milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Minimalist attempt at entry.

Man. Suit. New York Times. Booth. J&B, rocks.

Humming.

(I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts
There they are all standing in a row
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head
Give them a twist a flick of the wrist
That’s what the showman said )

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"Drink. Laugh. Dance. Bed."

He shrugs.

"You know."

"It must be nice. But day after day, doesn't it get boring...?"

"Life? People? No."

He beams.

"Hm."

What he is thinking might be, I wish. Or he might be thinking, how do his nice cheekbones look under the skin. Brief smile, and he twitches.

"You'll have to excuse me. I need to go..." He draws it out, almost forgetting what to say next, "...return videotapes."

He'll never know, since Mercutio is dead already.

"Excused, of course, and it was a pleasure. But what are videotapes?"

He passes a hand over his face, checks to make sure his hair is still perfect.

"Film, movies." He smiles, the outside corner of his mouth twitches.

"I am not from your time, my friend."

He is still uncomprehending.

"I know. I'm starting to understand this. Just nod, an pretend it makes sense, please. Or my heart will be fit to burst."

His face is flushed now, and he loosens his silk tie, taking a very large breath of air.

Okay, Mercutio's curiosity is a bad thing to awaken.

"You will die if these things are not returned?"

"No."

Not so much a smile as a rictus of expression, thumb wiping away the faintest sheen of sweat from his upper lip.

"But someone will get hurt."

If Mercutio were entirely sane and calm and logical, he would step well out of the way of the door and stay there.If there wasn't just one tiny little loose screw in his head.

But there is, and there always has been, and he's Mercutio.

"Why?"

"Because you are practically begging for it."

"Oh, I will get hurt? I have begged for nothing."

Slight smile.

"And I would be amused to see you try, pirate."

"...Wouldn't you like that?"

He is quick to grab the newspaper he was reading, clenching it, sliding out of his booth and standing up. He brushes down the lapels of his suit, trying to regain his control. Once lost, there was nothing left.

"But there are rules. Even in a bar."

"And you are a rules man?"

He doesn't stand, stays sprawled in his chair, tilting up his head to look at Patrick.

"Yes."

No.

"But you have a sword, that is a considerable advantage. And I was never a betting man."

"And I am already dead, my friend. Another advantage."

His smile is bright and gleeful.

"But I suspect that you would be... more intent than I."

"We could always see if you die again."

He grins.

"Yes, I would be. I always am."

"I do not. Believe me, it has been tried."

There is something sharp and bright in his face. Now he's come alive.

"That's just too fucking bad, having to take your word on that. I would rather like to see that for myself."

"It is not very interesting. I bleed, I do this," and suddenly he fades into invisibility, "I come back." And he does.

He looks disappointed, very. Frowning. "But you bleed. That's interesting enough. Do you feel pain?"

"Of course, aye."

He smiles at Patrick.

"But it is temporary. Are you going to try to hurt me, then?"

"No."

Not today, he thinks, not while he is smiling so brightly.

"Cocktease."

He scratches his chin.

"Are you going to hurt someone else?"

He's not sure he'll allow it.