(Untitled)

[lifeisacatch]

The door swings open and an old woman walks in. Well, the white hair suggests great age, as do the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. The armor and the muscular shape beneath it, as well as the upsweep of red-tipped horns (or a very fixed hairstyle) from her temples may, however, suggest otherwise

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[calmhrtprevails]

One doesn't see that sort of thing often in the Capital Wasteland. Even in the face of a journey like the one from Olney south towards the Citadel, people don't generally look like that, or take this place quite so well in stride. Then again, they don't generally see this place at all...

"You sound," rumbles Fawkes, who is here almost entirely by mistake this time, "as if you had known where you were going when you set out today."

[lifeisacatch]

"I always know where I'm going," Flemeth says, amusement underlying every word. "Else why would I go there? It's always the timing that surprises, though."

This gets punctuated by a chuckle that -- continues, though in a different register, when she turns to look at the speaker.

"Or perhaps not only the timing. Interesting."

If Flemeth were other than herself, her first question here might be 'are you darkspawn?' As it is, however . . .

Interesting it remains.

[calmhrtprevails]

The big green fellow- and big he is; were he to straighten up instead of using his habitual stoop, he would top out at close to nine feet- inclines his head in acknowledgment. "It seems as if many people find this place almost entirely by surprise," he says. "Then again, I haven't been coming here very long. My experience might not be... accurate."

He's not trying to sound sinister. Really, he's not. But Fawkes simply does not have the physical capacity for an 'indoor voice', and his throat is such that he sounds rather as if he ought to be screening calls for Artoshaxsl, Duke of the Sixth Malebolge or something like that.

[lifeisacatch]

"Hah. Accurate."

The laugh comes out more like a bark, this time, and from deep in her chest. It is accompanied by a step back, just to ease the angle of her neck as she looks up.

"Accuracy is only good for archery and assassination. And potions, I suppose. For those that need them. 'Not very' is hardly an accurate accounting of time, is it?"

[idolovestories]

There is a man sitting in a rocking chair. He is not at a table. Oh, no. Those only tend to get in the way, after all. He sits, and rocks, and balances a saucer in one hand and a cup of steaming tea in the other.

His eyes follow Flemeth's entrance unblinkingly.

His smile looks ever so manically pleased at her arrival.

[lifeisacatch]

She obtains her own drink -- a mug of something dark brown, steaming, and smelling of swamp -- then gradually makes her way in his direction.

Surely there is a second rocking chair in the vicinity.

Such things are often the province of old women. And she is, indeed, very old.

And she could hardly fail to notice is unblinking regard.

"Oh, stop. You will make an old woman blush."

[idolovestories]

The man still hasn't blinked, but he does laugh.

The sound is ever so slightly off. Almost grating, but not quite.

"Only if the old woman chooses to," he counters with a grin that matches his laugh.

[lifeisacatch]

"At least you know that much," she says, tart and amused at once.

On the surface, anyway.

"There are worse ways to begin."

[seeswitheyes]

Well. Is that not interesting?

There is something about that woman that reminds Rose of Mom, somehow. It is not Mom, she would have to be a thick as Karkat thinks they all are to believe that, and yet... There is something that reminds her of her mother.

Perhaps it is only the hair-color.

For the moment, Rose is merely watching from behind the cover of a distinctly grimdark tome.

[lifeisacatch]

Interesting is as interesting does, and in the environs of Milliways, almost everything is interesting.

Which is not to say that Flemeth's gaze does not pass over Rose, holding for a moment (blame the grimdark tome) before moving on.

It will be back.

[seeswitheyes]

Rose sees her looking, and ducks back behind her book. Hopefully fast enough; it is a poor seer that gets caught seeing.

[lifeisacatch]

"You may want to move more slowly next time, girl."

The blend of impatience, amusement, and disappointment is similar to what Flemeth's own Morrigan might hear. And has, many a time.

"Furtive and quick only catches the eye."

[river_meimei]

The woman catches River's eye. Or something does -- it's a moment or two before she focuses properly, and even then she looks a little confused.

(For once, she's sitting in an actual chair at an actual table, instead of under the table or on top of a booth or in the rafters. She has a plate of char siu bao, half finished by the look of it, and a small bowl of pickles in very bright colors.)

[lifeisacatch]

"Yes, girl?" Flemeth asks, after a long few minutes under that stare.

"Your mouth's hardly big enough to hold both a cat and your tongue."

[river_meimei]

...

Now River looks more confused!

She's only sometimes good with metaphors, and usually when they're her own. (Although that might or might not be the only reason. River doesn't only hear what's spoken aloud, after all.)

"I'm not," she says, blankly.

"No fur."

[lifeisacatch]

"Well, then. Better to speak than to stare. Staring gets my hackles up."

She laughs, low and deep in her chest.

"Unless you have nothing to say, in which case why bother staring?"

[blue_ajah]

She is seated at a table in the corner, lingering over a cup of tea, when the woman declares her observation.

Moiraine glances up, arching an eyebrow.

[lifeisacatch]

"Or can one have everything?"

Flemeth is looking at Moiraine as she asks that question.

"Do you know?"

Blame the arched eyebrow.

[blue_ajah]

"It may be possible," she replies, evidently untroubled. "Although unlikely to occur all at once."

A pause.

"Might I presume that you are new to this place?"

[lifeisacatch]

"One might presume many things. Some of them may even be accurate. On such short acquaintance, I am sure I cannot say."

She speaks with evident merriment, then begins making her way toward Moiraine's table.

"This place. That place. One tavern is much like another, save for the sign above the door and the relative cleanliness of the cups."