Enfys's life is constantly in motion; Enfys is constantly in motion. Half of the most fascinating things that she's drawn out of living this way have, in one form or another, been wholly unintentional. Accidents of fate. Like walking into a world that felt like it was made for her and finding out that it was made for Garion and she didn't, would
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"You're a bit late," he says - just as soft spoken as she might find familiar, and with the same voice. His accent is thicker and older, but that's probably because, at the moment, it's 1907.
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"I bloody well am not," she says, indignantly, sure now if not entirely sure what she's sure of. (It makes more sense if you're...Enfys, but good luck anyone else.)
...and of course any possibility that she might just apologize for the intrusion and excuse herself is completely lost in the face of an opportunity to disagree and be pretty sure she's right this time.
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"S'always possible I miscalculated," he says, "something I can help you with, then?"
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Abberline, she tells herself, not Fred. She recognizes him, that's obvious, but she holds back warily instead of saying so. "Possibly," she allows, like she's about to add that you can learn something from just about everybody if you look close enough and then wait for somebody to roll their eyes. She does not do this, either.
Right. Get her bearings. ...get her bearings faster.
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