getting too old for this [OPEN]

[badge-177.livejournal.com]

A table in the public room in the Valhalla Inn is currently housing a middle-aged man with an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. From the look of his clothing (a faded brown shirt, slightly less faded breeches, and fairly solid looking boots), he hasn't taken advantage of the vouchers for a new set of clothes. From the look of his face, he's less than pleased.

The likely reason for that (or the immediate one, at least) is spread out in front of him- a copy of the Bumworth Pamphlet, two maps, and a battered notebook with a few lines scrawled in pencil. The pencil that did the scrawling is being tapped idly against the edge of the table.

Maybe he can be interrupted. Or not.

Comments

[badge-177.livejournal.com]

That actually gets a dry smile. Not happiness, not even close, but approval. Vimes is a suspicious character, after all.

He takes out a pack of matches, and finally lights that cigar. "Good plan."

[rhinemaid]

Her faint smile mirrors his, and seems almost involuntary - like in an amiable enough mood she'll simply smile back reflexively. There are traces of the girl she used to be in it, socialite-bred and charmingly opaque (you never forget where you came from), but it isn't her world any more (it doesn't exist any more, for her) and it looks like an echo, not a fact.

"It's not my father," she says, absently, studying him as he smokes for a moment. "I was mistaken. You remind me of his friend. He was-" she hesitates, like she's trying to find a word that doesn't condemn said father in comparison, "-taller," she settles on, finally, unsatisfied with her options.

Vimes seems like he might get taller as you get to know him. It's an interesting thought.

[badge-177.livejournal.com]

That gets another raised eyebrow, more for the pause than for the comparison.

"And sober?" he asks, dryly.

[rhinemaid]

The next pause is different; Vimes can likely discern why promptly. "Functioning," she says, and the other half of that phrase is 'alcoholic'.

[badge-177.livejournal.com]

You can't win them all.

He takes a drag on his cigar. "Who's Sonja?" It seems like important information, at least as far as Ilde is concerned.

[rhinemaid]

This is, interestingly enough, a question that Ilde has never before had to answer; with the enclave, she's never needed to, and with anyone else...well, they tended to make their minds up for themselves, and not bother with the opinions of lesser species like Ilde. While she brightens, subtly, like Sonja is inherently something good, there's a moment of freeze-frame hesitation as she searches for a definition.

"She's my-" leader? friend? hero? mentor in the art of being a soul-sucking succubitch? that woman who taught her how to kill someone with a Louboutin? roommate? Ilde pauses, fidgeting with her nails for a moment, then says, "Sonja saved me," like a verbal shrug. They're friends. It's complicated.

[badge-177.livejournal.com]

From what? is the obvious question, but it's almost just as obviously a question that can't have a good answer. He'll tuck that away for later. Hopefully he won't be here long enough for it to become more relevant.

"Sounds like a good person to have around," he comments, neutrally.

[rhinemaid]

"Yes," she says, without any of the hesitations or pauses that have coloured some of the rest of this conversation. "Yes, she is."