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[foxglove_eyes]

Lamia's been busy in the Real World. You may have noticed: the bar's been warmer than it otherwise might have been.

Now, she stands in the doorway, theatrical, her alabaster skin highlighted by the velvet she wears from shoulder to ankle. Her pale eyes scan the bar coolly -- and a glance from a Velvet can be quite cold indeed.

-- still, there's

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[visible_sariel]

A glance from a Velvet can indeed be cold. Ice cold, even.

Fortunately (unfortunately? though that probably depends on your point of view) Sariel hasn't noticed the frost behind Lamia's look yet. Her attention's on the chessboard in front of her, newly produced by Bar. From the fond amusement on her face, it's fair to say the gameboard wasn't her idea.

Clack, clack. Warm hands set the first two pieces in their places. It might just be fitting that one is the white queen.

Maybe.

The other is the black queen's side castle. If Lamia cares.

If she's even noticed Sariel from the doorway.

[foxglove_eyes]

Lamia's glance sweeps luxuriously over the bar. At first, it glides right over the chess player.

(What's chess, after all? A game with too many rules and not enough ways to break them.)

After she surveys the cheerful chaos of the bar, though, it's strange -- Lamia finds herself drawn back to the quiet, purposeful placement of the pieces, white and black.

She can hear them from here: clack, clack.

[visible_sariel]

One person's too many rules is another person's...

It's true, too. The placement of those pieces is quiet in the rather louder, friendly chaos of the bar. Then again, who knows what a Velvet can hear? Sariel doesn't. Clack, clack. Two more, black queen's side bishop and white queen's side knight. The knight's features hint at female. The bishop wears the suggestion of a hat from the Ancient West.

But only a suggestion.

And isn't it fitting? There's a quiet, purposeful young woman behind that gameboard. At least, behind one side of it. The other half doesn't appear to have a player yet.

[foxglove_eyes]

Lamia draws closer, wondering if there's a strategy even to the way the girl is putting the pieces into place.

Her feet step forward in small (dainty?) movements towards the chessboard, one in front of the other.

If you're listening for it, you'll hear the faint rustle of velvet. That's about it, though.

[forgottenmotley]

There's a fellow dressed in tattered Victorian era motley over there, he's watching the door intently. When she comes in, he gives her a cursory look with his amber eyes. As he tilts his head, bells ring with his movement, but there are no bells that can be seen.

Besides, they sound like they should be heard with the ears, but they sort of skip right past them.

[foxglove_eyes]

His cursory look meets hers. She smiles, quickly, out of habit.

-- he reminds her of a boy she once kissed, as he was leaving the Market. (He didn't last very long, but he lasted long enough.) The same soppy face, the same hopelessly torn tailcoats.

Her smile widens as she steps in his direction.

This could be fun.

[forgottenmotley]

It could be!

He smiles back at her as she walks over, still watching her intently. He doesn't move, but his shadow flickers on the floor though it shouldn't. There's no lights that could cause them to move.

When she gets close enough he says, "Good day to you, lady," he says, not bothering to stand up. His leg hurts.

[foxglove_eyes]

"Good day," she says, brightly.

She's listening for the bells again, just out of hearing.

"Do you mind if I sit?"