milliways_bar | (no subject)

Faith holds her hands out in invitation.

"Anytime."

He stands,

"Now, then?"

We should take this point in time to note that he's wearing medieval style boots, civil war era blue jeans, a silk tunic, a green leather vest, and green leather bracers from wrist to elbow.

And jewelry.

And a very large sword.

Faith eyes him, and her lips twitch.

"...not until you change clothes. And you can't carry the sword."

He looks down at himself,

"Everything I own is more or less like this, Jiask. Do you mean court clothing instead of casual?"

If she says yes, there will be a lot more silk. And hose instead of pants. And more jewelry.

"I can leave Alithiel here."

"No, Arithon, I mean clothes from my world. Bar can give you some. You'll stick out, dressed like that. And lose the jewels."

He gives her a hurt puppy look at the jewelry.

Pulls it off well, though.

Then he goes to talk to Bar, and there is an argument involving short sleeves.

Which Bar wins, because she's the Bar and he's only one of the most powerful beings on his world. No contest.

So Arithon slips into the bathrooms and exits with a dark green t-shirt, and an expression that says mentioning the scars lacing his wrists and his right arm from palm to elbow would not be a good idea.

This also points out that he's got far more strength than the flowing shirts show. He does work out with a sword built for a centaur, after all.

Faith blinks, a few times.

"...right. That works. Let me just go get...hang on."

Connor is located, pestered into opening the door for her (it doesn't take much), and Faith leads Arithon into New York.

He didn't wean himself off all of the jewelry. He's still got a necklace that Rachel gave him, and the emerald signet ring on.

He did take off all the weaponry, though.

And he's blinking at the elevator, never having seen one before, and stepping out into it gingerly.

It's a typical spring day in Manhattan, when the doors of the elevator open and Faith leads Arithon into the lobby and opens the door onto the pavement. It's pleasantly warm, somewhere in the mid-seventies, but the sun on the pavement and buildings makes it feel a few degrees more, and the press of bodies doesn't help either.

It's noisy, too - car horns blaring, drivers and pedestrians yelling vulgarities back and forth, sidewalk vendors hawking fake watches and bootleg DVDs, the constant sound of millions of shod feet hitting pavement.

Millions of people. Buildings so tall you can't see past them to the sky. Cars, buses, and the rumbling growl of the subway under their feet.

Fear, Master Bard. Fear.

He stops, dead, and stares.

New York, is more than a little overwhelming for someone who thinks that a couple thousand people is a gigantic city.

And there is no green, no growing.

"Ath..."

Faith steps confidently out onto the pavement, then stops and turns as she realizes Arithon isn't with her.

"...'s the matter?"

"Its..."

He waves a hand, the scars from being chained by primitive means helping to illustrate what he can't currently say, its alien, its strange, it is frightening,

"So large."

"Yeah, I know." Faith looks around, then turns back to him and gestures. "C'mon, then. Dress shops are all that way."

The first step is the hardest, but eventually he manages to trail along after Faith like a tourist.

No, he isn't palming a random shadow for comfort. Really.

The first intersection poses a bit of a challenge, too.

Faith smacking a taxi's hood and leaving a dent the diameter of a basketball makes an impression, no doubt.

Not so much to Arithon as the car. He always knew that the Slayers could tie him into as many knots as they felt inclined to. He does shrug at the cab driver and continue to trail along.

And at this point he's not going to let Faith get too far ahead of him because if he loses her he'll be stuck here...and that's a fate more frightening than death.

Faith will not let him get lost. She's very good about not losing people in the city.

Of course, Arithon is very small, and would be easy to misplace. Best he stays close, maybe.

He's staying close. Ath forfend he get lost.

He's also window shopping, and occasionally passing his hand over the place his belt-pouch usually hangs.

And if pick-pockets seem to stagger off with broken fingers, well, at least he didn't ward the wallet like he did the pouch.

Faith does a little window shopping herself - mostly the windows that involve cheesecake.

She's also unable to resist stopping and getting them each a hot dog. This should be...interesting.

Arithon looks at it in bemusement.

Please understand that he has had very limited contact with non-Paravian food.

"Jiask...dog?"

He's trying to be polite.

"Not really dog," Faith explains, between swallows of her own. "Not entirely sure it's really meat, though it claims to be pig."

"Ah."

He takes a bite...and while he can't say that its good, he's eaten worse. He grabs several extra napkins to clean his fingers with when he's done.

"Do you often eat such things?"

"Mm." Faith nods. "I often eat...uhm, anything I can, really."

"I shall order a meal from Dascon Elur for you at some point."

He looks up at her to give her a bright smile. It isn't a "planning something" smile, just a bright smile. He cleans his hands as well as possible before trying on clothing, and offers Faith napkins as well.

Faith takes the napkins, eyeing him a little warily.

"...OK."