(Untitled)

[owendavies]

There is faint, high music around the doorway. Owen Davies enters the bar, wearing a staid, ordinary unfashionable suit. He's just come from visiting a sick member of his congregation.

[Owen meets Paul Stanton. Odd how they seem to be meeting friends of friends at the end of the universe. Elsethread, Owen and Guinevere talk. They are joined

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[mother_lost]

*Gwen comes downstairs, harp tucked in the crook of her arm, and notices him. She approaches, a little tentatively.*

Noswaith dda.

[owendavies]

Owen smiles at her. It isn't the kind of blinding smile that erases sixteen years of self-restraint, nor is it the awkward stretching of lips Owen uses with strangers and acquaintances. It's just a smile, sincere, welcoming, a touch regretful.

"Noswaith dda...Gwen. Sut 'dach chi?"

[Good evening...Gwen. How are you?]

[mother_lost]

Well, thank you. *She smiles back* May I join you?

[owendavies]

"Of course. Always. Have you eaten?" He selects a table and pulls out a chair for Gwen.

[barsoflight]

*A young man who looks rather a lot like Will Stanton is nearby, and he nearly runs into Owen.*

Oh, I'm sorry -- didn't see you there --

[owendavies]

Owen's lips stretch in something near a smile. "That is all right. Very crowded in here, it is."

[barsoflight]

That's for sure. *He grins back, amiably, and shifts the flute from his left hand to his right.

Owen looks human. And almost aggressively normal.* Do you come here often?

[owendavies]

"Not often, no. A few times, over months."

Beat.

"I am sorry, I am forgetting my manners. My name is Owen Davies." He offers the young man his hand.