milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Earlier. Not so good."

"Now. Good."

She pours herself a glass of the deep velvety red—a rather fine Côte-Rôtie Syrah.

"With wine. Even better." She did bring a second glass, and the bottle neck hovers expectantly, invitingly and temptingly over it. "Care to join me?"

- well. The now being good is good, *Meg offers, with great wisdom and insight.

Her eyes flicker from the wine glass, to the fire extinguisher, and back.

Hopefully:* D'you think it's all right to operate fire extinguishers drunk?

That gets a bit of a puzzled look. "Yes? They aren't hard to work."

"You know, I was just randomly thinking the other day that we could do with a fire service here. We have the equivalent of police and ambulance. But no fire fighters. And fire fighters are always hunky to boot, which makes it even more of a travesty."

The bottle dips, and the glass starts to fill.

"Are you providing a volunteer service in the interim?"

Me and Andrew both, *Meg agrees, gesturing vaguely at the fire extinguisher set closest to her.*

He's been patrolling around, and I'm just sort of - lurking. You know. Because I also have another job to do, and also, call me a coward, but I don't really want to become a target for the demon for extra singing.

One eye narrows. As is often the case with Meg, she doesn't feel like she has quite all the details.

"I know fire is a constant danger, from the smokers... and possibly from the dragons. But is there really need for such proactive vigilance? Even firefighters kind of hang out unless there is an actual fire."

There's a short moment of distance and loss of focus in her sharp blue. Mmmm. Half-dressed firefighters lounging around the station.

Annnnd... she's back.

At this point there is, *Meg says, dryly.*

You've heard about the whole singing thing, right? Well, it's not just hideously uncomfortable, embarrassing and terrifying, it also tends to end up in spontaneous combustion if you're not careful.

Therefore: fire extinguishers. And constant vigilance. Andrew saw Ingress' feet smoking the other day -

Stunned silence.

Then, "oh."

She remains sober. She may also sniff discreetly for any smoke-type smells.

"In that case, you have my explicit consent to dowse me, should the need arise. I've been singing. A bit. Not too much. But definitely enough."

I've been caught twice now, *Meg says, and heaves a sigh.*

Which - I guess isn't bad, for half a week - and one of them was really short. But still.

*She grins, quickly.* And thanks for the permission - though I have to say that if I saw you sending up smoke signals, I'd douse first and apologize later in any case. And, you know, pay for any clothes that were ruined and so on. - or send the bill to the demon, even. If I knew his name to send it to.

"It's been sporadic for me. But no less irksome. And undoubtedly still terrifying for other patrons who hear. I think Miho is the only one who is amused by my recitals—damn her."

She swallows some wine and tries to lighten up again.

"And... thanks on the dousing front, I guess. I'll do the same for you."

At least you're making someone's life better, *Meg offers, helpfully.*

And I appreciate -

*She pauses, her attention caught by something she hears, not too far away.*

Oh, merde - excuse me a minute, will you, Goldy?

Goldy follows her gaze and waves a dismissing hand.

"Go on. It looks urgent."

As events unfold:

"You say it's urgent
Make it fast, make it urgent
Do it quick, do it urgent
Gotta rush, make it urgent
Want it quick.

Urgent, urgent, emergency
Urgent, urgent, emergency
Urgent, urgent, emergency
Urgent, urgent, emergency."

She's still chanting, albeit in a much softer voice, when Meg gets back.

"So urgent, emergency
Emer... emer... emer...
It's urgent."

She raises her glass in a congratulatory gesture. "Good work, Meg!"

*Meg's feet, at this point, are covered in white foam, and her normally cheerful face marred with a scowl, both left over from the confrontation with Saionji.*

Quelle salaud - anyways! Now, you know, you've gotten a practical demonstration -

She nods mutely as she subtly checks herself for any smoldering. "Indeed."

"I'm thinking that maybe two people on firewatch may not be enough. The way this is going, the whole bar could potentially go up in flame if things went wrong at the same moment."

Her face is wrinkled with consternation. "Perhaps a sprinkler system might be prudent?"

Hopefully, *Meg points out,* by the time we install one the demon will be gone. Defeated. Driven into the land of the Loompas to make them sing and dance forevermore - the petit branleurs can handle it. And they've got, you know, ice cream to put them out in case they catch on fire.

"An interesting resolution," she says musefully. "Wouldn't it be more just if the demon was not allowed to inflict his curse on people... or things? And possibly forced to listen to really one really horrible song on repeat, for all eternity... or at least a suitable jail sentence."

As long as no one in the bar has to sing, dance, or burst into flames against their will, *Meg says, firmly,* it's all the same to me.

I've never been big on the whole vengeance thing. I'd just prefer the problem gone.

"Then, that's where we differ," Goldy says with a hint of darkness. "Then again, sometimes forgiveness is the best form of revenge." She is covering her bases carefully, one might say.

*Meg shrugs, eloquently.*

Well - I mean, I'm dead, you know? And the guy who killed me's long gone - past the reach of revenge or justice, you might say.

If I let it be a big thing for me, I'd never get over it. Better just to let things go.

"It all depends on the situation, really," she admits with an agreeable nod. "In this case, I'm similarly open to any solution that takes the song and dance out of the equation."

Wine glugs into Goldy's empty glass, poured by an attentive Tashka. Only once she has lifted the bottle away and set it aside does she start moving to an unheard bassline, toprocking breakdance-style. She knee drops to the tabletop and works her way through a traidtional six-step, then transitions into a neat head swipe. The show ends with a particularly graceful airbaby freeze, then she flips to her feet and scampers off sheepishly.

Goldy stares.

*Meg is already up on the chair, back pressed against the table, eyes wide and panicked.

Only when Tashka moves on does Meg let herself relax and release the breath she's been holding.*

- that one was close.

"Close to what?" Goldy says, not quite understanding the reason for the fear.

*Meg is still eyeing the departing waitrat, nervously.*

The first time Kitty and I sang - we got attacked.

A mob of waitrats - they were singing and dancing and doing the macarena and trying to gag us, and frankly if we were not both fantastically awesome dancers I'm not sure we would have made it out of there.

Dubiously, "so, not really attacked. More like, backed. With bonus gagging attempts."

There was a mob of them, *Meg says, defensively.* I think some of them were even waving tiny pitchforks!

"Maybe they were just... forks?" She holds one up for comparisons sake. "Also, I think a group of rats is more correctly refered to as a rabble, but... same difference."

It's not that she doesn't believe Meg. It's fun to antagonize-slash-mock, and she doesn't get many openings with the ever-liberal Meg.

"Were there burning torches that were actually short taper candles for eating by?"