(Untitled)

[merrimanlyon]

At one point in time, Merriman would have looked upon the days after Twelfth Night as a point of relative calm after the troubles of midwinter.

The relative calm is not quite so reassuring this year, but nonetheless he is taking advantage of the moment to claim a table, a tea service, and the Times crossword.

[OOC: Due to oncoming plot, this

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[kitchen_maid]

"Good evening, Professor Lyon. And a belated Happy Christmas."

[merrimanlyon]

Merriman looks up, and a bit of a smile crosses his face as he sets his newspaper aside.

'Good evening, Amy. And a happy Christmas to you and your family as well -- and a most sincere thank-you for your thoughtful gift.'

[kitchen_maid]

"Thank you," she says. "And I'm terribly glad you like it. I thought you might be able to use it whenever you found yourself."

[merrimanlyon]

Merriman nods. 'I had something rather like it once, but it was nowhere near as easy to carry with me. I believe I ended up leaving it in my office more often than not, which rather defeats the purpose. The one you gave me will see a good deal more use, I imagine.'

He gestures to both the chair opposite and the tea service. 'Would you care to join me for a time?'

[bannion_sight]

She's at a different table, half-hidden by the crowds between them, and mostly concentrating on her coffee at first.

However, Kim's well aware of the potential danger at Milliways these days, now that Galadan has been reported to be there, and so she's keeping an eye on the room as well.

As she looks around, she spots Merriman, and her cheerful smile vanishes.

[merrimanlyon]

He happens to look up from his crossword puzzle at the moment she catches sight of him.

His expression does not change, though he nods slightly to her in half-acknowledgement, half-greeting.

It's the sort of greeting he might have given one of his students, upon seeing that student in a tearoom (or even, quite possibly, a pub) in Oxford.

[bannion_sight]

She lifts her cup of coffee to him, returning his acknowledgement, and after a moment Kim smiles.

Despite that, she doesn't leave her table to approach him.

[merrimanlyon]

That's a much warmer reception than he'd have hoped, really. So he'll do his best to bridge the gap.

His teapot needs refilling, anyway, and so instead of signalling for a waitrat he gets up himself and goes over to the bar. A quiet word produces a fresh pot and a clean cup, and he takes both of these back with him -- taking a route that will lead him past Kim's table, and enable him to say:

'Good evening, Miss Ford.'

[krisofvaldemar]

Sometime after his 'practice for ambush' session with Makita, Kris reenters the Bar proper. He feels better than he has in some time,
despite being wet, coat covered with snow. It simply felt good to be useful again, Bound or not.
He's on his way to claim some hot tea and then relaxation. Noticing Merriman, he inclines his head politely to the older man.

[merrimanlyon]

Merriman happens to catch sight of the nod as he reaches for the pot to refresh his own cup of tea, and nods a quiet greeting in return.

He notices in the next moment that the young man's coat is covered in snow. One eyebrow goes up slightly, and he picks up one of the empty cups of tea on the tray and holds it aloft -- a silent offer.

[krisofvaldemar]

It's not an offer Kris is about to turn down. Smiling warmly, he walks over, dusting himself off as he does. "Good evening," quietly.

[merrimanlyon]

'Good evening,' Merriman replies as he sets the cup down, and starts to pour. 'How do you take it?'

There is a pot of milk, a sugar bowl, and a plate of lemon slices on the tea tray. Merriman's tea (visible at a glance in his cup) is solidly black, and appears to be of a strength that could take the finish off the table if accidentally spilled.

[takiena_called]

There's a young teenage boy at a table nearby, distracted from his watch for a certain andain by the newspaper as he's never seen anything of the sort.

He doesn't mean to stare.

[merrimanlyon]

At least it's a newspaper from a particularly boring news day. No wars declared or ended, no battles won or lost, no great tragedies or joyous celebrations. Merely a handful of politicians bickering at each other, a slight fluctuation in the currency market, and England losing the Ashes to Australia yet again.

(Well, the last might be either a great tragedy or a joyous celebration, depending on who you supported at the Oval.)

But Merriman is slightly distracted by the staring, and so he peers over the top of the newspaper, waiting for the young man to realise that he's being watched in return.

[takiena_called]

He's not really certain what the headlines mean (he's never heard of Australia, and wonders what sorts of ashes were lost to it), so it doesn't take too long for him to notice and startle slightly.

"Sorry," Finn says, embarassed.

[merrimanlyon]

'Quite all right,' Merriman says, and for all the solemn seriousness of his expression his voice is surprisingly quiet, almost kind. 'I do something similar, if another person happens to be reading a newspaper and something catches my eye.'

[hello_cally]

To the left of Merriman's table sits Westerly, hunched over a drawing pad. The tin of shading pencils rattles every time he switches which he is using. He looks troubled: worried, guilty and ever so slightly angry.

On the page, a tall ship sits at harbor, awaiting passengers. However, there is no visible way onto the ship, at all. No boat with which to reach it, no ladder or rope to climb. Just an unreachable ship, waiting to be reached.

[merrimanlyon]

Sitting in a hunched position like that is bad for one's posture. Or so Merriman notes, idly, as he glances over and happens to catch sight of the young man and his sketchbook.

(For a flicker of a moment, he's reminded of another young man, another sketchbook -- and another drawing of a ship.)

He sets his paper aside for the moment, watching Westerly draw. Of course, his eyes are not only on the drawing, but also on the emotions that the artist appears to be forcing down below the surface of his expression.

[hello_cally]

The shape of the waves of the sea indicate a fine wind to sail upon, but the ship is not setting sail. It sits, and nothing happens. Beyond it, the sunsets, shining on the waves and casting long shadows beyond the ship's bow. The ship sits, waiting for those who are to sail to reach it, to answer it and all its questions-

Westerly's pencil point breaks, scattering little pieces of lead on a sail, causing him to wince, sighing heavily. He's clearly dealt with this before, carefully brushing the specks away and getting out a tiny pencil sharpener. His expression as he looks down at the drawing is pained and guilty, hidden in frustrated annoyance. He usually draws to help clear his mind, to help him think, but this isn't helping.

[merrimanlyon]

The quiet, neutral words that reach him may not do much to clear his mind, but they may well provide something of a distraction for the moment.

'Had you a destination in mind?'