milliways_bar | (no subject)

Agnes dabs at her eyes and nose with the handkerchief.

"Last thing you need is some fat girl blubbering all over your shoes. But thanks."

- eh bien, taking those in order, *Meg says, eyeing her, and takes a deep breath.*

All right - so my shoes have taken worse, and you're not blubbering but dealing with an emotional crisis which is entirely different - and you're not 'some fat girl', you're a really nice girl who I happen to like, and who is one of the only other people around here who actually understands about Opera - so you had just better not apologize any more for things that aren't your fault, *she concludes, with impressive fierceness in someone who's about five feet tall.*

In spite of everything else, that gets a laugh from Agnes.

"I appreciate that. Really, I do."

*Meg nods, firmly.*

Good - that's a start, at least.

*With a quick sudden grin:* And I mean it about my shoes having taken worse - I mean, you haven't seen ruined ballet slippers 'till you've been half-drowned in a lake of chocolate, and you only think I'm joking.

"Around here? I've learned that it's almost always safer to assume that people are telling the truth about things like that. How did that happen?"

*Solemnly:* Has anyone ever told you about the Oompa Loompas?

They're tiny orange people and they live under the floor and clean and make candy, and mon Dieu, they're terrifying.

Her brow furrows.

"No, I haven't heard. You mean they live here?"

Well, down there, *Meg says, darkly, and gestures towards the floor.*

There's zillions of them - all right, that's an exaggeration. But a lot. They're sort of the unofficial cleaning staff, I guess, but I know people who've got a few suspicions that they're up to more than just cleaning -

Agnes barely supresses a shudder. She looks around.

"Suspicions about what?"

*Meg lowers her voice.* Well - one of my friends, he's away from the bar now, but - he got accidentally taken down their once during the cleanup for a party, and he claims they're raising an army.

- fortunately when I was down there we managed to avoid running into any of the Loompas themselves, but I wouldn't put it past them - I mean. Whenever a big event happens? They show up - and they sing. In unison.

You can't tell me that isn't creepy.

She stares.

"Singing anywhere off a stage is, in my experience, not good."

Mine too, *Meg agrees, darkly.*

- and I don't know if you even heard about the singing demon -

"Molly told me about that one," Agnes notes. "I'm glad I missed it."

Lucky.

*Meg looks dramatically mournful.* There's a reason I'm a dancer and not a singer - though it was probably worse for the people around me than for me myself, *she adds, with a grin.*

"Oh, goodness. You're all right, though? Molly said something about people catching on fire from it?"

*Meg nods, quickly.*

Oh, I'm all right - my boyfriend had experience with this demon, he showed me how to use the fire extinguisher. I was actually on fire watch for a while -

She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Good," she says with a smile. "Little thing like you? You'd go up like kindling."

Agnes winks and sticks her tongue out at her to show she's teasing.

*Meg makes a face back at her.*

Hey - do I look singed?

Anyways, *she adds, with a giggle,* I could always smother the fire with my tutu -

"Well, you do have a point there," she giggles back.

I did save someone else's life, though, *Meg adds, with a moderate degree of pride.*

- not that he'll thank me for it; but that kind of makes it more satisfying, since he really is kind of an arrogant espece de guignol.

Agnes tilts her head.

"What is that language you keep speaking? It's pretty."

- oh - desolee, I do it without thinking sometimes, *Meg says, rather embarrassed.*

It's French - that's where I'm from, France. Paris.

"French. Sounds exotic. Desolee," she repeats, catching the intonation perfectly. "What's it mean?"

*Meg giggles.*

Means 'sorry', or 'excuse me' - er, other ones you'll probably hear me say a lot are bonjour or salut - that's 'hello' - and a bientot, that's 'see you later,' and then er the occasional rude word.

And it's - well, I don't know if it's exotic, *she adds - with some pride, which effectively covers up the hint of wistfulness.*

But it's the most beautiful language in the world, I've always thought.

"Hey, now. You're not allowed to apologize either, even if it's in another language."

Agnes thinks a moment.

"Bonjour... salut... It's really pretty. Could you teach me? A little, anyway?"