(Untitled)

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald Craven sees no need to leave Milliways. He never does have a destination in mind when he travels, other than away from Yorkshire, and as he told Raguel last night, he can hardly go any further than the end of the universe

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[lord_of_dreams]

"Good evening, Archibald Craven."

A far too pale...male, humanoid...with stars for eyes and nightmares for robes is simply there,

"I trust your walk was pleasing?"

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald met two angels yesterday, although he doesn't know it, and he heard tell of a griffin. That said, he is not at all prepared for the being who is standing beside him. Archie looks up, regrets it at once, and bends his head again.

Hoarsely, "It was a walk."

(Archibald also does not know that the gentleman beside him might be called, in some sense, the Master of the lands through which Archibald walked. If he did, he might have phrased this answer differently.)

[lord_of_dreams]

He could also be called the lands through which Archibald walked, and he would answer to both without hesitation. The being, Master of the Dreaming if Archibald prefers to think of him as such, offers the faintest of smiles and nods,

"Could it have been otherwise?"

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald, as the Master of his own manor, would understand the first explanation much better than the second.

"No, I suppose not," he answers.

"...Were you watching me, when I walked?" Archibald can imagine this being standing and watching from the edge of the woods.

[river_meimei]

There's a dark-haired girl -- somewhere between fifteen and twenty, but it's hard to pin down beyond that -- moving past his table. Her skirts are pink and white, floating layers no longer than a young girl's dress for Archibald's time, but they look more like a dancer's outfit than a child's, and she wears a loose maroon sweater over her pale pink shirt. Her cheeks are faintly flushed from exercise outside, her dark eyes sparkling, and her hair is a mass of windblown tangles.

[a_poor_guardian]

Once, Archibald Craven saw the ballet at the Paris Opera. This girl's moves don't seem as obviously precise as those of the dancers there, but they have the same kind of fluid grace.

Archibald watches the girl with his sad, sad black eyes. "Hello, child."

[river_meimei]

River glances at him.

There's a moment in which she seems to be deciding whether or not to be mildly annoyed, and then she half-smiles for a second. "No," she says, but it sounds like a greeting.

"Hello."

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald makes a rather weak attempt at a smile. "My name is Archibald Craven," he informs her.

[conglomerelda]

"Good evening, sir," says the griffin who is sitting on top of the table of a nearby booth. She's a bit too large to fit properly anywhere else.

She has a book gripped carefully in dexterous claws.

"Is it a nice night outside? I was thinking of taking in some air."

[a_poor_guardian]

"Good God, you are a griffin." Archibald Craven actually smiles at her, although it is a weak smile, coming from muscles worn from disuse. "The young man yesterday was right -- and it is quite pleasant outside. Growing cool, now."

[conglomerelda]

"I am," she says, with what passes for a smile of her own. The gaped beak might look strange to someone who doesn't know her well, but her tone of voice is pleased.

"I suppose I needn't introduce myself if you've heard of me, but Mum would scold. I'm Elda. It's nice to meet you!"

[a_poor_guardian]

"I never did catch the name of the man I was talking to," Archibald realises, "but he said you were a friend of his. My name is Archibald Craven."

[merrimanlyon]

It may be Milliways, but the elderly gentleman at a nearby table happens to be reading a copy of the Times. The headline is only partially visible, but the name 'Chamberlain' is fairly legible even at a distance.

The article in question is about Neville Chamberlain, not his father Joseph or his half-brother Austen, but it is certainly English enough.

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald is not a very good observer, but he can at least recognise that the gentleman is not only human and English but also reasonably close to his own social class. (Archibald is, in fact, wrong about all three of these things.) In any case, he nods politely to the gentleman.

[merrimanlyon]

And he receives a nod in return, before the gentleman folds the paper and sets it aside.

'Might I enquire as to the vintage of your wine, sir?' He signals a waitrat, with the ease of one long accustomed to the habits of Milliways. 'It looks an eminently sensible red.'

[a_poor_guardian]

"I am afraid I don't know. I asked the bar to recommend something to go with my supper," Archibald replies before he stops short, watching the rat. "Is that quite sanitary?"

[spcl_agt_cooper]

Next table over is Dale Cooper with his cup of coffee.

And, of course, his tape recorder.

Click.

"Diane, remind me to research the precise proportions of the spices that go into Old Bay. I picked up the trick of seasoning my fries with it from a fellow agent in Baltimore, but you can't get it for love or money in Twin Peaks."

"Alternately, Diane, if you could you send some in the mail the next time you get a chance, I'd appreciate it. I don't trust myself with anything, culinarily -- even though there's not much of a chance I can set celery salt, bay leaf, mustard seed, black and red pepper, cinnamon, and ginger on fire, I wouldn't put it past myself."

Click.

This last was said darkly.

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald, still unsettled by something he can't quite recall, observes the man addressing the dark object.

It is no stranger than talking to the Bar, Archibald supposes.

"Will ... Diane ... remind you?" he inquires of the other man.

[spcl_agt_cooper]

Cooper looks up from stowing his tape recorder away. "She will," he says, cheerfully. "And she'll send me the Old Bay, too."

It does not take Super Sleuth Skills to infer that this man may not have seen a tape recorder before. Something about the outfit.

"It's a recorded message that I'll send to her," he explains. "And then she'll collate my notes, and send me whatever I need."

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald is at least clever enough to understand the concept. "You record your notes in sound rather than writing, then?"