(Untitled)

[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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[twoeyesonthesky]

The book gets a curious look from a recently-cleaned-up fellow in old but neat blue and brown clothes, who's looking for a spot to sit with his coffee and a small notebook. Mostly he's trying to get a look at the title on the spine; he's got a bad habit of finding things out the least polite way possible, when it comes to reading material.

[mouse_shadow]

Without any observable sign on the face of the reader, the book is turned just enough for The Mahābhārata to be seen in gold leaf on the black fabric. Inwardly, Paul searches for an appropriate place to pause.

[twoeyesonthesky]

.... damn. Now there's one he hasn't seen in a long time. There's people back home who'd give a body part for that- not literally, but-

He glances over his shoulder towards the bar, considering. After a moment he digs a pencil out of his pocket and scribbles down the title on one of the inner pages of the notebook.

[mouse_shadow]

"You may have it when I'm finished, if you wish. I'm afraid it's an abridged version, or so it says."

Still, his eyes don't move from the page.

[needsnewtoaster]

Not wanting to sit alone again this evening, Orlin wanders over to the table, "Mind some company?" he asks, slightly nervously.

[mouse_shadow]

"No, perhaps you can help me with a problem in the text."

Or I can help you to calm your nerves.

[needsnewtoaster]

He smiled, sudddenly less nervous since he hadn't been turned away.

"Sure, what is the text about."

As long it is in a Earth language, or a language spoken from that galaxy, he'll be useful.

[mouse_shadow]

Seeing something slightly disturbing, Paul frowns, but discards the coincidence. Setting the book down without closing it, he turns.

"It is the story of a family, one of them the crowned prince of a nation in... India? Anyway, they are beset on all sides by jealous and capricious gods who are trying to use them for their own purposes." Waving his hand at the room, he adds, "Familiar, don't you think?"

[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.