milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Sheila's at the bar again, eating.

Saltines and New England Clam Chowder.

Not that she has any idea where New England even is.

But at least she's eating something.

(With liberal paprika.)

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He breathes in the scent of the soup and the seasoning with a small smile before turning that same smile to Sheila.

"Smells...good."

Clam Chowder had been a favorite of Catherine's and she'd made it often while he'd stayed with the Barringtons. Occasionally, he wondered how she might be doing these days and a little corner of his mind reminded him to go visit her. Perhaps even invite her to the wedding.

He holds out his hand as soon as some of the memories clear.

"Nick Knight. Nice to meet you, miss."

"It does. It's good of Bar to make it for me -- one of the only things I can smell right now without feeling a little bit ill."

She smiles, shaking his hand daintily. See, she's learned that one. She used to expect everyone to kiss her hand.

"My name is Sheila. A pleasure. Would you perhaps like some?"

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sheila."

Nick would have kissed her hand, if he knew.

"No thank you. I'm not much for food."

He taps the glass holding his dinner.

"This will do me fine."

Sheila asks a stupid question.

"What is it, if I may?"

He smiles.

"I'm on a liquid diet."

"Must not be very pleasant," Sheila muses. "Not as much to try. Of course, I've been eating clam chowder for a week."

That's because she's weird, though.

He gives a short laugh before grinning.

"It suits me well enough. I have a gift from another patron of this place should I get bored with the selection that would allow me a little more variety, but at the moment, I seem to be all right."

He looks around.

"Have you been here for very long?"

Sheila thinks.

"I ... well, I am not too good with figuring time. Seeing as I've dealt with time-travel once or twice, and it's ... Er, but I suppose about two months, give or take."

He nods.

"I've been here nearly a year, though I must admit this is my first time seeing you. Would it be rude to ask from where you come from?"

"Of course not. British Isles, 1401. Former nobility."

She thinks a moment.

"... if I had to claim residence outside of Milliways now, though, I'd have to say Michigan, 1998."

He smirks.

"Originally from France, 1228. Nobility. Though currently from Toronto, 1998."

He nods his head in a bow.

"A pleasure, milady."

"Oh! Well, that I can relate to. Dare I ask what your story is, sir? Everyone does seem to have one."

"Well, I was born to the duke of Brabant in 1196, raised mostly by my mother as Father...died when I was eight. Trained as a knight, sent to your Isles in the interests of the Church...and eventually sent to the Holy Land. As I returned, I was beguiled by a most handsome lady and turned into a vampire, which is how I have lived till this day."

He smiles at her.

"I'm no harm, though. I'm on security here, as a matter of fact. I offer no harm to you, only friendship."

Sheila never quite figured out vampires.

"I'd always thought," she muses, "that vampires were really rather dangerous as a rule. And, well, obvious, and you come off as neither, and I am sorry for the assumption."

He smiles.

"No apology necessary. The same cannot be said of many of the others. Those here behave themselves, but I would ask that if you encountered a vampire outside the security of this place, you would perhaps keep wary."

"I've --" (been) "-- I've met similar creatures. We always called them 'Deadites,' though - and they aren't vampires, not really. Not much at all, but similar enough to be wary of."

She's smiling at him, though. "I''m glad to have met the rule's exception."

He grins and nods.

"Glad to be the exception."

He looks to her.

"Are you Bound to this place, or..."

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