(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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[idolovestories]

There is a man sitting in a rocking chair. He is not at a table. Oh, no. Those only tend to get in the way, after all. He sits, and rocks, and balances a saucer in one hand and a cup of steaming tea in the other.

His eyes follow Flemeth's entrance unblinkingly.

His smile looks ever so manically pleased at her arrival.

[lifeisacatch]

She obtains her own drink -- a mug of something dark brown, steaming, and smelling of swamp -- then gradually makes her way in his direction.

Surely there is a second rocking chair in the vicinity.

Such things are often the province of old women. And she is, indeed, very old.

And she could hardly fail to notice is unblinking regard.

"Oh, stop. You will make an old woman blush."

[idolovestories]

The man still hasn't blinked, but he does laugh.

The sound is ever so slightly off. Almost grating, but not quite.

"Only if the old woman chooses to," he counters with a grin that matches his laugh.

[lifeisacatch]

"At least you know that much," she says, tart and amused at once.

On the surface, anyway.

"There are worse ways to begin."

[idolovestories]

"Indeed, indeed!"

The grin widens and the old man waves.

And there is a rocking chair.

"Would the old woman care to sit?"

[lifeisacatch]

"She would, if only to rest her weary old bones."

The creak of leather and scale against each other is audible as she settles.

It would be easy enough to imagine that sound is the creaking of old bones and joints.

[idolovestories]

For a moment or two, Drosselmeyer imagines exactly that. His expression is thoughtful, as if trying out the flavor of it, but then he shrugs, eyes turning back to her.

It's just not as interesting if she's as broken down as she plays at.

"Of course," he answers politely. He still hasn't blinked, and his eyes aren't quite focused on her. They're looking just half an inch off to the side.

"Do I have the honor of being the first to welcome you?" he asks, sounding utterly bored. Like he doesn't really care what the answer is.

[lifeisacatch]

"An honor, he says."

Scoffing is too strong a word, but only just.

"Flatterer."

[idolovestories]

"Well, of course." His grin is far too broad.

"Flattery is, after all, quite amusing."

[lifeisacatch]

"The attempt, certainly."

The actual content, not so much.

[idolovestories]

"Oooooh," Drosselmeyer's eyes glitter. "I do so love watching the attempts!"

And not just at flattery.

[lifeisacatch]

"That," Flemeth observes, taking a swallow of whatever is in her mug, "is no surprise. What else are old men and women in rocking chairs meant to do?"

[idolovestories]

"What indeed?"

An observer might be forgiven for mistaking that for an actual question, or a solicitation for a suggestion.

[lifeisacatch]

Flemeth merely sips her beverage of choice.

She is an old woman in a rocking chair, and she has no desire to begin knitting.

Or darning stockings.

[idolovestories]

That's because both of those are terribly uninteresting.

"So what brings you here?" Drosselmeyer asks, his eyes following one of the patrons, dancing and calculating at the same time.

[lifeisacatch]

"My own legs. Two of them. So many things seem to come in pairs."

Flemeth's head tilts a little bit in her laughter, this time.

"And maybe a pinch of luck."