milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Perrault is seated on a stool near the door, quite relaxed by all appearances. The occasional sip of tea, a bite from a shrimp pastry that Bar so kindly provides. All very relaxed.

He is, as always, a cat. And therefore highly aware of his surroundings.

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Even with that awareness, the girl standing nearby almost slips under his radar. There's something off about her- she's visible, and seems to have mass... but there's a strange sense that she's not really there.

And no smell. Humans smell. This one... doesn't. At all.

She's giving him a once-over made of cautious curiosity.

Tail:Goes poofy, twitches rapidly.

Perrault: Maintains composure and smiles at the girl.

"Good afternoon, miss."

She starts, then returns his smile with a smaller, more nervous version. "good afternoon..."

After a moment, she adds, "you're like Hank. are you a doctor, too?"

Why is there never a tree around when you need one? Oh, wait -- rafters. They should do in a pinch.

"Nothing of the sort, though it is indeed a noble profession. I am but the humble advisor to the Marquis de Carabas."

Her face creases in a thoughtful frown for a moment. that sounds... familiar...

"an advisor?"

His tail has only increased in poofiness and is now flapping back and forth wildly. Doesn't tend to be good when the mysterious stranger frowns.

"Yes. As my master is such a wise and just ruler, my work largely serves to do nothing greater than ease his duties."

Hm . . . most of the rules of thumb he knows in situations similar to this are for meeting little old ladies in the forest. Can't hurt. . .

"Would you care for a shrimp pastry? Bar is quite the chef."

She blinks in mild surprise, then looks at the indicated dish.

It's a hopeful light that dawns on that shady face, but quickly mottled by doubt.

"...really?"

not supposed to take things from strangers...

but...

Demonstrate generosity, avoid being cursed. And it's not as if he has any lack of gold.

"Of course! If you're not fond of shrimp, I'm certain she could provide something else for you . . ."

One hand reaches out tentatively, as if afraid to go too far away from her body.

He holds the plate out for her. Sweatdrop.

One pastry is delicately taken. She gives it the look most people might give a ruby or a valuable baseball card.

"thank you."

He sets the plate back down, still within easy reach of her, and clasps his hands together to keep them from shaking.

"You're very welcome. It's no trouble, I assure you."

With a shy smile, she vanishes. The pastry does, too.

Meeep.

Well. It's not entirely surprising. But still weird beyond the telling of it.

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