Captain William Laurence

  Former captain of HMS Reliant, while in the Royal Navy. Served about the HMS Belize, HMS Orient, and others prior to his post on the Reliant. Now Captain in the Aerial Corps and captain to Temeraire.

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jovialcontrarian‌:

“No matter, I can have my fill of wine on any other occasion.” He holds the glass out for Laurence to take. Luckily for Laurence, he’s drinking surface wine, or rather, wine made of grapes and not fungus. 

“I like the festivities just fine, but one does need a break every now and again.” He sets the glass on a table nearby and gestures for Laurence to sit, “I assume you’re here to hide away from the revelry?” His tone is teasing, but not malicious. 

“You’ve piqued my curiosity, though. Which “His Majesty” are you referring to?” 

“Why, King George the Third,” Laurence answers, looking slightly baffled. He takes his seat with ease. nodding his thanks. “Not, that is, that I have had much of an occasion to meet him.” The Emperor of China? Certainly. The King of his own country? Whyever would he.

“The ‘revelry’ causes me quite a headache,” he answers, once he’s got the most pressing question out of the way. “I would appreciate it a great deal if only it contained itself to acceptable areas; I find myself missing the Coverts if only for their solitude.”

He flashes a smile, though it has a slight tinge of longing after the mention of the Coverts--he is accustomed to being away for quite some time, but after the way he departed, he does not expect to ever see them again. He copes. 

Speaking of coping, he reaches for the glass, takes a small sip. Sighs, when he finds it not heinous, and takes a second. 

“Shall I assume your Fallen London is not the same as the London I know,” he says, rather than asks, despite the fact that it is indeed very much a question, cocks his head, and waits for an answer.

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everykindoftouch‌:

“Wait,“ Jupiter says, raising an eyebrow, with a (not unreasonable) amount of skepticism.  “Dragons?“  Everyone knows dragons aren’t real, just like angels.  Or maybe they were, once, but given human belief waning and waxing like the moon they aren’t anymore.  She’s hardly good at conceptual theology.  It’s just way easier to assume anything that’s real now has always been, and that fate only runs in one inevitable direction, that there’s only one real. 

“Like big lizards with wings, and… stuff.  That kind of dragon?“

“Ranging in size between just large enough for a single rider to upwards of thirty tonnes,” Laurence confirms “Temeraire, my dragon himself has attained twenty tonnes in his adulthood, though when he was freshly hatched he could ride on my shoulders, for the span of a few days, at least.”

He tilts his head. “Am I to assume that you come from a world without, then?” It wouldn’t be the oddest thing, if so, but the thought of a world devoid of dragons strikes a deep pang within him. He thinks of the glint of mischief in draconic eyes, the fighting spirit present in one and all of the British stock, and remembers the action he’d taken the last time a threat to the continued existence of dragons had loomed.

He doesn’t regret saving them, not even at the cost of becoming a turncoat, but the idea of there being a world where not even that could have provided the existence of dragons lurches in his gut. “My Temeraire is here, though much reduced in size: should you desire I could arrange for an introduction.”

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northridden‌:

“… Reminds me I need t’buy my knives back,“ they mutter, with no particular heat to it, “but course.  What kind’f person wouldn’t keep knives.“  Not that these are anything but kitchen knives that’ve been sharpened, hardly ever their first choice for murder, but they’re not planning to commit any murders.

Not that they really plan those outside of jobs, is the thing?  Mostly they just sort of end up happening.  Sometimes murder just kind of… happens, the same way getting lost or saying something cruel might, barely more than a stray thought leading to another course of action.

“The food around here isn’t poison, y’know.  Won’t harm you.“  Alexis offers him a knife after a moment, although exactly where they were keeping it is hard to say.  “An’ if it was, wouldn’t these be just as untrustworthy?“

Any knife is better than no knife, and Laurence finds himself grateful to manage to avoid going back to the disconcerting building he’s found himself placed in just yet. He takes the knife gratefully, careful after Alexis’ earlier retreat from aid not to allow his fingers to brush theirs. It’s more a hunch that they’d prefer to avoid contact than any concrete knowing, but even if his hunch is wrong, being polite never is.

“I’ve yet to find any suitable weapons--and what is it exactly that you mean, ‘buy back,’ if I may ask?” 

He scuffs some of the underbrush flatter and relatively clean of debris, then purses his lips before dropping to a crouch to lay out the first of the rabbits. He’s acquainted with the concept and even passingly with the reality of skinning animals, and he sets about it without a trace of the slight hesitancy he feels. Glancing up at Alexis when they point out the relativity of food safety in the Ark, he shrugs.

“It soothes the spirit, at the very least, to have seen every step my food has taken towards my plate; call it healthy paranoia or useless, I still find it... preferable, at least for now.” He flashes a quick smile, though, says: “I appreciate the information, however. Thank you for sharing it.”

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@concordantknight

Laurence is loathe to return to his lodgings, after a day spent comfortably with Temeraire. Even after spending some time in the Ark, he fears that each time he parts from Temeraire should prove the last he’ll see of his dragon with a certainty that feels like ice in his veins.

Still, in the end there is not much option, and Laurence returns to his floor of the flat with feet that barely drag at all, finds his way into the kitchen, and sets about making a pot of good stout black tea, looking forward to the warmth of the drink despite the relative warmth of the day.

He has seen a being seemingly constructed of stone, in passing--just one more oddity in a land full of them--but he has not had the chance to introduce himself, not wanting to do so until he could be certain not to make an ass of himself. When she enters the kitchen as he stirs the tea to speed the steeping, he turns the heat down momentarily, turns himself to face her the moment after.

“Hello,” he says politely, “I am Laurence--I expect you are one of this floors’ other inhabitants?” He doesn’t give her a moment to answer, gesturing instead to the pot behind him. “I am making tea, though in the manner of the field, should you wish to join me?”

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jovialcontrarian‌:

It’s not often that the Contrarian is interrupted in the middle of something; usually he’s the one doing the interrupting. Still, solving sudoku puzzles while drinking wine was hardly a important task that he couldn’t stand to be ripped away from. He placed his pen down, bookmarking the page so he could return to the puzzle later. He smiles, well, jovially, at the new arrival.

“Come in, come in! You said your name was Laurence?” It had come to his attention that the traditional London practice of eschewing names for titles and epithets was rather uncommon, but he was loath to use his former name, and he didn’t want to make a habit out of introducing himself as August. His titles would just have to do; if the fellow found it strange, that was his problem. “You are not intruding at all. I’m the Jovial Contrarian, mayor of Fallen London. You can call me ‘mayor’ if you like. I have wine, if you like.” 

The Contrarian regards the new arrival sympathetically; the poor dear, just wanting to find a quiet place away from the hustle and bustle of the festival. He wisely keeps the mischievous smirk off his features. The poor unlucky bastard, to have wandered into a room occupied by the Jovial Contrarian. 

At the invitation Laurence abandons his previous position, moving into the room proper instead of continuing to hover in the doorway. “William Laurence, Captain in Her Majesty’s Aerial Corps,” he confirms easily, finding himself a seat with the carelessness of one who grew accustomed to long ship voyages at a young age, “and a glass would hardly go amiss, though I would be loathe to put you out, Mayor.” He smiles, briefly. 

This Contrarian though perhaps alarmingly named, seems a fine enough fellow for now; his company is infinitely preferable to the chaos outside (though for how long, well--this narration supposes only as long as his luck proves. And he has already been led to wandering into the same room as the Contrarian).

He doesn’t know if the man has a glass available, isn’t certain precisely how he plans to continue, either. But if the man is choosing to act as host, it is far from Laurence to disabuse him of the notion: such an action would be inexcusably rude, especially to someone who has offered him as yet no slight. “Are the festivities not to your liking, then?” He inquires. 

His tone is polite, but he is sincerely interested; the vast majority of inhabitants seem to be enjoying the racket. He’s curious as to why the Contrarian would be locked away instead. He knows his own reasons. He’d know the Contrarian’s, if given the option.

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 northridden‌:

The man reaches to steady them and Alexis has already stepped back, out of reach; telegraphed enough that they could read it easily, even if they doubt he meant to.  Their capability to be touched without being warned fluxes by the day – today they ache a little too much to make it anywhere near acceptable.

Of course he didn’t hear their approach.  They’d either be offended or impressed if he had, since it’d be either a pathetic failure on their part or a display of skill on theirs.

The pullback is controlled, too.  It’s not too hasty.  Not too slow.  “Perfectly well.”  They nod at the rabbits.  “You hunt?”

Laurence allows his hand to drop easily to his side, seeing that the stranger has no need of his aid, settling his weight back firmly now that the first vestiges of surprise have ebbed and ducking to reclaim his supper.

When he straightens, he quirks a self-deprecating smile. “For a given value.” he admits readily. “I have some small skill, but not much practice putting it to use. Usually I have others, far better than I, to provide supper.” He glances at the sun in the sky, glances ‘round to see if he can catch a glimpse of Temeraire, then makes his decision easily. “I do not find myself too hungry, however. 

“I could be persuaded to share, if you had something to skin the things with?” 

His plan had been simply to make use of a kitchen knife in his living quarters, but it would be easier, and quicker indeed, if he could instead split the meal. 

Of course, he has no idea whether or not they are armed, but it’s worth a shot. And company is not something he would turn away. He misses the easy camaraderie of the Corps, much though it had shocked him when he had first encountered it, and the Ark feels oddly empty even as it bustles with life.

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lungtienhsiang‌:

“I believe,” Temeraire says, letting his eye slide shut again and relaxing heavily under Laurence’s hand, “that the protocol said that you may not kill another resident, and you may not steal, and you may not destroy property. I do not think there is anything else that is a crime. And I do not see why one should steal anything here, anyways, as we are given as much capital as we like to buy the things we want, such as jewels and silver and pastries…”

He sighs happily, warm and content right here, and he thinks if it were not the middle of the path where he’s sure Laurence would be quite uncomfortable if they were to stay for any length of time, he would very much go to sleep now, pleased with the state of the world.

“Oh, but I have not died,” he thinks to reassure Laurence. “It is not difficult to not-die at all, and I do not think you will have any trouble.” Still, his ruff flattens with sudden, crushing anxiety at the thought, and he butts his nose against Laurence’s arm, seeking comfort, grateful to have him right here but thinking he should like to be much larger, so that he count ensure Laurence would not be harmed.

Laurence thinks, perhaps, that he must be in some kind of shock; something similar to battle fatigue, or the queer state that takes men when they have lost too much blood. Such fantastical news as is being delivered to him ought to continue to send him reeling, but he finds himself oddly numb to it. Far more real is the warmth of Temeraire, the familiarity of the dragon’s quicksilver emotions. Far easier to concentrate on, as well.

He slides his arms around Temeraire’s neck when he presses against Laurence’s arm, tugs him flush to provide comfort in a way he hasn’t since Temeraire was but a hatchling experiencing anxiety about a future clouded with unknowns. His lips quirk into a short grin, at that thought. Things are certainly just as clouded as they had been before Dover--he expects well that they shall work out now just as they had then. How? He has no idea. But he has Temeraire, and the rest. Well. The rest will follow.

“You have been incredibly brave,” he says, hold still tight around Temeraire’s neck, no matter the slight stretch to his arms, “a credit to Her Majesty herself. None could be prouder than I. Come, though--show me where you are quartered? I would see the accommodations made for you.”

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@jovialcontrarian

Laurence is trying to avoid the commotion of this ongoing ‘festival.’ 

It’s not easy going, there seems to be something on in every Sea, in every corner, everywhere he turns. The noise is enough to make his head hurt, and the abandon which some of the Ark’s other inhabitants behave makes his lips press into a thin, unhappy line.

He’s been searching for a quiet corner for what feels like a few hours now, loathe to hole up in his room, but unwilling to stay in areas crowded with strangers.

Finally, he spies what seems like an almost forgotten door, tucked away in a corner of Tranquility. One without a shop sign over it. 

He breathes a sigh of relief and slips inside before he can think twice, only to be brought up sharp by the sight of a man in a wheelchair already inhabiting the room. He nearly backsteps, but the noise from behind him keeps him inside. Instead, he smiles his most polite smile, though it’s tight around the corners, and says: “I hope I’m not intruding. I am Laurence, I was only searching for a place to find a little quiet.”

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@northridden

There’s food for sale, in each of the three Seas. Clear and easy to get hold of, but Laurence--well, Laurence doesn’t trust that the food here will be uncontaminated, not when he fails to understand the motives of those who brought so many to this strange place.

Thus, he has bought himself instead a couple lengths of rope, and done his best to replicate the snares he has seen Tharkay lay so often, deep in the forests of Tranquility. He is tucked away behind a brush, knows Temeraire lays in wait somewhere nearby as well, the great lummox. 

It’s comforting, though Laurence is not a man to allow himself many comforts, nor to recognize them when he has them. Time passes, and at long last when he checks his traps he finds two rabbits caught up, giving them a sharp blow about the head each to stop their struggling, and tying them together by the paws. Turning, he starts to head back to the city proper.

And of course, he bumps directly into someone else. He drops the rabbits, reaching instead to steady the other, apologies flying to his lips. 

“Oh, damnation, I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head and bending to pick the rabbits back up. “I only didn’t hear your approach. Are you quite well?”

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(nice, thats me caught up! so, you know the drill! Like This, For An Starter,)

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everykindoftouch‌:

“Someone you knew?“  It’s not faking interest at all if she is actually curious, but it still feels like she’s lying, a little.  Isn’t parroting what someone said back at them rude even if you mean it in complete sincerity?  “I hope they’re okay.  And it’s fine!  It’s fine.  I just, like I said – I don’t want to be a problem.“

Jupiter isn’t actually sweating.  Well, maybe she is?  But it’s not as hot as it was back home, stuck in full uniform in the sun in the gross humid woods for weeks on end, so by comparison it’s really pretty nice out.

“An ensign, on my flight crew. By the name of Emily.” He explains it easily enough, a slight smile on his face. “A good child, if remiss in her schoolwork more often than not. She’s Corps born, if she works hard, one day she’ll have her own dragon. I hope to help her on the path to it. Or. I hoped, I suppose--from here, it would be rather difficult.”

He chuckles, shakes his head. The levity is unusual for him, but he doesn’t try to fend it off the way he might have once; still riding high at different moments on the knowledge that Temeraire is here, that Temeraire is well. “Blasted heat,” he mutters. “This place is warmer even than Africa, I’d wager. And--truly, you are not a problem. I would not have approached you if I was unwilling. It would be monstrously rude.”

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.tidecast‌:

Oh. So this is Temeraire’s Laurence. That makes the situation a lot easier to deal with than the other option, though to be frank she had expected this meeting to happen with Temeraire around, possibly dragging either one of them in like a very proud, very big dog.

“It’s quite alright, Captain, thank you.” She can accept the flowers now that she’s reassured it’s not some unexpected courting gesture — what she would have done with that she’s not quite sure — and so he will look a little less awkward standing there in his stiff coat. “Did he tell you how we met? Temeraire has been very good to me as well, be assured. He spoke much of you; it’s good to make your acquaintance, despite the circumstances.”

“But you say you’ve just arrived here today — are you alright? I know the transition can be… difficult.” It reflects well on Captain Laurence that he would have come to thank her for something so simple as keeping Temeraire company so soon after learning of it, and it somewhat soothes some of her own reservations regarding what she’s learned of dragons and their place in that world. And she’s getting the impression that most people don’t quite arrive to the Ark by way of (near?-)death experience, the way she did, but still. She owes it to Temeraire to make sure his human is well too.

He hands over the flowers readily enough, making a bit of a leg while he proffers them. This Jaina seems mannered enough, and her speech is nothing if not courtly; privately, he feels some measure of relief at that. He’s met his fair share of women who shunned such things, but he’s never quite gotten the hang of not letting it surprise or dismay him. It’s not that he thinks they are lesser, or should hold to higher standards than men, no, Jane has thoroughly disproven that. He just. 

His upbringing never included anything close to women who would sup in nothing but their plainclothes.

“I--” he hesitates, not wanting to tell a lie. “I am better, for having seen Temeraire,” he settles on. Not dismissive of the fact that he is perhaps more on edge than he has ever been in his life, but not so sad that he’d be begging pity off a stranger he’s only just met. It’s all his pride will allow.

“I woke from my slumber in this strange place. I had been with Temeraire when I slept. He mentioned a library, and that you helped him through the loss of me, when he had only just arrived.” He smiles. “Ergo, the flowers. I wondered if you would join me for a friendly meal, that I might get to know you better--Temeraire seemed quite taken with the idea, and I would do nothing to increase his load of concerns. Nothing so simply averted as failing to be courteous.”

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everykindoftouch‌:

Why does she keep getting approached by weird guys who seem kind of worn-out on the spiritual level, Jupiter wonders.  That’s not even something you normally have to start counting but maybe she should?  Maybe she should keep track.  Maybe it’s some sort of elaborate metaphor at her expense.  Maybe it’s just that aside from Eight and Neptune she hasn’t seen anyone else who’s a kid and she keeps repeatedly losing the chance lottery on who else she runs into.

It’s easier to just kind of go along with it though.  So she goes along with it.

“Fruit sounds good.  If you’re not busy?“  Her tone squeaks it up into a question almost unconsciously.  “I don’t want to be a problem or anything.“

The hesitation is obvious, to a man so full of it it fair chokes him, and he puts his hands up carefully, remaining those few paces back from her. “If you’d rather not,” he offers, “I can let you be, instead. I only thought to help; it’s what I would appreciate, in your shoes. If the truth is different, well.” He shrugs.

“I can move along easily enough.”

It’s hot here, uncomfortably so, and he’s sweating under his jacket, wants more than anything to remove himself of his neckcloth. He’s not willing to shame the corps so, though, regardless of the standard some aviators keep their clothes in. He supposes it’s the rigidity of the Navy left in him, and though his expression remains for the most part serious, his lips quirk into a small grin. He shakes his head, sighs, puts his expression back to the polite one it spends much of its time in. 

“You reminded me of someone I knew, standing there like that, is all.”

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lungtienhsiang‌:

“Oh, yes,” Temeraire says, and he shifts, then sinks down to the ground too, wraps himself around Laurence and lays his head in his lap. “I think that you will like Jaina and Eight. I am unsure about  82 White Chain Born In Emptiness Returns To Subdue Evil. She was very unhappy when I found her, and I have not seen her since. I think she is holding a protest, but I was unsure if I should attend.”

He settles, closes his eyes, a low rumble shaking through him. He’s never, he thinks, felt this happy, this relieved, in his life so far. “I hope you like Jaina,” he confesses. “She was very patient with me and kind to me when I had just found out that you were not here.”

Then he cracks one eye open, snorting, a breath of hot air. “The books are very vague and do not make much sense,” he says, unhappily. “And I know that they have taken away my size and my flight and the divine wind, and that if you commit a crime they will kill you, but you will then return to life, which seems a very silly method of punishment to me.”

Laurence wants nothing more than to allow himself to press closer still to Temeraire, belying just the faintest bit of his discomfort as oddity after oddity drops from the dragon’s lips. He doesn’t--he doubts, but who in this would not? He doesn’t believe that Temeraire would lie to him, not really, and he had awoken mysteriously without his sword, in a strange place, with strange people.

Who’s to say it is impossible? 

As Temeraire all but purrs Laurence drags his hand down, presses his palm flat on Temeraire’s chest. It’s soothing in the same way it’s always been, in the way that nothing else ever has been, and despite his unhappiness with the state of arms, with the mysteries of this place, he can’t help but relax a little, feeling the rumbling proof that Temeraire is hale under his hands.

‘Are their definitions of crime the same as ours?” He asks. “I would not like to make a careless mistake, and cause you such pain, even temporarily.” Not to mention, he’d like not to die. Regardless of how transient it may be, his life is something he does not plan to give it up without a fight.

His lips tighten unhappily for a moment, as he bites back the urge to demand reassurance as to Temeraire’s health again; he wishes for a dragon-medic, but he thinks perhaps he is the closest to that he’ll find anywhere around.

He presses his palm harder for a moment against Temeraire’s chest, feeling the warmth under his palm, breathing deep, careful.

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everykindoftouch‌:

Knowing isn’t the same as understanding, and it pulls at Jupiter to think of this place, with her barely-understanding of what it is.  She’s used to Culture being the last word, but she’s heard tales of those brave pilots, separated from human gravity and designing their own selves – maybe that’s a little like this, she thinks?

The part of her that’s still a model Summer Scout is weirdly bothered by the fact that she can’t quite name any of the trees.  This isn’t an oak, that isn’t a maple; they’re almost-right, but the leaves are off, the colors a little weird.  It’s like someone’s recreation, thrown through a filter.

But Jupiter would like to be an optimist even though she’s never been very good at it, so she tries not to think about it.  She doesn’t really succeed.  Mostly she just gives herself nagging anxiety.  (She snaps her hairband against her wrist.)

The man calling at her is unfamiliar, dressed like some sort of reenactor, and her first instincts tell her stay away from strange men, Jupiter, you don’t know where he’s been.  But she can take care of herself!  She’s the devil.  She doesn’t need to be worried about her own safety.

“Um.  Maybe?  Not lost, necessarily, but.“  She laughs awkwardly.  “I guess I am a little distressed, yeah.“

The girl’s clothes are odd, but she is hardly the oddest thing about this place: Laurence clasps his hands behind his back, shoulders straight and left hand gripping his right wrist firmly, when he sees her tug at the--elastic?--the band around her wrist. 

He smiles as warmly as he can manage nonetheless, with all the turmoil that rattles around his chest, all the misgivings and fears, and though the expression is wan, it is also genuine.

“It’s for the best that you aren’t lost, probably,” he admits, “as I am quite new to the area. But would an audience for your troubles ease your mind? I confess, I have been an enlisted man for most of my life, and this enforced idyll wears already. I would be more than happy to be of any service I may.”

He thinks for a moment of Temeraire, left to sleep in Tranquility, but he reminds himself that they have been separate before, even if he loathes the simple possibility of causing the dragon any anxiety with their separation. He told Temeraire where he would be. He has time.

“Perhaps over a bracing--” he hesitates, casts about for any food he’s seen in his wanderings-- “skewer? Of fruit?” It ends in a question, his voice ticking up, but he makes his way gamely through the moment of hesitation. He seems many times this girl’s senior, and though it would raise eyebrows to be seen alone with a gentle-lady in Britain, he thinks it would be far worse to leave a girl to her worries, should there be anything in his power to resolve the matter, instead.

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lungtienhsiang‌:

Temeraire’s ruff flattens down a little, both at Laurence indirectly implying that he’s being untruthful and at Laurence’s continued anxiousness, and he butts his nose against Laurence’s chest, then presses his head there. “I am quite well,” he insists, even more put out- “and I am quite sure that I have been here for a fortnight, or a little more.”

He pulls back to sit, prim, tail wrapping around his haunches and forelegs, and he holds his head level with Laurence’s as he says, “I have eaten- in another area there is a sea, and I have been fishing there, and hunting here, and though it would be much simpler if I could fly, I am still capable. There is a train, and also the streets are not too narrow for me now, so I have been getting around alright.”

Friends… He has made friends, he thinks. “Yes,” he says, decisively, “I have made friends.” His ruff flares back up a little, settling into a happier angle. “I have met Agent Eight, whose ancestors are octopuses. And 82 White Chain Born In Emptiness Returns To Subdue Evil, who is made of stone.” His mouth, oddly, moves far less than it should have for the length of that name. “And,” and here his voice fills with obvious warmth and affection, “Jaina, who has sat with me and read to me in the library, and is very nice.”

Temeraire has never been coy with his feelings, and Laurence watches them ripple across his features, his limbs, and reaches to scratch behind one scaley ear in contrition. “Of course, dear one. Forgive me for doubting you, it is just... odd.” Laurence isn’t completely certain which of them is wrong, but for the moment, he can see no point in agitating his dragon any further, and though it twists in his belly, he forcibly puts it aside to listen to Temeraire’s recountings.

“Perhaps in some ways, then, your new size has been a blessing more than a curse,” he offers, though truly he would feel more at ease with the Temeraire large enough to destroy entire frigates in a single go at his side. Any Temeraire is better than none, he tells himself firmly, and lets the relief of that thought curl his lips up into a smile.

He does double-take at the odd list--here he’d thought he had kept odd company, between Tharkay and Jane. An octopus? A stone person?

The warmth in Temeraire’s voice is both welcome and mildly unseating: it is not that Temeraire has not taken the initiative to make friends before, simply that usually, Laurence had some idea of them. This--Jaina? This Jaina could be any sort of person, but he shoves that aside as well, letting the relief dominate his features instead.

“You shall have to introduce me to your new friends, then, I suppose, hm? If they have been looking after you in my absence, I owe them a debt.” He lets out a large breath, then nudges Temeraire to allow him to sink to the ground instead, finding his legs curiously weak.

“Are the reading materials to your liking? Do you know anything of the nature of this place?”

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tidecast‌:

“One minute!” she calls out, and gives up on drying her hair to pull on a shirt. She’s not expecting anyone, and when she checks the phone there’s no message there to suggest someone would be inviting themself over. One of the floormates, then, she assumes, and goes to open the door.

Only the man there is a stranger, not Mairon or the Diplomat. She looks at him, taking in the very military bearing, the green of his coat just a shade off from Kul Tiras’ but close enough that there’s a little pang of sadness, the… flowers? in his hand, and she feels a little self-conscious suddenly as she stands there with her hair down and still damp from the shower. Light above, she hopes this isn’t because she used that Kindling app.

“Hello,” she says, carefully. “Are you sure you’ve got the right door?”

“I apologize for the intrusion, and the hour.” Laurence says. “I am Captain William Laurence, of Temeraire’s crew. He tells me I owe you a great deal of his happiness.” He makes his best leg, conscious of the incongruity in the situation but unable to think of any other way forward, and offers her the flowers.

“These are entirely insufficient, as far as returns may go, but I woke here only this morning, leaving me entirely at my wits’ end for better, I pray you’ll forgive them.” Having made his way through the speech he’d prepared on his way over, he sighs in veiled relief, privately glad that despite the odd scenery, he’d yet to bungle his words.

Curiously, he takes in what detail he can of the woman, soft hair to stern bones, and thinks to himself that (though appearances could hardly the the end-all) there could be far worse company for Temeraire to have fallen in with, if his first impression is correct. Certainly, she seems well mannered, at the very least.