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Gwaine has settled himself on a bench to watch the swirling crowds, his amazement and joy evident by the steadily growing grin. He might have got lost in the castle's maze of corridors more than once when he first arrived but he's absolutely certain that this is not Camelot. Uther's health may be failing and Arthur not quite the uptight, pompous, hide bound little braggart of a Princeling he first thought him (he'll grudgingly admit that now) but even he would struggle to accept the multitude of strange beings and obviously magical artifacts crowding as far as the eye can see.

He tilts his face back towards the sun with contented sigh before picking up the bright paper he discarded beside him earlier and reluctantly continuing to read. It's not that he can't exactly, goading by family members determined that their poor relations bring as little shame as possible and later Merlin's patient if faintly teasing guidance mean that he's adequately literate, thankyouverymuch, it's just that there were a lot of very long and confusing words.

Eventually he reaches the end where the warning at the bottom of the page causes him some rather profound worry.

"What's a man to do to get a drink around here, then?"

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[Before I tag in: Ver's got a truth-sensing curse stuck in her that she can't turn off. She knows when people are lying and she can see through illusions; she doesn't know what the truth is or have psychic powers. More details here. If you don't want to deal, let me know, I know it can get annoying.]

[Fine by me, the only person he's really likely to lie to is himself! Or possibly about how many drinks he's had...]

[He may be getting The Eyebrow at some point, but I suspect a big strong knight can take it. :P]

Here, Gwaine, have one of those strange beings and magical artifacts. (You would not believe what her parents left lying around when she was a kid.) She's obviously a she, don't be fooled by the pants or the attitude. Ver's gaze flicks to the pamphlet, then she gives Gwaine a smile that's only lightly laced with pity. She's used to all this now, but she remembers the confusion when she first arrived.

"Depends on what you want to drink."

[He's lived through receiving this face more times than he can count. Bring it.]

Gwaine smiles appreciatively at the woman in front of him, while the trousers may be uncommon attire he's travelled widely enough and spent enough time in company of, it must be said questionable scruples, to know that occasionally the fairer sex resort to more masculine clothing. Especially if they need to get away rampaging armies of the undead led by their former mistress for example.

No, it's her hair colour that truly gives him pause, could she be some kind of fae? He'd heard all the drunkards tales of course, spun a few himself when things were bad and there might have been another tankard or a free meal in it for him, that some of the Sidhe still existed in far corners of the land but he's sure they were all described as being less appealing and more.....blue of complexion. Caution then, or as cautious as he ever is anyway.

"Well, some ale would be nice. And if it's not going to transform me into anything unexpected that would be for the best. I'm more open to new experiences than some but having one of his finest new Knights return as a purple woman would irritate Arthur to say the least and he's particularly tiresome when he's irritated."

Gwaine realises that he might have progressed into staring a little.

If Verity notices the appreciation in his expression, there's little response. Only a flutter of something before her expression settles again, and the brief visitor was neither gratitude or a corresponding appreciation for him. It was something closer to wariness or weariness.

She'd be glad to know that there are exceptions, sometimes, for a woman who prefers practical attire. Not so much that there rampaging armies of the undead. Her world had its troubles, so many many troubles, but that was rarely one of them. A minor blessing.

The staring is met with an eyebrow arching upward in unasked question. The question being, because she's from Manhattan, 'The fuck is your problem?' Another minor blessing that she doesn't say that out loud. These old-fashioned types react so unpredictably to foul-mouthed women. "There's a place nearby with safe drinks. What would be wrong with being purple or a woman?"

Gwaine shakes his head sheepishly, perhaps there is something in all of Arthur's hissed admonishments to mind his manners accompanied by cuffs to the back of his head after all.

"Forgive me, nothing at all in themselves but were I to return to Camelot other than I am now. Well, the accusations of sorcery would start flying and with the punishments being as harsh as they are, I and anyone else who had more than brushed past me twice in the hall would find themselves on trial and condemned to burn at the stake in the courtyard before the next sunrise."

He rambles to a stop awkwardly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Suddenly, more in need of that drink than ever.

"Oh." The rambling had one good side effect, in that her expression is softening. It's not an unfamiliar fear. The desire, the need to keep one's head down and not get noticed is one she still fights. Even in this place. "Those things are usually temporary if it does happen. C'mon, I'll show you around a bit if you want."

Ver takes a half-step back then, expecting him to stand and not wanting to crowd him. "I'm Verity." Does he shake hands with women? Is it allowed? She'll offer hers and find out.

Have a relieved smile Verity, he's quite fond of how he looks. "Well, that's something at least. And thank you, it seems like there's more to learn than is written here."

Gwaine stands carefully, still not sure if the woman's apparently changeable temper indicates a non-human nature or not. He will take the offered hand though but rather than shake it he holds it an executed a small and not desperately courtly bow. "Gwaine".

He releases her hand but other things he just can't let go of, it's not meant maliciously, he's just the inquisitive type. "So, your hair is that temporary or is it typical of your ... kind?"

Vanity is a sin, and aren't knights supposed to be above such things? Not that she can blame him, he's pretty cute. And she never dislikes when people are giving her those kinds of smiles. It's so much better than the fake smiles most people wear. "You're welcome. This place is kinda huge, so yeah, there's a lot to learn. Being a decent person is typically a good start, so I think you'll be okay."

The bow gets another raised eyebrow, a little surprised and a little amused (like she's anyone worth bowing to), but she's smiling when he comes up again. "Nice to meet you."

And then the question. It's not the first time someone's wondered, and she takes it with good humor. "The color is dye and I'm human. Where I came from, it was common for people to color their hair."

A scruffy-looking man in sweat pants, dogeared sneakers, a hoodie with the sleeves torn off, and a little bit of bandage tape happens to be strolling by at just the right moment to hear the question, because the Nexus is like that. In one hand, he holds the leash of a one-eyed dog, and from the other dangles a six-pack of cans.

Those arms have a fair bit of tone to them--and a fair set of scars. This is somebody who has been in plenty of fights in his day. His shoulders roll as he shrugs and suggests, "ask nice?"

Gwaine gives the man a cautious once over, he's clearly a fighter and even by the array of strange clothing around them he looks to be a little down on his luck. Not that Gwaine can really judge him for that, the coat draped over the bench beside him is more patch and clumsily mended tear than original garment but he still prefers it to the finer quality clothes his new life as a Knight of Camelot affords him.

"And who exactly would I be asking, friend?"

"Well, this is Lucky, and I'm Clint," he answers, giving his end of the leash to the dog to hold before extending a hand in greeting. "How 'bout you, pal?"

"Gwaine. Good to meet you Clint and Lucky too, of course." He takes the hand with a smile and nods at the dog, just in case. Stranger things have happened today and it doesn't hurt to be polite.

"Nice ta meetcha." Clint has a good, firm handshake, and afterward pulls a can out of the six-pack to offer it to the knight.

Lucky, meanwhile, knows full well that Clint isn't supposed to go out for walks without a leash, he knows what happens. He nudges Clint's nose with his snout until the Avenging Archer relents and takes back the leash.

Gwaine is thoroughly amused by the dog's behaviour but the strange object Clint hands him has him completely lost.

He turns it over in his hands, confused. "Sorry, what is this?"

(("nudges Clint's nose," gah, meant that to be nudges Clint's arm. I can write, really.))

"It's a beer." Clint takes a seat, setting the five-pack down on Lucky's leash and claiming another, then demonstrating the pull tab. "Like this, see?"

Gwaine carefully copies Clint's actions with the can before sniffing and tasting it tentatively, still a little worried he's about to turn a strange colour or change into an animal. But it's good. He takes another sip.

"See?" Clint confirms, taking a swig of his own. "Beer. So where're you from?"

A well-dressed woman, who had her nose buried in large book, had sat down beside Gwaine on the bench without realizing that she was not alone. At least, until he speaks. She blinks... and then smiles.

"Oh!"

"There are some great places one could go." She has a slight British tone. One that might remind him of home. "There is a pub that I frequent nearby."

Gwaine on the other hand had very definitely noticed the pretty lady who had settled herself next to him. Her startled look as she puts the book down reminds him so much of Merlin and the many times he's interrupted him as he pours over some giant dusty encyclopedia of Gaius's that he can't help the chuckle that escapes him.

"That sounds like an excellent plan." Gwaine stands and offers her a hand with an admittedly slightly rough approximation of a bow. "Perhaps you could lead the way, my lady. If you've no objections to my company, of course?"

"That sounds lovely!" Hermione accepts his offer with a smile. She takes his offered hand to stand to her feet. Then she opens a small pouch at her side, and puts her book into it (even though the book itself is bigger). The disappearing book would be a strange sight, for one who might never been around magic.

"I'm Hermione Jean Granger. And you?" If she is going to have his company, she should learn his name.

The disappearing book is indeed somewhat startling, if only for the casual ease with which she does something so obviously magical. His light grip on her hand tightens a little protectively as he glances around and behind him, everything seems fine but the threat of imprisonment or worse present to anyone with magic in Uther's kingdom is something deeply ingrained in him.

"Sir Gwaine," he wouldn't ordinarily use his new and still uncomfortable title but if this woman needs protecting from anyone it doesn't hurt to have a little authority to wield. "Are you sure it's safe for you to be using" here follows a series of expressive yet awkward grimaces and gestures towards where the book disappeared to "magic so openly?"

Hermione is a little flattered for how he takes on a protective role. Obviously he has magic in his world. But it sounds like magic must be forbidden, or some such nonsense, for him to be so worried about her.

"It is safe to use it openly here." She nods at their general location, referring to the Nexus in general. "It is second nature for me. In my home, there are many others who learn and practice magic. I used to attend a school where that was our focus. And when I am here, I follow the rules... no magic that would harm others."

She pats his hand gently. "But if it makes you uncomfortable, I won't use it."

Hermione's quiet confidence goes a long way towards calming his nerves and he lets go of her hand.
"Not uncomfortable, there are some I know who distrust those with magic on principle but that's never been me. And as no one else from Camelot seems to have taken the wrong turning I obviously did to end up here, I don't expect we'll be surrounded by guards any time soon."

He grins, "Unless you've plans to use an ancient Druid cup to create an army of immortal warriors to steal a throne for yourself?" He's mostly joking but memories of the battle against Morgana's legions still occasionally find him waking with a violently pounding heart.

"Now, where's that tavern you spoke of, a lady who attended a school for magic surely has some tales to be shared over a tankard of ale. Or six."

As Gwaine starts to mention Camelot and an ancient Druid cup, Hermione's eyes get wide with wonder. In her world, Merlin is considered one of the greatest wizards of all time. And she considers it an amazing situation to meet someone from that timeline.

"Oh, I will share my tales... if you share yours."

Hermione soon leads him to the pub in question. It is a nice, quiet place right now.

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