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[mouse_shadow]

Sitting at a table next to the Observation Window for the light, Paul reads, enchanted. Around him, people and creatures even more fanciful than those of an ancient Sanskrit epic speak calmly over their evening meals

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[not_one_drop]

Mal has had her fill of war in two weeks that was only a day at Milliways. She sits, watching the Observation Window, one hand, acid burns and scars red on the surface, spread in a fan.

And shaking quietly.

[mouse_shadow]

Another scarred woman. Another who needs healing Paul has no skills for. Credit for a soothing drink, maybe, but not much more. He awaits a sign of, if not welcome, then the absence of distrust.

[not_one_drop]

This one heals herself. And she feels, from him, a similarity.

And there is the tiny, discreet relaxing of her shoulders.

[mouse_shadow]

A mind reader, he muses? By her clothing, a soldier, and a weary one. When a waitrat passes, he touches its shoulder and whispers in its ear. It scampers off, soon returning to her table with a large pot of kaff. The bean served to weary travellers in all universes.

[not_one_drop]

She is more a toucher, one who feels minds without seeing them. When the coffee comes, she glances up, scanning the room for one who might have sent it.

[mouse_shadow]

"No need for suspicion, it was not given to you by an enemy, but one who understands the need for a warm cup in the hands." He is looking at her, but more softly than he would have been a week ago.

[not_one_drop]

Her eyes are on him, narrowed suspiciously, but eventually she nods, and takes a sip, wincing and holding her breath as the liquid rubs healing acid burns on the inside of her throat.

"Thank you."

[mouse_shadow]

"It's becoming a habit. While my fortune lasts, it's my place to serve."

His eyes return to the book, but not all of his attention.

[not_one_drop]

"On others?"

A bitter laugh shows what she thinks of this statement.

"I could not be what I appear."

[mouse_shadow]

"Unless you plan violence or some other noisy disturbance, to me what you are doesn't matter. I saw someone who looked overtaxed. I was taught to give comfort, that's all." Actually, he was taught to use whatever means appropriate to understanding the situation, and another weary soldier in the Tavern could easily mean trouble.

[not_one_drop]

"Good teachers."

Flatly, returning to watching the explosions.

This, of course, does not mean she does not wish to talk.

[mouse_shadow]

Laying the book aside. Reading is best done in private.

"They also taught me not to overlook opportunities. Would you mind if I joined you?"

[not_one_drop]

"...No, I wouldn't."

Glances over at him.

"I'm Mal."

[mouse_shadow]

He leaves the book, unconcerned that it could be stolen. It came from the Library at the End of the Universe, after all. Tagging another waitrat on the way to her table, he asks for an Arrakeen ale. Sitting, he tries to show an air of benevolence.

"Paul. Did you lose someone?"

[not_one_drop]

"Nice to meet you."

But her smile is twisted.

"I lost many."

[mouse_shadow]

"Is it your world that is at war, or some dark corner of this place?" Don't frown, stranger things have happened.