milliways_bar | (no subject)

If ever there were a man to distract a pretty young girl, Arthur is the one. He meanders over, looking carefully arrogant and preoccupied, and not at all as though he meant to be in this area of the bar at all.

But meandering is thirsty work it would seem, hence the decision to purchase a refreshing beverage - and the closest part of the bar just happens to be next to Di.

How convenient.

'Good Morning Miss.'

She nods, a small smile crossing her face, promptly hidden behind the rim of her glass of orange juice.

"Good morning."

Er... not much for polite small talk. But she'll try.

...unfortunately, it's not working. Um?

'How are you today?' The look of slight arrogance has not left his features but he's also smiling slightly - after a fashion. It's more a slight twist of his rather finely shaped mouth, if truth be told. 'I am Lord Arthur Goring.'

Finely shaped, she appreciates. Smirking, less so, but she'll forgive it.

"Aunt Diana Hansen." And yes, she says it with just as much dignity. Even if she's cross legged on an barstool, wearing boots, jeans and a tank top. "And I'm fine, thanks. How're you?"

Well, it tends to work on nineteeth century chicks.

'Aunt? My dear young lady, you can't possibly be old enough to be someone's Aunt.' He turns and orders tea from the bar. 'I feel as though I should have something stronger before you tell me you're actually a Goddess or something. But due to the hour, tea shall have to suffice. Would you care to join me?'

"I'd love some tea."

She decides, for the moment, not to mention the magic thing. That can come later.

"And it's a title for someone in my line of work. Although no, not an aunt yet. Sister has a baby on the way, though."

You can just hear the distaste in her tone. Babies. Ugh. You just know who'll be taking care of it.

He hands her a teacup and the arrogance fades into something more sympathetic. 'My commiserations Miss Hansen. Infants are creatures I resolutely avoid.' Arthur adds a sugarcube to his tea with a pair of silver tongs, then a wedge of lemon with a different set of silver tongs.

'You have an occupation. At your age?'

Does everyone work around here?

She picks up the tongs, and tries to get a sugarcube. It crumbles.

"Well, I'm hoping not to have to deal with it." She tries for another sugarcube. It also disintegrates. "And yes, I work. Since I was fifteen."

And fuck it.

She twists the possibilities. The sugar crystals go up and into her tea.

Arthur manages not to look too surprised. But he does wonder seriously about ordering that stronger drink.

'Fifteen? Are you part of some sort of slave race?' His brown eyes continue to stare at her teacup. 'And, if you'll forgive me asking...' He waves a hand vaguely at it.

"No."

There's a loooooong sigh.

"No slave labour. Though that's what it feels like. It's just, people with magic are rare enough that the moment it manifests, they're called to work. Please, please don't ask about it. I like you, I hate it. Tell me about where you're from?"

He has a number of questions but is too polite to push it if she'd rather not talk about it. 'Very well then. I am from London, the year eighteen ninety nine. We are currently in the midst of the Season and while the people are dull, the parties are not. I am enjoying myself immensley - only heightened this year by stumbling across this establishment, and perfectly charming people such as yourself.'

"Perfectly charming?"

And she has a perfectly charming smile for that.

"You hardly know me. But it's kind of you to say. What are parties in London like? I mean, if the people are flat?"

'If the parties are flat, then I arrive, my dear. They seldom remain so.' Not for him anyway. He tends to get attention wherever he goes.

Arthur sips politely at his tea. 'A young lady willing to drink tea in the morning and make conversation - and do tricks with the sugar - is clearly someone of great charm and interest. But to answer your question another way - when one makes the effort to be friends with oneself, no occasion is tedious, wouldn't you say?'

"One might also say some other key words. Like 'nut case' and 'vain bastard.'"

But she softens it with a small laugh.

"But I think you're charming, too."

But of course. To all three - although he's not entirely sure what a nut case is.

'Why thank you. And vanity is highly underrated, as is hedonism and idleness. I am a selfish man and not afraid to admit it, but I hope that doesn't make me heartless.'

Pointing out his bad qualities is something of a hobby of Arthur's. And he's in a strange mood.

A hedonist?

She chokes on a sip of tea, but masks it gracefully.

And shameless, clearly.

"You can afford it, as a Lord, I assume?"

He didn't say he was a hedonist, just sort of implied that it was an admirable trait.

Of course, he totally is.

'Mmm, rather. I am a Viscount actually, the son of the Earl of Caversham - frightful old duffer he is too.' It should also be noted that he's only shameless with people he believes can handle it, and the use of magic clearly marks her as a person of capability in his eyes.

"Duffer?"

She doesn't know the word, but the meaning's pretty clear, so she shrugs it off and pushes images of Bertie Wooster out of her head.

"And it certainly sounds exciting."

'Mmm. Duffer. Bore. Keeps insisting I get married, its most tiresome.'

He places his teacup down. 'Not in the least exciting, I can assure you. Now Miss Hansen, I'm simply gasping to find out how you did the trick with the sugar. Do tell.'

"It was possible."

The tongs raise, spin through the air, twirl gently.

"And I can work with Possibilities."

They take a mock snap at him.

All pretences are dropped for a moment as he grins widely at the tongs. Diana, if she's looking, might notice that his face is most dofter when he smiles like this, no arrogance and the brown eyes shine with warmth and amusement.

'How marvellous! How do you do it?'

She grins back, equally honest.

"I just do it." They snap again. "It's like moving. Different frame of reference."

They dive bomb for him.

NEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeerrrrr.

he tries not to shy away from them but loses his nerve at the last moment, shielding his face with his top hat. 'Miss Hansen!'

But he's laughing. 'So this is to do with your work?'

"Oooh." She snatches the top hat. Because it's a top hat.

"Like this. But different. Bigger."

He laughs again and relinquishes the hat with good grace. 'Like a hat, but bigger? Or the tongs?'