ext_54913 (
twoeyesonthesky.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2006-04-28 10:04 am
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Normally it takes alcohol, or at the very least some form of recreational chemistry, to produce the sort of expression Quinn had when he woke up this morning. It's almost a pity there were no cameras or witnesses on hand. Going from the relatively tranquil face of sleep, to the vaguely confused look of anyone who's come to wakefulness in a strange place, to full-blown 'I did what? I said what?' rarely works out as flawlessly as it did this morning.
He's composed himself pretty well, though- working hard in the dawn hours, then getting to clean up in an actual working shower, will do that. Now he's just got breakfast to get through, although the words An agreement- two years after the dragons are gone periodically surface in his head and cause the odd expression to flicker over his face.
Mind, if you're not a telepath, an empath, or an extremely perceptive gambler, it could just look like he's got a dodgy bowl of oatmeal.
He's composed himself pretty well, though- working hard in the dawn hours, then getting to clean up in an actual working shower, will do that. Now he's just got breakfast to get through, although the words An agreement- two years after the dragons are gone periodically surface in his head and cause the odd expression to flicker over his face.
Mind, if you're not a telepath, an empath, or an extremely perceptive gambler, it could just look like he's got a dodgy bowl of oatmeal.
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But oatmeal always looks dodgy.
He still gets her attention though "Quinn? You alright?"
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...then again, she tends to be a little too straight forward for most.
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She has overly honed "bad guy" alert radar after all.
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"Did he ask for anything in turn?"
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"Something on your mind, then, Quinn?"
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Not his most common response to being prodded, but then, normally he pays more attention to his surroundings than that.
"Warn a man, would you? ... morning, Creedy. And yeah, you could say that."
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"Warn a man? Should I put a flashing light on m'head then?"
Another shake.
"Care to share, or keeping it to yourself?"
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And there's a small smile, but it's more support than teasing. If something had Quinn this out of sorts, a man with his feet firmly on the ground as he does, it was something to listen to.
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He reaches for his glass, but drinking orange juice doesn't have the same reassuring punch to it as coffee or alcohol.
"Which wouldn't've been so bad if Sam and Arithon and some blond git in a bunch of robes hadn't been right behind me. And weren't still right behind me, with that bloody lizard coming in hard and fast."
"And then it gets better."
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Blink. Blink.
... that's new.
"Morning," he says, unable to think of anything else that wouldn't sound completely ridiculous.
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"You look a bit occupied with thoughts."
The mouse cocks his head to the side a bit.
"Anything you want get off of your chest? I know y'don't know me or anything but sometimes it's a bit easier to talk that way..."
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"It's a number of things, honestly," says Quinn. "And no, I don't know you, though I think I've seen your face before. Somewhere, anyway. My name's Quinn- what's yours?"
It seems like the safest way to start a conversation, really.
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"A pleasure to meet you, Quinn. I'm Mickey!"
He laughs a bit and says.
"Help yourself. If you want to get it off your chest, I'm here. I tend to get that a lot around here. A lot of people have been noting that, and I'm not quite sure what made me so popular."
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Bleeding hell, it's Mickey Mouse, about sums up his thoughts for the moment- but he pushes that away hard. He's met others here who should've been nothing but stories. Lando Calrissian. Aslan. Why should the Mouse be any different?
"Thanks, mate." He essays a smile. "I dunno what'd do it either, but you've got a good face for it, if you don't mind my saying so. 'Course, we don't have anyone quite like you where I come from- unless you've been to England, maybe?"
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