(no subject)

[herr_bookman]

[OOM: Lunar, finale.
Don't want to leave you
Sorry to grieve you
It's traveling time, and I must move on.]

After Autor stows the carpet he'd picked up on Lunar, he meets Mia for dinner downstairs as planned. He was relieved to find Bar didn't mind giving him a room again.

"Mia," he says, nodding politely as he seats himself. "Thank you for hosting me on Lunar." Then he glances down at his plate. "Though I have to confess, I missed real eggs."

"Giga ant eggs are real," she says, smiling. "Though if you mean chicken eggs, well, Lunar has those, too. That restaurant is just snooty."

Autor blinks, and the fork halfway to his mouth hangs in the air. "Wherein 'snooty' equates to 'horrific'?"

She laughs. "No, 'snooty' in this case just means fancy foods, which are not always so tasty."

And the kid grins.

[OOC: Two pups, two muns! Tag one or both. ETA: Calling slowtimes.]

Comments

[lyricaltokarev]

At some point when Autor approaches the bar on his own, a small pink envelope will appear for him. It's perfectly ordinary-looking, nothing dangerous about it.

Inside it is a little card made of good-quality paper, smooth and creamy-white. The message on the card is written in a girlish, looping script -- and in a disconcerting shade of dark red ink.

Thank you so much for the gift! I received it while sitting under the cherry tree out back, and thought you might like some of these. It isn't much, but I'll be sure to have something nicer for you the next time I see you.

♥ P. ♥

The envelope contains nothing more than a handful of cherry blossom petals, pale pink and delicately fragrant. There's a touch of magic on them to keep them fresh, a simple spell that will wear off with time. (The true beauty of cherry blossoms lies in their fleeting nature, after all.)

[herr_bookman]

Nothing dangerous? About a pink envelope? Heeding common sense for the first time ever, Autor decides to take it outside and try to open it with a stick, so that he doesn't end up releasing a toxic gas inside the bar.

The envelope isn't the only pink thing when he reads the note. The words turn his ears a disconcerting shade of red, and the hearts... well. He didn't pinpoint her as someone who would scribble in cute, little declarations.

Cherry tree? he thinks, checking to see if the ink flakes off under his nail. His recent floriography studies remind him that, "transience of life," and, "gentleness," are both meanings ascribed to the blooms. He guesses she'd prefer the former to the latter--if she knew the language of flowers at all.

He presses them to his nose, oddly sentimental, and tucks the whole ensemble into his blazer pocket with a little smile.