milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's no sugar.

No cookies with crunchy bits.

No chocolate.

No candy.

No sugar.

None.

AND IT IS NOT NEAR A WEEK YET.

There is a slightly manic Beaver Baby in the bar.

She is not asking for sugar.

Because that would be wrong.

She is gnawing on a table like there's no tomorrow.

There are woodshavings about her feet.

Gnaw, Sunny.

Gnaw.

Did we mention there's no sugar?

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His colorless eyes light up. "You do? Well, why didn't you say so?"

He wraps up the half-eaten chocolate bar and starts to hand it to her. Then he stops, a wary look on his face.

"Hold on. What's your name?"

Her hands go behind her back.

She cannot have chocolate.

She. Can. Not. Have. Chocolate.

And oh, does she look closer to tears now.

"Sunny."

Melkor clucks his tongue.

"Oh, dear. I was afraid of that. Your daddy said you can't have any chocolate, didn't he?"

Eyes well as she nods.

"That's awfully mean of him. I mean, he's got you chewing on tables now, hasn't he? Wonder if Dr. Spock ever wrote a paper on that."

Then, a mischeivous smirk on his face, he leans down and pitches his voice low.

"How about I just give you a little piece? Our secret? And maybe I can find a place to keep the rest where it won't melt. For when you're allowed again."

Sunny stares.

And then runs, tears streaming down her face, towards the flat, shrieking, "BER'D! BER'D! NEED HELP!"

There is a pause.

A long, pregnant pause.

And then an infuriated Barman storms out of the Staff Wing.

An infuriated, sleep-deprived Barman.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Melkor looks up into Bernard's face, nonplussed by the ire.

"Depends on who you ask, I suppose. The more popular answers tend to be that I'm an evil, sadistic bastard with delusions of grandeur, or that the millions of years of seclusion in the Void have driven me insane. You're free to take your pick."

Oh, how very, very meta. *golfclaps*

"Don't fucking play bitchy, self-referential head-games with me. Were you not just taunting my daughter with chocolate?"

"Not taunting. Offering." He smirks. "As insurance, you could say. She might have had a go at my table next."

"Bullshit," Bernard states baldly. "She said she told you her name, and you offered her sweets, and then took them away. Why on earth would you do that to a two year old?"

"Oh, dear," Melkor says carefully. "Is that what she said? Well, I'm afraid she is right in the details, but not in the order. I offered to share the rest of my chocolate bar with her, and then when I learned her name, I recanted. What I did do was offer her a small piece as apology and to save the rest for her for later."

He gives a small shrug and effects a contrite expression.

"I am sorry if she misunderstood my intentions, but really? Denying a child chocolate? You might as well deny her air. I've been charged with some cruel deeds in my past, but that just seems beyond even what I can tolerate."

"Don't be glib. The loss of a week's worth of desserts will do nothing but teach her a lesson and maybe show her that she doesn't have to eat sugar all the fucking time. I, however, remain unconvinced that you didn't know exactly who she is when you offered. It was cruel, and I'll thank you to stay away from her in future."

Melkor looks about to protest, then he merely waves his hand unconcernedly. "Oh, very well. It's not as though she wouldn't have appreciated the treat. For what it's worth, she's still welcome to have the rest, when she's allowed."

He nudges the wrapped candy bar on the table.

"Thank you very much," Bernard grinds out, "but no, thank you."

This is one stranger Sunny will be told never to accept candy from.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an hysterical toddler to tend to. Thanks for that."

"I don't suppose you'll even let her know that I made the offer at all, will you? Ah, well. Just another Christmas card I can expect not to receive. Do have a pleasant afternoon."

And then, with another resigned sigh, Melkor's just... gone. Not the 'pop' of Apparating... he was simply not there anymore.

He did, however, leave the chocolate.

Asshole.

Bernard storms home, really really tempted to slam the door.

But he doesn't. Because he doesn't need two crying children on his hands.

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