(no subject)
The inn, as it turns out, is rather terribly simple. Small and quiet and with a constant, steady stream of people that - while nowhere up to Milliways standards (the star has a feeling that she has been spoiled irrevocably) - are more than interesting enough to watch. The doors swing open regularly and the performer, seated far to one side with some strange, stringed instrument and a voice like something melted - fascinates her.
Their waitress is a young girl with old eyes that simply knows to bring Tristran two helpings of breakfast and Yvaine none at all, and smiles at the star when she places one of the pair in front of her.
"Makes it look even," the girl shrugs and Yvaine laughs, murmurs a thank you for the glass of cold water left behind to keep her fingers occupied.
The morning is comfortable, she's wonderfully well-rested (for once), and she smiles pleasantly across the table, rolling her eyes and watching him eat.
Their waitress is a young girl with old eyes that simply knows to bring Tristran two helpings of breakfast and Yvaine none at all, and smiles at the star when she places one of the pair in front of her.
"Makes it look even," the girl shrugs and Yvaine laughs, murmurs a thank you for the glass of cold water left behind to keep her fingers occupied.
The morning is comfortable, she's wonderfully well-rested (for once), and she smiles pleasantly across the table, rolling her eyes and watching him eat.