(Untitled)

[cant_kim]

Even good pickpockets are sometimes not quite as deft as they'd like. Kim went for a swell mort's purse today, and the woman, feeling the tug, yelled that there was a pickpocket in the crowd. Kim had had the presence of mind to fall back and yell that there he goes -- but in the resulting surge of the crowd, a would-be nabbing cull saw fit to elbow

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[mmquitecontrary]

Not too far off, there's a twelve-year-old girl who's taking in the vocabulary lesson with a great deal of interest.

[cant_kim]

"--bloody gull 's what you are, lookin' to lighten -- bang up, that was -- and that -- fancies hisself with bawbels the--"

She breaks off when she notices Mary, and snaps, "What?"

[mmquitecontrary]

"That is none of it very polite, is it," Mary says - not judgmental, but very curious, and with something of an air of memorization.

[cant_kim]

"Ain't meant to be," Kim retorts.

[nothawkingbird]

Look of concern from the older teenager girl at one of the tables.

"You all right?"

[cant_kim]

Kim startles at being addressed, and ducks her head.

"--Yes. 'S nothing."

[nothawkingbird]

Long eyeing, having caught the wince, "You sure?"

[cant_kim]

"Just -- got caught in a turn-up."

She keeps herself from touching the bump again.

"It ain't bad."

[not_a_horse]

A bright blue gaze is fixed upon Kim with great interest.

[cant_kim]

. . . There is a horse in the bar.

Kim stares, all bumps forgotten.

[not_a_horse]

Well, not quite-- not that Kim would have reason to know that.

The Companion tosses her head and whickers softly.

[cant_kim]

It's shaped like a horse. It sounds like a horse.

It's a gorgeous horse -- Kim knows enough about horses to recognize that -- but it's still inside the bar. And with no owner in sight.

After a moment of deliberation, Kim stands up and takes a few slow steps towards it, hands out. "Shouldn't you be outside? Ain't there a stables?"

[over_europe]

There is already someone sitting by the fire, as it happens. Nix sits on the edge of the sofa, hunched over a series of maps and papers spread across the coffee table, with his forearms on his knees. His rifle rests at his feet and his helmet - twin holes in the front of it matching the brown line seared across his forehead - on the table. His uniform is battered and his face and hands streaked with dust and dirt, as is the norm these days, but his expression is intent and every few minutes, he traces faint lines on the map of the Netherlands.

For all his foibles, Lewis Nixon is a damned good intelligence officer, and he puts the time that he is allowed in Milliways to good use.

Until he hears someone coming his way, that is, and he glances up. Even damned good intelligence officers need a break, sometimes.

A raised eyebrow. "Bad day?"

[cant_kim]

Kim starts a little at being addressed, and her eyes widen fractionally at the uniform. Even if it's not one she recognizes, the look of a military man doesn't change much.

She ducks her head -- half in a show of respect, half to hide her face -- and mutters, "Bad enough, sir."

[over_europe]

Nixon glances upward consideringly. "I guess I wouldn't think any day involving harpies would be an especially good one." He turns a bemused eye on the boy.

[cant_kim]

She blanches.

"It -- I just ran into this mort, got banged up."