findsthesun | Practice! With Wellard

Practice! With Wellard

A young Elf*, dressed in sturdy green and brown cloth and soft leather shoes, walks into the bar.

It can, perhaps, be forgive if his first reaction is wariness and his hand flicks towards the white handled knife at his belt.

Then he laughs.

"A tavern of Men, in the middle of the forest? I have not heard tell of this."

*see (here) for description of Elves, and Legolas in particular.

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Thoughtfully, a little behind this, "It would be markedly uncomfortable."

"-What would be?"

Wellard's mind has been on giant flying things, Legolas.

Legolas meets his eyes, and grins.

"Living in a house on a mûmak," he explains.

His lips twitch in a slight grin.

"It would be decidedly uncomfortable, I'd imagine."

"Especially if they are like enough to horses to fancy a roll in wet mud," he agrees, mournfully.

Then: "Not that apples and cheese are lacking, but would you mind if I ordered myself a meal?"

He knows it is rude to eat in front of someone who is not. But real food has sung its siren song.

"And that is why I think I shall ever prefer ships to horses or elephants." Dryly.

But yet still grinning.

Then Wellard nods, and glances to see if Ivan, (or any of the other waitrats), is around.

"The food is the same as the drinks- that is, anything you'd wish. The Bar herself is magical and can get it for you, if the kitchen isn't cooking it at the moment."

Legolas looks over his shoulder to the Bar, where he sees a drink materialize in front of a strange-looking...Man?

"I will return shortly," he says, not looking back, clearly captured by curiousity.

When he reaches the Bar, he runs his hands carefully over her surface, as if to find the hidden mechanics--a clever work, far cleverer than even Dwarven designs-- for some moments before ordering softly.

There's no poof of smoke, no shifting of reality-

Just that whatever Legolas asked for simply appears.

And if it were possible for a Bar to look smugly pleased-

Well, it can be possible, at times.

Legolas thanks her, and leaves the Bar humming a cheerful tune, a bowl of steaming venison-and-vegetable soup in one of his long hands with a hunk of crusty bread and butter patty on a plate in the other.

He breaks off humming as he sits, setting down his food and refilling his Dorwinion slightly, grinning at Wellard. "She is a wonder, your Bar. The Dwarves would be most jealous."

"She is quite extraordinary." Wellard smiles, glancing over at the Bar.

"And she is a person, as well. Not just something built, or just something magical- though she is those as well. She is caring and considerate, and is treated with the respect due all of that."

He does have more than a soft spot for the Bar, himself- she was both tough and caring when Wellard asked her for laundanum, long ago.

Legolas has taken a bite of his meal, but the look he gives Wellard is gentle. In contrast to that, he smiles brightly.

"I do hope I shall keep on her good side; my father would be most displeased if he found I had managed to displease a lady. Especially," he tells his bowl, "one who makes such wondrous soup."

"Most people here learn to treat her with respect, if they don't from the start." He grins, a bit wryly.

Considering Bar is about the only source of non-food supplies here at Milliways, people treat her with a grudging respect at the least, even if they weren't inclined otherwise.

"It would be more than merely rude to treat your hostess at a place you cannot leave with anything less than respect," Legolas laughs. "It would be terribly unwise."

There is a pause, and then: "Forgive me for asking, but what is it that you did outside of this tavern? Before you made your home here, that is. Have you ever been a shipwright?"

Wellard blinks, then shakes his head. "Oh, no. I was an officer in the British Navy. We were at war with France and Spain- Well, France declared war on us after they revolted and killed their king, and the Spanish Dons sided with them, so..." He shrugs.

It's not particularly an issue with him, just... there's quite a lot of detail to go into, to explain it all.

"I am sorry to hear it," he says, and while the tone is not heavy it is still sincere. "Though I do confess I am not very familiar with navies. Forests are not exactly their natural habitat."

"They wouldn't, would they." Wellard grins. "Unless you had a large river going through, and even then-"

He shakes his head.

"England is an island, so a good navy is its first line of defence. My great uncle had been a post captain, so he made sure I had a good tutor to teach me math and navigation, until I was old enough to join."

"There are rivers, but only one used for boats," Legolas says, with a quick grin, "and even the Celduin is not large enough to support such a thing."

He nods, to Wellard. "That was good of him. When did you turn to building ships, instead?"

"A while after I arrived here." He smiles faintly.

"I- I had to take some time to recover, once I was here. To pass the time, I started mapping out the stars, out there-" Wellard motions to the Windows.

"They... repeat, about every fortyfive minutes, abouts? And I figured that no one else had ever mapped that sky before, and set about doing so." His lips quirk.

"I only got the brightest and most obvious constellations. But as I was doing so, I talked to other people here, and they mentioned ships that fly among the stars, or even lesser ones that flew in normal skies. I started figuring that building something that might be possible, and so I got quite a few books on how to do it."

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Practice! With Wellard

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