From the bar, Alain notices the staff shrinking and distorting, and the man looking around the room with the avid interest of a newcomer. The distrust of magic he learned well in life has faded a lot here, but there are still remnants of it. And that sort of magic, at least, is much more like Mid-World's than many at Milliways.
Worth keeping an eye on him either way, perhaps, in help for a new person or in monitoring a magician.
So he smiles politely at the older man, and says, "Long days and pleasant nights, sai."
Prospero glances to his side, at the young man with the fair hair and the pleasant smile. His accent is strange, but not unpleasant to the ear. Prospero smiles back, the very picture of civility and grace. He rises from his seat and touches his fingers to the crown of his head.
"Well met, sir," he replies. He sketches a bow. "Prospero, formerly of Milan."
Alain rises as well, and bows politely over an outstretched leg, in the style of Gilead where he spent his life, tapping his chest three times rapidly with the fingers of his left hand. Manners for manners, after all, and he learned them well in court.
"Alain Johns, of Gilead. We're well-met indeed, I hope."
He's a tall man of about 24, broad-shouldered and tending just a little towards stockiness, with a round friendly face. He's wearing jeans and a blue chambray shirt, with two huge revolvers strapped around his waist. He wears them with the unconscious ease of someone who wears his gunbelts every waking hour, which is pretty much the case.
The older man's accent and clothing are strange to his eyes, but he's seen far stranger here, and his clothes and manners are not entirely unlike those of some of the courtiers in Gilead-That-Was.
Prospero is surprised, a little, by how elaborate Alain's greeting is in its execution, but he keeps that sentiment well in hand. The flash of metal at Alain's waist does not go unnoticed, and Prospero puts that thought away for future consideration. Such strange powerful devices, here...
He gestures at his table, where his cheese and bread lie half out of his pack.
"Sir, might I interest you in some minor repast? I fear that my sack does provide rough cheese and bread, but I'll share it if you'll have it--and, if it please you, I'd hear of your Gilead, too, as no atlas of mine marks that upon its breadth."
From near the bar, a blond-haired woman walks over with a green-and-gold bedecked tray, and a smile. "Good evening, sir. Welcome to Milliways Bar. Can I get you anything tonight?"
She smiles, nodding. "We actually have just about any and every sort of beverage you can think of, sir. I shall return momentarily." She walks over to the bar, returning with a glass of the requested port. Placing it in front of him, she smiles again. "Here you are, sir. I do not believe I have seen you here before. Is this your first time coming to the bar?"
Prospero takes the glass and lifts it to his nose. He breathes deeply of the sweet wine's smell--it's a fine vintage, not too strong, with the hint of summer fruits under the crust. He half-lowers his lids, smiles a small sort of smile.
He indicates the glass with a sweep of his fingers and says, "My dear, you do an old man much kindness with such sweet favors. Yes, this is my first time here; I find that, in my dotage, a strange peculiar desire for some great tour grips me, and so I walked through when that door opened before me." He smiles again, the corners of his eyes crinkling like thin paper.
Comments 36
From the bar, Alain notices the staff shrinking and distorting, and the man looking around the room with the avid interest of a newcomer. The distrust of magic he learned well in life has faded a lot here, but there are still remnants of it. And that sort of magic, at least, is much more like Mid-World's than many at Milliways.
Worth keeping an eye on him either way, perhaps, in help for a new person or in monitoring a magician.
So he smiles politely at the older man, and says, "Long days and pleasant nights, sai."
Reply
"Well met, sir," he replies. He sketches a bow. "Prospero, formerly of Milan."
Reply
"Alain Johns, of Gilead. We're well-met indeed, I hope."
He's a tall man of about 24, broad-shouldered and tending just a little towards stockiness, with a round friendly face. He's wearing jeans and a blue chambray shirt, with two huge revolvers strapped around his waist. He wears them with the unconscious ease of someone who wears his gunbelts every waking hour, which is pretty much the case.
The older man's accent and clothing are strange to his eyes, but he's seen far stranger here, and his clothes and manners are not entirely unlike those of some of the courtiers in Gilead-That-Was.
Reply
He gestures at his table, where his cheese and bread lie half out of his pack.
"Sir, might I interest you in some minor repast? I fear that my sack does provide rough cheese and bread, but I'll share it if you'll have it--and, if it please you, I'd hear of your Gilead, too, as no atlas of mine marks that upon its breadth."
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He indicates the glass with a sweep of his fingers and says, "My dear, you do an old man much kindness with such sweet favors. Yes, this is my first time here; I find that, in my dotage, a strange peculiar desire for some great tour grips me, and so I walked through when that door opened before me." He smiles again, the corners of his eyes crinkling like thin paper.
Reply
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