Practice EP

[inanhour]

The boy -- man? who walks into Milliways is mostly stable on his feet, but doesn't look very well.

His brow furrows, and he unconsciously reaches up to touch it. It is not damp with fever-sweat, at least.

"... There were not so few steps between my bed and an inn." Unless he forgot them?

Maybe he forgot them.

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[astrangebell]

Arabella isn't a mother, but she plainly has all the necessary instincts, if one judges by the expression on her face and the speed with which she swoops to the boy's side.

"Good day, sir," she says gently. Her early 19th century dress surely looks almost ridiculously plain to 17th century eyes, but it's certainly within the bounds of modesty, and not entirely outlandish. "You'll forgive my bad manners, I hope, but you'll soon find none in this place stand on ceremony-- and young man, you do not look well."

[inanhour]

"I am glad of it, madam," Sebastian says, with some humor, glancing down at his own clothing. Well-covered, yes, but not with the intent to leave for so public a place.

He starts to dip an unsteady bow -- no matter how she dresses, it does not hurt a gentleman's pride to be polite to a woman, especially one offering aid -- and catches himself against the Bar.

"That I stand is a miracle," he adds, leaning his weight against the Bar, "be it on ceremony or not. I am but a month gone from shipwreck."

He looks from her to the room around her, shaking his head slightly, not entirely sure he trusts what he sees.

[astrangebell]

"A month!" Well, that's that. Hang manners: she takes hold of his arm and begins to steer him gently towards a chair. "Please, do sit, you look ready to swoon. I know no gentleman can stand to hear such a thing, and once you are seated you may protest as you please that you are in perfect health-- but first sit, sit."

[inanhour]

"I shall protest," Sebastian promises, but lets himself be led with the air of long experience.

He'll start crying if he thinks too hard on that.

"My thanks for your kindness," he says, instead, as he sits, voice thick for a moment before clearing. "I am named Roderigo -- and surely, I do recover. And do not swoon," he adds, straightening his shoulders in a display of health. He smiles at her.

[astrangebell]

Arabella laughs. "It is a pleasure, Master Roderigo. I am Arabella Strange, and really, I cannot think such a small kindness is worth much thanks. Let me do you a greater one first, to really earn them. Please, would you like some tea? Perhaps a touch of brandy?"

[inanhour]

"A restorative," Sebastian says, on catching the 'brandy' part. He's not heard of this 'tea'. "Madam Strange," he hesitates slightly, brow furrowing, but it is her name, "I will try it."

[astrangebell]

"Stay here. Sit," Arabella says, because she already suspects he is the type of boy who needs such reminders.

Summoning a waitrat seems like it might be a bit much right off the bat, in his condition, so she fetches the little snifter of brandy herself, which Bar kindly pairs with a plate of fluffy-looking rolls. She sets them down before him and then takes the seat opposite.

"There, then," she says. "Who on earth let you out of bed in the first place?"

(Shipwreck suggests that he's-- well, human, and he certainly looks it, though of course she doesn't consider herself nearly enough of an expert to be sure. Maybe he's of some breed of fairy that restores itself by walking around?)

[inanhour]

Arabella's not wrong. Sebastian sits, but he turns to watch her as he does, and sees the brandy and the rolls spring out of the Bar.

"A dream, then," he murmurs, to himself. "Though it feels as real as the rest of life."

Life has lately felt unreal.

He smiles at Arabella when she returns, though after her question sinks in he looks somewhat put-upon. "I have neither wife nor nursemaid, so I have the mastery of my bed," he says, picking up the brandy snifter to let it warm. "Though I may be an unwise master," he allows, and smiles again. "I'm not given to reading, but it seems to be all I have done since my fever broke."

[astrangebell]

"Well, you would hardly be a young man if you did not refuse to keep to your bed, no matter how much good it might do you," Arabella says with a smile. "But you cannot mean to say you have been entirely unattended in your illness?"

[inanhour]

He shakes his head, before taking a sip of brandy. Once he feels more settled, he'll begin on the rolls.

"No -- I was plucked from the sea by a man named Antonio, and he does care for me with great kindness amongst his other tasks."

[astrangebell]

"Then you were fortunate twice over, it seems-- in your escape, and in being rescued by someone so generous. Though of course, I would like to hope that no one, in your friend's position, would do any less."

[inanhour]

At fortunate, Sebastian's gaze loses some focus. He doesn't quite frown, but he picks up a roll, and tears somewhat at it.

"-- Yes," he says, when he realizes she's finished speaking.

[astrangebell]

"Forgive me," she says gently. "I know nothing about it, I will speak of it no further.'

Arabella picks up a roll, less because she actually wants one than because it seems rather odd to just sit here and watch the poor boy eat.

"I am quite newly come here myself," she says. "But I have found it agreeable so far. A change of scenery can make all the difference in the world, don't you find?"

[inanhour]

Sebastian nods, then considers.

"Do you -- you are not from the area around Illyria, madam?"

She dresses not like it -- for what he understands, Illyria is a very extravagant place. But she speaks the language well.

He eats some of his roll, but tastes salt, and rubs discreetly at his face with his sleeve. Perhaps she will not notice.

[astrangebell]

"I am from England," she says. "But I think you will find this place cares very little for the logic of time or place. I English, you from-- Illyria, you say? But no more than a door separating any one of us from where we came from."

Her tone is light and conversational, and she places her handkerchief on the table in front of him with such careless ease, one might almost think it was an accident, or just a coincidence that she happened to set it there.

[inanhour]

"Messaline," he murmurs. This place is sounding ever more like a dream. "Though -- yes. I am near to Illyria, now. Are you of London?"

... he will accept this handkerchief.

[astrangebell]

"I lived some years in London," she says. "Though I was born in Shropshire."

[inanhour]

"I know it not," Sebastian admits.

He has made a quick dab of his face with the handkerchief -- quick enough to hopefully pretend it didn't happen -- and returns it to the table.

He finally eats his roll.

[astrangebell]

Arabella leaves the handkerchief there, just in case.

"Oh, I would not expect you to! I think most Englishmen hardly know where it is, much less know anything about it."

She looks at him for a moment, then says, "I don't doubt you are weary, sir. And this place is surely odd." She knows she'd be far less sanguine if she hadn't come from a place much, much odder. "If you wish to be left to your own thoughts, I hope you won't hesitate to say so."

[inanhour]

"My thoughts are not amiable companions," he says, and smiles at her. "I do not think I can be rid of them, but I would like to hear of your Shropshire --or of this place, lest I find myself in danger of wandering with curiosity."

There are doors.

"If it is not a burden on your time?"

[astrangebell]

"There is all the the time in the world here, you may know that first," Arabella says. She draws her chair in a little closer, not because she needs to necessarily, but to let him see she's perfectly content to settle in to stay as long as he likes. "When you return to Illyria, you will find no time has passed at all. Though no one has said so, it is my guess that-- well, you have heard fairy tales, haven't you? Where men and women wander away into fairy lands and return and find that a hundred years have passed at home? It is my belief this place is something like that, only... well, the reverse, I suppose."