(Untitled)

[unique_clayr]

Weeks of washing in the lake outside and surviving on leftovers had not been kind to Lirael. In truth she had the unkempt appearance of a ragged, street child. Someone lost in the world with no-one to remind them to eat or wash or smile. More than anything else she just wanted a nice hot bath. Or to go home. But the door, like everything else about

Comments

[milkbonesoldier]

The smell's the first thing that catches Wells' attention as he comes in from his workout by the lake, but that's nothing unusual. He tends to notice that first about most people, whether he means to or not. Besides, he's spent enough time in the field and on the run himself to've lost a lot of the repulsion one might expect.

It takes him a moment to spot the source as he approaches the bar.

"Something wrong, miss?" he inquires politely.

[unique_clayr]

She whirled, half of her afraid that the sound might have come from the bartop itself. When she spotted him, it's hard to say whether she calmed or became more riled. Either way she stared at him, trying to figure the politeness of the reply, or form sound.

"I'm all right." She finally said. Surprised at the words. They aren't at all true.

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. You look a bit, ah- new here," he said. "Not familiar with the Bar, anyways."

The mark on the girl's forehead got scarcely a look, though it did leave him wondering for a second or two if she was part Punjabi.

[unique_clayr]

She didn't sound Indian. Some strange accent, but certainly not that. Lirael dipped her head in acknowledgment; skittish like a wild hare.

"A few weeks --" She admitted in that soft voice. "The door isn't there."

It's back now - appeared the second she had enough courage to touch the Bar, but she hasn't looked in that direction.

"I t-thought it might be dangerous...the Bar I mean."