Fell shakes his head, forcing himself out of his reverie. Wherever and whenever this place is, he seems to be stuck here for the time being, and this is no time to be carried away.
Besides, so few actually manage to get that riddle the first time.
And so he turns and smiles, in an almost grandfatherly way.
"Quite correct, Miss- forgive me, I don't think I've had the pleasure."
Sometime after this, something very curious is happening.
It involves a young woman of maybe twenty-five at most, sitting by herself in a booth with what can only be described as an obscene quantity of cheap hard alcohol and going through it bottle by bottle in some kind of bizarre intoxication ritual.
Except that she's four down the line and still sitting up straight.
Apart from the occasional giggle she does not appear inebriated.
Digging a scrap of paper out of her pocket, she consults it and then snorts. Her grin widens into a full, confident, familiar expression, the kind of smile that appears on its wearer's face daily.
He bows slightly. "I would indeed. Doctor Fell, at your service." As he straightens, he shifts his eyes to catch a glimpse of what's on the paper, then snorts laughter.
"Allow me to venture a guess. Miss Renee Cooper sent you? That appears to be her sense of humor on display."
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"One!"
But she was assuming that the question was how many were going to Saint Ives.
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Besides, so few actually manage to get that riddle the first time.
And so he turns and smiles, in an almost grandfatherly way.
"Quite correct, Miss- forgive me, I don't think I've had the pleasure."
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"You said it wrong, though. It's kits, cats, sacks, and wives."
Or at least, that's how Mama says it. It fits the meter in the couplet better to her.
"Narcissa."
She's been taught that anyone who uses a title for her should hear her full first name.
She holds up a strange doll, her ever present companion, and says, "His name is Gon."
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He smiles. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Narcissa. I am known as Doctor Fell."
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She's looking at him with a contemplative expression.
Extremely contemplative.
Rather as though he's an unexpected puzzle (and Renee Cooper finds very few things unexpected) to be solved.
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"It would certainly appear not. I don't believe I specified a bar when I set out."
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Her smile is quite friendly, if still with that odd edge of scrutiny to it.
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"Of which I fear I am not one. But do forgive me, I don't believe I've had the pleasure. I am known as Doctor Fell."
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It involves a young woman of maybe twenty-five at most, sitting by herself in a booth with what can only be described as an obscene quantity of cheap hard alcohol and going through it bottle by bottle in some kind of bizarre intoxication ritual.
Except that she's four down the line and still sitting up straight.
Apart from the occasional giggle she does not appear inebriated.
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He almost doesn't notice the young woman until something about her catches his eye. She looks familiar, somehow.
Although the bottles of booze? That's new. He stops and looks the scene over with a raised eyebrow.
"Forgive me, but...is there something wrong with the liquor in this establishment?"
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It's a little bit hesitant.
Digging a scrap of paper out of her pocket, she consults it and then snorts. Her grin widens into a full, confident, familiar expression, the kind of smile that appears on its wearer's face daily.
"Right, now it makes sense. You'd be Fell?"
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"Allow me to venture a guess. Miss Renee Cooper sent you? That appears to be her sense of humor on display."
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