(Untitled)

[lifeisacatch]

The door swings open and an old woman walks in. Well, the white hair suggests great age, as do the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. The armor and the muscular shape beneath it, as well as the upsweep of red-tipped horns (or a very fixed hairstyle) from her temples may, however, suggest otherwise

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[calmhrtprevails]

One doesn't see that sort of thing often in the Capital Wasteland. Even in the face of a journey like the one from Olney south towards the Citadel, people don't generally look like that, or take this place quite so well in stride. Then again, they don't generally see this place at all...

"You sound," rumbles Fawkes, who is here almost entirely by mistake this time, "as if you had known where you were going when you set out today."

[lifeisacatch]

"I always know where I'm going," Flemeth says, amusement underlying every word. "Else why would I go there? It's always the timing that surprises, though."

This gets punctuated by a chuckle that -- continues, though in a different register, when she turns to look at the speaker.

"Or perhaps not only the timing. Interesting."

If Flemeth were other than herself, her first question here might be 'are you darkspawn?' As it is, however . . .

Interesting it remains.

[calmhrtprevails]

The big green fellow- and big he is; were he to straighten up instead of using his habitual stoop, he would top out at close to nine feet- inclines his head in acknowledgment. "It seems as if many people find this place almost entirely by surprise," he says. "Then again, I haven't been coming here very long. My experience might not be... accurate."

He's not trying to sound sinister. Really, he's not. But Fawkes simply does not have the physical capacity for an 'indoor voice', and his throat is such that he sounds rather as if he ought to be screening calls for Artoshaxsl, Duke of the Sixth Malebolge or something like that.

[lifeisacatch]

"Hah. Accurate."

The laugh comes out more like a bark, this time, and from deep in her chest. It is accompanied by a step back, just to ease the angle of her neck as she looks up.

"Accuracy is only good for archery and assassination. And potions, I suppose. For those that need them. 'Not very' is hardly an accurate accounting of time, is it?"

[calmhrtprevails]

"No, I suppose not," says Fawkes. "Then again I usually leave the accounting of time to other people. They have more reason to be precise about it."

[lifeisacatch]

"But do they have more skill?"

Her smile is sharp, if not fleeting.

"I have not often found it so. With other people, that is. With you -- we are but too new acquainted for me to guess. Some might also call it rude, but that is the province of old women, is it not?"

Even if it wasn't, Flemeth is unlikely to change her ways.

[calmhrtprevails]

"If it is," says Fawkes, "I'll have to take your word for it. I can't say I've ever met an old woman before this."

If he has, he doesn't remember. And given what Vault 87 was like, he doesn't want to remember.

"When one spends a long time as a prisoner, knowing exactly how long becomes more trouble than it's worth."

[lifeisacatch]

"Exactly! And there you understand the mind of an old woman. Keeping track of so many things is more trouble than it's worth."

Flemeth fairly revels in that. It keeps things so much more interesting.

[calmhrtprevails]

Fawkes nods. "I've found," he says, "that living in the present moment and place, instead of always thinking ahead or looking back, is challenge enough. There's enough going on at any moment as it is."

[lifeisacatch]

"And after that the next moment, and the next. They never stop!"

Apparently this is a pleasing thought.

"A refreshing point of view."

Or at least a more self-aware one than Flemeth is generally privy to.

Heroes and daughters.

They are often so much the same.

[calmhrtprevails]

Fawkes has had a long, long time to think. Even muddy water comes clear if it's left to settle long enough.

"I've found it's one that works for me," says the mutant. "My name is Fawkes. Welcome to Milliways."

[lifeisacatch]

"And a very polite welcome it has been, too. I do so love manners."

In other people, at least. They are such a rarity.

"I have been called Flemeth often enough. It will serve."

[calmhrtprevails]

"They were unheard of among my captors," Fawkes says. "I learned to appreciate them by their absence. It's a pleasure to meet you, Flemeth."

[lifeisacatch]

"That is the trouble with captors. But you -- you I like."

For the manners. Among other things.

[calmhrtprevails]

"Thank you," says Fawkes. He might be smiling. He might be baring his teeth. Given the structure of his face, it's hard to say. "I don't mean any offense, but I haven't decided about you yet. Although you're interesting, I think."

Tact... well, Fawkes tries, but he's not always good at it.

[lifeisacatch]

"Sensible, too. The virtues are simply piling up!"

Flemeth's smile has teeth in it, as well. Tit for tat, what's good for the goose . . . pick a colloquialism.

"Only a fool is offended by good sense. An old hag I may be, but my brain still works."