milliways_bar | (no subject)

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So, here he is. Stuck under a booth, blind, and without a stitch of clothing on.

Good thing the fuzz-wait! Where's the fuzzy coat of grey fur?

"Lucas!"

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After Lucas saves Autor further embarrassment, the fully-clothed former kitten chats with his friend in that fated booth. He's sipping a glass of milk and wondering if it'll ever taste the same to him.

[OOC: Modified plotlocked thread to open, double EP; all threads Millitimed to after Lucas'!]

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Autor glances at his knees--and his arms--before offering her a small, guilty smile. "See, now this is why I wear a blazer."

Lies, damn lies, and school uniforms.

"But I can see how that would cause some serious questions around the coffee shop. I assume you don't use make up to cover them?"

"Not nearly as many serious questions as me coming in wearing a blazer would," Rae grins at him.

"I don't. There isn't much more nakedly hands-on than kneading dough, and I spend much of the day up to my elbows in flour; I doubt concealer would do anything for the taste of the bread. Not anything good, at least."

"Well, mine would probably fit yo-" he starts, and tries to strangle the silly thought of his dressing as Annabelle and her as--As what? As Ray?

Her casual use of 'nakedly' just adds fuel to the flames on his face. I am taking this far too seriously, he thinks, adjusting his glasses. She's not even trying to embarrass me.

"Right. I would suspect that would change the taste quite a bit," he says, and miracle of miracles, his voice doesn't crack. "You do pride yourself on avoiding flour-additives, after all."

"It's modern-day bread fraud, that's what flour additives and rising agents are," Rae remarks, eyeing him.

"...What are you blushing about now?"

Unfortunately for Autor, his thoughts cheerfully ran around the other people he knows who could fit in his blazer--and then fixated on a tiny, green-eyed blonde. The cuffs would hang past her fingers, and the fabric would drink in the scent of licorice.

"Oh," the boy murmurs distantly, nibbling the corner of his lip. "Cravats. I think."

Sunshine would hug him, but there is the back divider of the booths in the way. She settles for lightly ruffling his hair.

"Your mind is a strange, strange place, Autor." But she is more approving than not. He's seventeen. This is absolutely normal.

"A certain someone in a cravat? A lacy one?"

Scarlet marks the boy's face, dipping down past his collarbone. "What! What... Rae, don't be silly--there's no point in thinking about a cravat just by itself, right? They're designed to be on necks, but it's not like you have to think about any particular nape, regardless of elegance."

Autor folds his arms and turns his nose up. "Lacy," he spits quietly, threaded with a squeak--rather like he did when he was a kitten.

"Oh, but lace is quite nice on right person, don't you think?" Rae says, lightly, feeling mean but enjoying it a bit too much. "Just decorative frills, not substantial in the least. It obscures what's on the other side, but... not completely."

"After all, it is... just a cravat."

Autor tilts his head, needing a moment to process this. His sudden hiss of breath is all the warning she gets before he jerks forward, narrowly avoiding clipping the top of the booth with his nose. "It's not like she'd be wearing just the cravat, she'd have my blazer and other garments on, too, and--oh. Oh, damn it!"

The boy leans back, pinning her with a surly gaze--for one moment. In the next, he buries his face in his hands. "You are terrible."

The damned booth divider makes this difficult, but Sunshine moves up to leeeeean precariously over the divider and offer a fond hug to her friend the flustered teen from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Please remember, Autor, that you're only as good as the company you keep."

"Clearly you were pre-corrupted," Autor huffs mournfully. He tries not to lean into the hug, filling his shoulders out. It's not a very good effort, really, though he'll deny it if she asks. "And you're obviously corrupting me, given that I never would have thought about lace b-by myself. Yes."

He wrinkles his nose up at her, facing her for the first time since he lowered his hands. "What am I going to do with you, Rae?"

"Argue, most likely," she grins at him, cheerful and unrepentant.

"Tch," he says, letting a smile slip. A small one. She'll hardly know it's there, really. "Good, I sometimes know where I stand on those."

"Well, I should hope so," Rae smiles. "Though, your arguments so seldom have a leg to stand on that knowing where to stand is a oftentimes a complete non-issue."

Autor tips his head back, resting against her with closed eyes. "Hmph. Speaking of stumbling around blindly... Thank you for looking after me," he says gently, "when I was a kitten."

"What are friends for, if not for keeping their friends from going hungry or getting stepped on?" she says, lightly leaning her head against his.

"What did make you turn into a kitten, anyway? You drank something?"

"I appreciate it. And ye-es," he says, prepared to wince at her reaction. "The Fool was mixing drinks at the bar; they were free if you could keep them down."

Only then does he realize that his pocketbook is minus one promised gold piece.

Sunshine chuckles. "You willingly drank a free drink made by the Fool?"

No wonder he ended up as a kitten!

Autor glances up at her, raising a brow. "Oh," he says, stunned. "I figured you'd be angry with me. Or scoldy. Or something."

"No, I figure you probably got what you deserved, doing something like that," she smiles. "What was it like?"

Autor turns his head down, staring at his glass. "It was lovely. I was blind and helpless and couldn't communicate very well," he murmurs, "but people and cats--and, at one point, a goddess--took me in and taught me what to do.

"My senses exploded, too--I could find my way around via my nose. There were so many new smells, Rae. And the milk! Well, the milk was ridiculous. As were the um... the ah..." he trails off, rubbing his cheek as he whispers, "the scritches. Those were really quite nice."

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