(Untitled)

[no_sin_but]

And on this day in March, Milliways's local one-eyed poet walks down into the bar. He looks a little different, though. Modern clothes; dark jeans and a black jacket and not his normal boots (they are a little hard to pull on with one-hand still in a splint

Comments

[destroy_restart]

"Guess she didn't see you eleven days ago, then?" somebody beside him says.

That somebody is smoking a rather large cigar.

[no_sin_but]

"I live here, for the moment," Marlowe points out.

[destroy_restart]

"Ahhh - you must have been born before your country adopted the Gregorian calendar, then!" Tower suggested, grinning.

[no_sin_but]

"Ye-es. But I run by the dates here while I live here. Time does not run parallel to my world."

At least, he hopes it isn't. That could be...annoying.

[queenofmay]

Marian came in, curls still damp at her forehead, to order her tea. A hand towel appeared first, instead, which she gave the bar a wry smile for.

Taking it, she dabbed her forehead and temples as she glanced around her.

A second later. "Felicitous natality."

[no_sin_but]

He smiles at her, cheerful enough.

"Thank you." A soft voice, English from London. Not a noble's accent, but he's not an uneducated peasant, either.

[queenofmay]

Her tea seemed to be taking its time, so she offered a smile as she looked from the man to his small dessert.

"Though cupcakes are quite sweet and colorful, I still do not quite understand the appeal of the melted wax."

This might make sense if one knew Marian's understanding of updated birthday's came from a young child she was teaching.

[no_sin_but]

Beat.

"Neither do I, entirely. Unless it's the whole...celebratory shebang. However, I supposed I SHOULD be grateful that she limited herself to one."