. He's never had to aspire to anything more than just making it to the next day.

"What about you?" he then asks. "Did you grow up to become a ruler?" It's the crown and the fancy robes.

Elrond shakes his head.
"No. My brother became a king. I was a herald and a warrior. Then I became a healer. And a loremaster. That it what I am now."

"You were a lot of things," he remarks with an awed smile. "What's-- a loremaster?"

"I have lived for a very long time," Elrond replies.

"A loremastee is someone who preserves the stories of the people and places and tenets them so they will not be forgotten with the passing of time."

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