Public House: The Languishing Apple
The public room of the Languishing Apple sets the standard for a village pub. A huge bar, stocked with whiskeys and other liquors, spreads across the wall opposite to the door. The centre of the room is taken up by a loomingly large discussion table, while there seems to be sundry other tables scattered around the room in plain 'view'. As far as the 'menu' goes, the Languishing Apple has its fair share of fine Cornish treats available to tempt your taste buds. The liquors are equally as good, and a few local drinks are available on the 'menu'. The ceiling above you seems to lower ever so slightly with each passing second you stay here, and you generally feel quite at home in this cave-like pub atmosphere.
Two small windows, plain and narrow, look out upon the peaceful, dark village green.
Contents:
Myrra
Tattered Magazine
Stone Chess Set
Obvious exits:
Stairwell  Street Door 

[Jory Moon]
In every school there's a boy who doesn't quite fit. He's the one who can't play sports because of his asthma. He's the one who was always sickly and missed weeks of school. He was the one the other boys tormented mercilessly because he was smaller and weaker than they. In Poddington, this was Jory. Even though he's grown up a bit, the spectre of those years clings to him into manhood. He's around 18 or 20, and still possesess a gangly, pale, boyishness that's almost painful to look at. Very thin, and of average height, Jory moves with a kind of uneasiness that reminds one of a bird, like he's not comfortable with his body. He has a long mop of thick, black hair which has a tendency to spill into his face and over his brown eyes. Those eyes seem intelligent and perceptive, though are partially screened by a pair of spectacles. Dark circles permanently underscore them, marking a tiredness which echoes faintly in his body. The most active part of him is his hands, which have long slender fingers, usually stained with charcoal dust, and move about restlessly of their own accord. While no one would call this youth handsome, in the right light, and when he smiles, he might be called pleasant. He's wearing a fine outfit of wool and silks which consists of neatly tailored and pleated charcoal-black pants and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves caught at his wrists by glimmering gold cufflinks. Over this is a silk vest of black which has a pattern of thin gold pinstripes on it, and a scarf of cream colored silk is tossed casually around his neck. On his feet are highly polished black wingtips.

Myrra seems to be surrounded by a cloud of Turkish cigarette smoke.

Jory Moon comes in, a bit huddled in on himself against the cold outside. Closing the door behind him, he turns to peer around the room- a task made more difficult by the fact that as his glasses enter the warmer room, they immediately fog up. Still, he makes a game try of discerning who's here and doing what, rubbing his hands against his side, briskly, arms crossed over himself.

[Myrra Birch]
When in a crowd, Myrra Birch seems to stand out from the others. She is several inches taller than most of her peers, and her cropped fair hair snugly peeps out from under a cloche of dark green net with a design of gold and silver thread. Tiny amber and gold seed beads have been embroidered on the close-fitting cloche in a floral design. Myrra wears a high-waisted dress of a mustard-coloured patterned chinese crepe, and wears a gorgeous gold and pearl pin of costume jewelry--or is it?--in the shape of a willow tree at the hollow of her neck. Her eyes are a langorous blue, and her flawless skin is slightly golden. She has applied pale powder and cream rouge circles upon her cheek-apples; her brows are plucked and penciled in thin arches; and her lips are painted very red, emphasizing the Cupid's bow of the upper lip, and de-emphasizing the width of the lower lip, creating a 'bee-stung' effect. Her stockings are made of an all-silk pongee and have back seams that emphasize the hemline hovering just above her lower calf. Both men and women acknowledge she is beautiful...and that she probably knows it. A half-smile perches upon her lips.

Myrra drinks from her glass, which is filled with a clear and probably alcoholic liquid.

Jory Moon mutters a 'good evening' as he navigates his way to the bar, managing to almost, but not quite, trip over every chair between the door and his destination. (Thud. Scrape. Bump. 'Ow.') Once there, he takes off his glasses to try to wipe the fog clear. Without them, he sees the room somewhat worse.

Myrra seems to materialize by the bespectacled young man almost instantaneously, as if she has been beside him for quite some time. She smiles at him in a familiar manner. "Why, hello there."

Jory Moon is quite startled by the voice, having not noticed Myrra's approach whatsoever. He's so startled, in fact, he drops his spectacles into a small pool of spilt beer on the bar. His dark-circled, myopic eyes blink rapidly at the ... somewhat attractive-looking blur next to him, and he hurries to dry off the spectacles. "Er... hello." he ventures, hoping the blur will be friendly.

Myrra leans over and murmurs in a liquid voice, "You're that Moon fellow, aren't you?"

Jory Moon gets the glasses sorted out- dry and defogged, and slides them up on his nose. Now that his eyes are restored, he takes in the attractive woman next to him. "Er, yes." he replies. His face wears an expression of one trying to place a name with a face...

Myrra says "How lovely. I've heard so much about you."

Myrra says "I just adore the name Moon. Moon. It's so evocative, don't you think?"

Jory Moon seems a little uncertain about how to take the comments, and passes his hand through his hair. "Well." he offers. "I always thought it was a corruption of the Irish 'Muldoon'. B... B-B-Buh-But I suppose it can b-be sort of..." And here he doesn't have words, so he throws out a "... celestial."

Myrra lights up another aromatic cigarette. "Oh, absolutely, darling...celestial, and dark, and barren."

Jory Moon blinks several times at Myrra, his face somewhat blank. Dark? Barren? He draws a breath to reply, inhaling a good whiff of the Turkish tobacco smoke, and then his face seizes up. His eyes twitch, twice, and then he uncorks a rather vehement sneeze. "CHOO!" Fortunately, he manages to turn his head in time.

Myrra says "Geshundheit."

Jory Moon sniffles, like a man holding back the tide, and fishes out a handkerchief from his pocket to aid in the recovery. "Danke." he replies, his German accurate, if a bit congested. "I'm sorry. I have a sensative nose." he mutters, sheepishly.

Myrra smiles deliciously. "I'm sure, darling. Tell me, how is your...what is it you call it? Telescope? How is it coming?"

Jory Moon nods a bit, tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket. He still sniffles, once or twice. "Oh! The observatory! Well, now that the t... t-tuh-telescope is here, it's just a matter of making sure the controls are working and then... sprucing things up. I'm hoping t-t-to have a grand opening on the 18th." He smiles a little, finding the topic pleasing.

Myrra shows her teeth in a smile. "How grand for you."

Myrra says "Near that old mine, are you?"

Jory Moon nods happily. "Yes." he says. "Just a stone's throw away." he replies, interjecting to the barkeep an order for some hot cider. He quirks his head to Myrra. "Are you interested in the stars?" he inquires.

Myrra says "Oh, I just adore the stars, darling. They're so...."

Jory Moon looks expectantly at Myrra, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or in this case, adjective.

Myrra waves her hands. "What is it that one of your famous writers said? 'One can search the brain with a microscope and not find the mind, and can search the stars with a telescope and not find God.' I find that very true, don't you?"

Jory Moon opens his mouth, then closes it, as he considers Myrra's aphorism. After a bit, he grins a crooked grin. "Well, I've not seen the p... p-puh-pearly gates up there, if that's what you mean." He sips at his cider, and still smirking, adds a "Yet."

Myrra waves her hands about a bit, as she looks away from Jory. "And then there's your Havelock Ellis. 'The sun, the moon and the stars would have disappeared long ago, had they happened to be within reach of predatory human hands.' That's so true, don't you think? Human hands seem to destroy everything they touch, even the pure things. I think we really must preserve the pure things, don't you?"

Myrra turns and regards Mr Moon steadily, as she asks her question.

Jory Moon was distracted for a moment, and glances back to Myrra, abruptly. "Er, what? Oh, ah... yes. Er, that sounds reasonable." he answers, a touch lamely.

Myrra smiles agreeably. "I'm glad you agree with me, Mr Moon."

Jory Moon nods and smiles to Myrra. Then he ceases smiling and nods and frowns a bit. Then the nodding stops, and he just frowns. Then, he cocks his head to one side. "Er, I'm sorry, b... b-but I duh-don't think I caught your name?" he asks of Myrra.

Myrra stubs out her ciggie. "Myrra, darling. Just Myrra."

Jory Moon gives a friendly little smile. "Myrra. Alright." he says, sipping again at his cider.

Myrra says "It's been lovely talking to you, Mr Moon. I'm so glad we see eye to eye."

Myrra rises, and yawns a bit. "But I'm off to bed."

Jory Moon sets the mug down and nods again, with a somewhat uncertain smile. "Oh, yes. Yes, of course. It was nice to have met you."

[  The End  ]