milliways_bar | (no subject)

He might be being eyed by a certain Welsh princess.

Just maybe.

He might order a cup of tea and set it in front of the seat beside him, should she wish to talk.

She might wish to talk, but she's not going to sit.

Instead, she approaches him cautiously. "Good evening, Aphelise."

She can still have the tea. It's Oolong.

He inclines his head slightly in greeting. "Good evening, Lady Cywyllog."

She eyes the tea, then him again.

"I have been warned against you."

He sips his own tea, idle. "By the man who is... not... your husband, unless I miss my guess."

She nods, but just slightly.

"You do know me then, or a version of me."

"I knew of a version of you, yes. But not you, specifically."

Another nod.

"I suppose it would not be unreasonable, then, to ask you to leave me and my family - specifically - alone?"

Simply, "It is never unreasonable to ask."

He does not point out that he has never approached her.

It wouldn't matter. She likes being pre-emptive, when she can.

"Will you?"

"I will do my best. As I do not know what your family looks like, apart from your husband, mistakes can be made."

"Thank you. It is appreciated."

He inclines his head to her, slightly.

She does the same, and then walks away.

Red hair, and blue eyes, and Anne looks away almost as suddenly as she catches sight of him.

But curiousity wins out, in the end, and there might be wide gray eyes glancing up, now and again, from where she sits marking compositions.

He can feel her gaze on him, and between her glances he looks back. When she glances again she'll find her glance caught by an amused and friendly smile.

"Good evening, miss." He's not really making fun of her, just a little amused and a little curious. "See something interesting?"

Anne blushes, a little, at having been caught looking up, but lifts her chin to gaze at him with clear gray eyes.

"I'm sorry," she says, "you just looked a bit familiar to me, but I think I was wrong. I didn't mean to disturb you."

His smile is kind, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. "You aren't disturbing me, miss. Don't worry about that. I was just curious."

He raises his eyebrows and chuckles. "I look familiar?"

"A description someone gave me once," she replies, a little vaguely.

"So perhaps not very familiar at all. I'm the only person with red hair that I know, after all."

He shrugs, not concerned. "Probably not me, then. I haven't been around all that much, until lately."

"Red is the best of hair colors, I feel." He smiles. "Mine isn't really red, but brownish red, I think." He runs his hand back through his hair, amusedly.

"Yours, on the other hand, is quite a lovely color."

"I suppose not."

And she smiles.

"You know, it's terribly comforting to know that there are times and places where people like red hair. It's quite out of fashion where I'm from, I'm afraid. And I am sorry for staring. It can be dreadfully disconcerting."

He laughs warmly. "Ah, do not worry about whether your hair is of the current fashion, miss. Trends in fashion change like the seasons."

"That's certainly true," she says, ruefully.

"More's the pity. I suppose people simply can't make up their minds, can they?"

He shakes his head, grinning wryly. "I doubt they ever shall."

She nods, and looks at him curiously, her eyes moving to the scar on his cheek. Politely, she says nothing about it.

"Your accent," she says. "It's British, isn't it?"

He notices her glance at his scar, and moves his head slightly as he answers, so that his left cheek is out of her view.

"It is indeed, miss. And yours is..." He smiles, thinking. "Canadian. I have not spoken with a Canadian for a long time."

She glances back up to meet his eyes, surprised and pleased. "Why, yes! Prince Edward Island, as a matter of fact. You're the first to have guessed that."

He chuckles. "Lucky guess, really."

"What brings you to the end of the universe from Prince Edward Island, if you don't mind me asking?"

A wry smile.

"Usually, the door to the living room. Aside from that, well--I have friends here. And now that I can go back and forth, it's nice to to be able to sit here with some tea, and talk with friends, or meet new people."

A nod to him, and a small smile.

"Like yourself."

He smiles in return, warmly.

"Sounds lovely. Myself, I am bound here. The door to my world is closed to me."

"Oh, dear, that's terrible!"

Gray eyes fill with concern.

"I'm so very sorry to hear that. You must miss your home very much."

He winces, as if the topic of home was one he'd rather not think on, as it is painful.

"I haven't seen my home for over a year now. And in that time I've only been out of the bar once, for a day in London of a different version of Earth."

Anne is aghast.

"Over a year! But that's horrible! I'm so terribly sorry to hear it."

He shifts, seemingly uncomfortable and a bit unhappy at having his confinement brought up, but he gives a weak smile.

"It gets a bit... confining, after a while. Stuck in one place."

"I know it does," she says, gently, and sympathetically.

"That one day I had away from here was..." He shakes his head slightly. "...it was like finally being able to breathe again."

Anne's own breath catches slightly, remembering her joy at being home after being trapped for so long, and she nods, looking at the door.

"Yes," she says, softly. "Yes, I do understand that."

But it is getting late, and so she rises from her seat, and gather the papers in front of her.

"I'm very sorry," she tells him, with a small smile, "but I'm afraid I'm about done for the evening. It was lovely meeting you, Mr...?"

"It was a pleasure, indeed." He returns the smile. "Call me Aphelise, miss...?"

"Anne Shirley," she says.

"Have a lovely evening, Mr. Aphelise."

A smile, and she gathers her papers, and is gone.

"And you, Miss Shirley."