all's quiet on the front, smokey room

[lesser_son]

Landing in the middle of a populated sort of area after spending the last week running for your life through Wales is not, overall, the worst thing that can happen--at worst, Melou figures, he will just keep running, and at best maybe he's lost his pursuers for a little while and maybe he can eat (it has been a week of living on berries and little

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[bosozokubaby]

Aiko is sitting at the bar, nursing a beer for all it's worth. She's not really the most conventionally approachable - cigarette dangling from her fingers, sunglasses on even now - but she's small and that offers a little comfort anyway.

Either way she's not too overly interested in Melou thus far, filthy or no - she glances up when the door opens, vigilance habit by now - before returning to her drink, relatively unconcerned. She's seen weirder things in the Nexus, anyway.

[lesser_son]

He sits at the bar beside her, glancing around with the skittish, continual observation of someone who's afraid of being seen by someone--as much as he's trying to lie low, he's never been the most subtle of boys.

[bosozokubaby]

Aiko, being the sort of lady she is, knows this look well - she still wears it on occasion at home, but she's also lucky enough to have a place to hide in safety.

She takes another drink, not turning toward him but glancing through her glasses as she tips some ash into the tray she's appropriated. "You should be fine here, people rarely give anyone a second look."

It's quiet, a little gentle in case he's as skittish as he looks. "Are you all right?"

[lesser_son]

He starts at her first comment, then says quietly, "Hungry, my lady."

[amanofletters]

Watson has had an interesting few weeks of exploration around the city of Xanadu, as he has discovered. Everything is far, far beyond him to say the least - the uneven cobblestone streets, the ubiquitous clopping of hooves against, were all gone, replaced by sleek automobiles on smooth black roads that create no raucous din when it drives past, and it's all quite astounding.

He's stumbled into Stigmata for a respite and a drink to dull the chaos and calm the blood pumping through his head; nothing a strong whiskey won't fix, as they used to tell him with a strong clap on his shoulder. A slightly shaking hand has already dipped into his coat and flipped open his cigarette case and fumbled a match enough to light one.

Even for Watson's standards, it's been a difficult day.

It seems, however, that the person walking into the bar is having a much worse day even than him, and always the bleeding heart, Watson cries, "My word, are you all right, sir?"

[lesser_son]

Melou stops in his tracks, the look on his face more appropriate to a HALT TRAITOR than an 'are you all right?' For a moment he stands in petrified stillness, and then slowly relaxes himself, muscle by muscle.

"--Forgive me, sir. I've had a long journey."

[amanofletters]

Watson would consider it a bit of a rude thing to call someone a traitor in front of polite company (though the company of the bar was dubious at best), especially when he didn't know them, and Watson was nothing if not polite to fault. His mind takes to sympathy immediately upon the sight of such instinctual terror, having seen such things in practice both from his experiences with Holmes and his experiences on the battlefield.

He offers the young man a handkerchief for his rather grubby face and leads him to a chair, asking if he would like some brandy to calm his obviously fraying nerves. "Are you injured at all? I am a doctor, I could help."

[lesser_son]

Melou allows himself to be led, a little too shell-shocked to protest, wiping some of the mud off his face.

"Nay--not hurt, beyond a few scratches." He didn't get far enough into the war to receive any real damage.

[itsmyvow]

In the corner sits a young woman whose arms are feeling empty. There's nothing she can do about such a thing, as it is unsafe to bring the cause of that feeling to a place like this.

It's a place her brother would frequent.

Though Michelle has a purpose in being here, in looking, she can't help but be moved by the state of what she assumes is a young vagrant, entering the bar.

[lesser_son]

Melou straightens his back, trying to work out some of the soreness of running, and glances around, alert for the possibility of food, when he catches her looking at him and his expression turns shy. "My lady?"

[itsmyvow]

Michelle, as always, speaks slightly slower, and more clearly than most when addressing the public. It's from years of training, a way to make everyone feel time is being taken in this conversation.

"Sir," Michelle doesn't wish to cause alarm but she does stand, and indicates a chair at her table. "I don't know if I can help, but I can offer you a seat and a moment's peace." She waves a hand at a server, pointing at the dish of shepherd's pie in front of her, classic bar food, and indicates a second is necessary.

Her father did not always approve of her charity, but her father's opinion hardly matters anymore. And being a exiled princess does not mean she doesn't feel an obligation. It's something she will never escape.

[lesser_son]

He follows her hand with his eyes, and tries not to look desperate at the shepherd's pie. He swallows uncomfortably. "I--i thank my lady." He doesn't quite dare sit yet, though.