Lang was in the hall, considering that that the bard was not going to disappear in the time it took to deal with his arm. She set down her pack with a sigh, and then looked around for a guard who hopefully spoke Common well enough to go and tell Curr that his father was back.

The approaching guard did speak Common, as well as several other languages, some of which had not been invented and others of which would never be heard on this plane of existence, but he did not seem eager to help Barbara or even to see her. Before either of them had a chance to say a word, he separated himself from the wall and with his gloved hand gave her a hard smack across the face.

The smack was so totally unexpected, that Lang took it full across her face. She yelped and bent over, her eyes watering, and felt blood in her mouth. Then she righted herself, and stumbled back away from the guard, reaching for her gun. "What the fuck?" She managed, more stunned than angry.

"Did I knock out a tooth? I hope that I did." He wasn't used to striking people and his gloves were thin kidskin, dyed pale grey, unlike the heavier leather gloves with a band at the wrist and a studded guard up the forearm that the guard usually wore. He rubbed his hand, scowling at the woman.

"God, you people are fucking idiots," snapped red guard in a very clipped, distinctly upper-upper English accent. Though his features were Tuatha, his eyes were dark china-blue and his hair steel-grey. Even his uniform, the blue and grey of Oireachteigh, had a faintly washed-out, no-colour look to it.

Lang blinked a few times at the man, and leaned against a wall, just staring at him. She slid her pistol away and wiped her face, swallowing. "No. I bit the edge of my tongue." She answered, still shocked. "So.." She said, taking in the man's ensemble and his accent. "You are Grey then."

He gave her a curt look as he tugged up the edges of his gloves to the ends of his sleeves again. It was an odd, strangely prim gesture. "I am leaving you to take care of the elder deCiel in the aftermath," he told her. "I've already pulled that man's fat out of the fire once before when he decided to fuck about with trying to destroy the continuum. But you! I thought you had more sense! Mooning around like some lovesick teenager over a man you've barely known three weeks. Risking your neck. Risking everyone's necks. I sincerely hope this was temporary insanity on your part."

Lang relaxed slightly, feeling that she wasn't going to be frozen like the Earl and Countess. "I.. am not mooning." She said, annoyed. "I.. he came after me. No one's ever come after me before." And then she swallowed, realizing that that sounded very much like mooning. "Also, he has a son. I was just repaying the debt. Sir." She added, remembering what he was.

"It was my idea, as well. Morgan only came along for his son. He should not be punished for it. I only needed him to get me there, ja? If I had been able to do it myself, I would have gone alone." She explained. "Sir."

"Morgan has more reason to be punished for it because he understood all the implications." His eyes flashed at her. "The last thing this little sluggish world needs is more history. Now you have two. Running parallel. And you're dead in one, if that helps you to concentrate."

Lang looked rather shocked at that, and did not speak for a moment. "Oh. So are you asking me to do.. something?" She asked. "If I can help, I will. What would you have me do? Sir." She added. "Or are you just telling me that I have made a terrible mistake?" She put a hand to her stomach, willing it to stop flinging itself about.

"Oh, stop being so servile," he snapped. "I am saying that you, Morgan, Seth, and Maitiu are now living in the wrong line of history. You are anomalies. You are living on borrowed Time."