(4th wall)

[oshutup]

I wonder about these sorts of days. As long as I've been here I still don't quite gather the reason for them.

But for the most part they seem a good opportunity - seeing people we wouldn't otherwise be able to, old friends especially.

[ Or at least there is the hope to, the possibility.

Pause. ]

To be hones that's...actually how I think of the

Comments

[awfullymodern]

The Blue Light?

[oshutup]

A casual bar with a lean towards jazz.

[awfullymodern]

Sounds like a nice setup.

[oshutup]

I'm fond of it, but I'm biased of course.

audio;

[pussydandy]

Please say that's a bar. Please say that's a bar.

audio;

[oshutup]

It is. Though it's certainly not the only one.

[ Pause. ]

...are you all right?

audio;

[pussydandy]

Oh, sure. I just find that transdimensional transportation goes down a bit easier with an alcoholic chaser or three. Don't you?

audio;

[oshutup]

I admit that I've never followed world travel with any sort of alcohol, so I wouldn't know.

[noharlembeat]

I'll be in.

1/3

[oshutup]

[oshutup]

I should hope so.

[oshutup]

[ He knows better than to ask how he's been so instead: ]

It's good to hear from you again.

[ More than 'good', really. ]

[practiced]

[ There is a young woman in a pale blue dress with bright red hair wandering about outside the Blue Light. She doesn't seem wholly lost, if only because she has gone to great lengths to learn how to make herself look as though she belongs somewhere she actually doesn't. But her style of dress is an anathema, as is the elaborate knotwork of her hair, perched on top of her head like a flaming crown. She has a communication device in her hand though it's obvious - upon observation - that she doesn't know what to do with it. Every so often she tucks herself against the front of the building, out of the way of foot traffic, and stares at the thing, shaking it and periodically pressing it to her ear before hiding it once again in the large bell of one of her sleeves. ]

[oshutup]

[ It's impossible to miss her, but it is not so much the clothing that snares Peter's attention as it is the vivid flash of the girl's hair, which offhand reminds him most immediately of Ginny. There however the similarity ends, something poised and in it more rigid rests in this girl - the carriage of her that seems rooted deeper than her posture or the controlled nature of her expression. When another group of people moves past and she steps back, Peter steps forward with the polite bearing of someone who doesn't want to scare her. ]

Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?

[practiced]

[ The girl starts, but only just, her composure regained as soon as it is lost. Almost immediately Sansa is wary of the stranger, even though he hasn't given her cause to be. No cause beyond the simple fact that he is handsome and he is blonde - a golden-hair lion, that is what they could call him in Westeros - and if Sansa has learned one thing in King's Landing it's that the fairest and the most beautiful people hid the hardest of hearts, the cruelest of intentions.

Still, her septa had taught her that a lady's armor was her courtesies and - despite being in a strange land, surrounded by strange people - Sansa is loathe to forget her lessons. He may not be a lord, or no one at all, but still she curtsies politely, the way she would at court. ]

I hope I do not look as lost as that. [ Her mouth schools itself into a brief smile. ] Do you know the name of this realm, or the lord of these lands? [ Sansa had studied all the high-born families of Westeros. Surely she would recognize any name he offered her. ]

[oshutup]

[ Some things never truly leave you. Fifteen years was, in the significant senses of the word, a lifetime. Peter bows without a thought, not a thin inclination but a full bend at the waist, hand to his center and other arm behind him. That done, he tilts his head, noting her word choice and trying to suss out what little he can from it, which unfortunately is very little indeed. There are, in this case, too many possibilities, most of which Peter's mind - unlike others - is open to. Having been to other worlds before does that, or one other world and for Peter one promised to always be enough. That was before the City though, a place that afforded him what he'd tried to put into his head - leaving Narnia, not looking back - could never be at all, a place to look as he does but act the age he truly is

[cocksmanship]

Pevensie! Where's your sister?

1/3

[oshutup]

Wh---

[oshutup]

[ Wait a minute. ]

[oshutup]

Home, I imagine.

[ ...if he means...you know, the house and not England, well uh...gosh PC should've asked him to be more specific. ]