(Untitled)

[sheila_nagig]

She came for the brother.

She's staying for the tea.

And scones.

And the big comfy chair by the fireplace.

[OOC: Mun requests great slowtime! For she has to get up to open the office in approximately 6 1/2 hours. For woe! Tags will be picked up tomorrow at the earliest possible time.]

Comments

[sonofwhitecity]

Boromir is reading near the fire, as he often is.

There's not much to do in this afterlife thing, but he's becoming very well-read.

He looks up and smiles politely. The scones smell good.

"Good evening."

[sheila_nagig]

He doesn't even get to the 'evening' when she hands him a scone with a smile.

"Good evenin'"

She tucks her feet up under herself.

"Whatcha readin'?"

[sonofwhitecity]

"It is the tale of a prince whose father is murdered and he must discover by whom. It is called 'Hamlet.' It is quite lovely poetry.

"Thank you," he adds and takes a bite of the scone. "Mm. Very good."

[sheila_nagig]

"Ooh, Shakespeare. Good choice."

She nods.

"This place makes the best scones I've ever tasted. And I'm from across the water from a scone-mad country."

She holds her hand out.

"Sheila Eostre. Pleased t'meetcha!"

[sonofwhitecity]

He stands and takes her hand, giving the back a light kiss.

What?

"Boromir of Gondor. It is a pleasure to meet you."

[sheila_nagig]

SHEILA IS MADE OF STARE.

He just kissed her hand! She is made of SQUEE, too.

[sonofwhitecity]

Boromir sits again and eats his scone.

They don't shake hands where he comes from. You know how it goes.

"You've read this play, I take it? Or seen it performed?"

[sheila_nagig]

Slightly breathless, "Countless times."

She means to both.

But a guy just kissed her hand.

That hasn't happened in a good couple of centuries.

"It's. I. Hee."

[sonofwhitecity]

He looks at her, faintly puzzled. "I sense it ends badly. The play, I mean."

[sheila_nagig]

"Uh."

She clears her throat.

"I'm sayin' nothing'. I hate spoilsports."

Beat.

"The ship sinks! Jesus comes back from the dead! Soylent Green is people!"

[sonofwhitecity]

"Very well. I'm near the end, at any rate.

"Where are you from, where they are mad about scones?"

[sheila_nagig]

"Originally, I'm from Ireland. But the English, across the water... can't pronounce the word correctly, but kind of love them with tea."

Hence the tea. Hey, there's a great deal of Anglo-inspiration in Ireland.

[sonofwhitecity]

"I have never been to either country. They talk about England a bit in this play, though.

"We have tea as well." Yes! Common ground! It's always a relief to find some.

[sheila_nagig]

She nods.

"Yeah. The English are mad. Try not to go if you can help it."

She smiles.

"Tea's a kind of universal aspect. No matter which universe you're from."

[sonofwhitecity]

"I'll remember that," he says with a nod.

He is very literal. And the only Englishmen that he knows are Charlie Pace and John Constantine.

So, yes.

"You no longer live in Ireland, then?"

[sheila_nagig]

She shakes her head.

"Moved to New York good couple of years ago now. Been there ever since."

She sips her tea, eyeing him.

"You're totally hot familiar. Somehow."