milliways_bar | (no subject)

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*Anthy has an apple.*

*She sticks forks in it.*

*Meg blinks at the apple.

She feels vague pity for it.*

*The apple feels no pity for her, however. Or for the ghost rose.*

*Anthy slides another fork in.*

*The apple is probably too far gone to feel pity. It has been too abused. Just like a certain person who is abusing it. Yay metaphors!

Meg peers at the forks.* Doesn't the bar ever run out of silverware?

*Anthy will pretend she didn't read that. Er. Well, she didn't, actually.*

No. It's a magic bar. Besides, we have a dishwasher.

*Meg blinks and blatantly misunderstands, in her 1883 way.*

Who's the poor employee who got stuck with that job?

*Anthy misunderstands the misunderstanding. After all, someone has to load and unload the dishwasher.*

I'm not sure. Presumably the people who work in the kitchen handle it.

It? *Meg blinks.* Is it one of those 'robot' thingamabobbers, then?

I meant "handle the washing of dishing," but yes, there is a machine used.

*Meg looks suspicious.*

Is it a sentient machine? 'cause if so, it really needs some liberation, it sounds like.

No, no, it's definitely not sentient. *fears liberator!Meg* It's just a hunk of metal.

You're not just saying that, are you? *Meg peers at her yet more suspiciously.* 'cause you'd say that about lots of things, I feel.

*Never let it be said that Anthy is not a mad genius.*

Well . . . sometimes it cries alone at night when it thinks no one can hear it . . .

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