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[anotherlifebro.livejournal.com]

It's one of those posts.

There's a spoilerific and mildly tipsy Desmond in a booth, sketching something that might be a snowglobe, only that's silly, right?

Another booth has a Hawkeye, with a glass of scotch and a newspaper from home -- it's amazing what Bar'll give you.

At a table by the noticeboard is Wes, copying English words from the various signs and seeing how much he can translate without checking the primer. (Answer: not many. Rose is watching from the next table over, smirking slightly at each mistake. It's great being able to read anything. Yay TARDIS!)

Ben's at the Bar with a chocolate milkshake -- that's not changed after three years, apparently. He's stealing occasional curious glances at an uneasy man nearby, though: Fi's wandered in wearing his off-duty clothes and without his brothers, but he figured he'd have a glass of fruit juice anyway. (And why not, eh?)

Comments

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

"What the kriff are you doing?" Says an Atton from behind Wes, with a grin so broad if it got any broader his face would split open. "'Part from writing nonsense."

[undignified]

Wes opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again when he realises that actually, not much.

Still, he merely deigns to give Atton a cool look before scribbling out one such nonsense word with his pencil.

"Studying." Beat. "You still everyone's favourite amnesiac?"

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

Atton's grin, if possible, grows wider.
"More or less. But I remembered my name and a couple of other things over the past few days," Beat. "Betcha you didn't. Though I suppose you don't need to."

Irritating smile.
"Studying what?"

[undignified]

"Not really, no," Wes agrees amiably. "Haven't forgotten my name, recently anyway. Unless my whole life's a lie and I've been stuck in some bizarre reality show with a new set of memories. That might explain a lot, actually."

Irritating smiles are annoying on other people, you know. So annoying!

"English. 's Earth language. Sort of. I think. They've also got somethin' called Latin, but that's not important."

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

"Why're you trying to learn a language?" Atton asks, sitting down on the table. "'S not like it'll ever come in use. Will it?"

[undignified]

"'Course it will. Maybe. New languages are always good for swearin' in, anyway!" He grins and leans back on his chair a little. "'Sides, this is for here, so I can learn Earth drinks."

He nods solemnly. Learning about new forms of alcohol is a good thing.

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

"Oh, well, fair enough," Atton grins. "It's important to know the names of drinks. Are Earth drinks any good?" And by 'any good', he means 'very alcoholic'.

[fighter--pilot.livejournal.com]

"That," Shalla says, walking up behind Wes, "does not say 'Cookies for Shalla.'" She plops down in the seat next to him and tilts her head.

"What does that say?"

[undignified]

"It says," Wes answers loftily, "'Wes Janson is the best pilot ever and doesn't owe anyone cookies'."

Actually, it's generally just a nonsense mix of Aurebesh and English characters.

There's a doodle of an X-wing in the corner though.

[fighter--pilot.livejournal.com]

Very quickly and craftily, Shalla snatches his stuff and writes down a few words.

"Well, now it says 'Wes Janson is delusional and had better give me my cookies.'" She pushes it back towards him, pointing to prove it.

[undignified]

Wes ponders the paper, then taps the words with his pencil.

"Right, but since I've got this, then the 'me' is, well, me. So I've got to give myself cookies." He grins. "I can handle that."

[fighter--pilot.livejournal.com]

She smacks him over the head. "You're such a bantha kriffer, Wes. You owe me cookies. And you should be giving me something else on top of that, because I waited. Interest and all that."

She sits back in her chair, eyeing him. "Besides, if you order cookies for yourself, I'll just steal them."

[undignified]

Wes is indignant. Indignant!

"I have not kriffed any banthas."

Also self-mocking.

He eyes Shalla and shakes his head. "Nah. I'll just get you some cookies. Can't have you stealing cookies from me after all." He grins. "Oreos or chocolate chip?"

[http://users.livejournal.com/_estsanatlehi_/]

It wasn't long before someone's little old grandmother made her way over to Desmond, she had a green duck on her shoulder and was leaning heavily on a walking stick, but she was also carrying a plate of corncakes with honey in her other hand, and, really, moving surprisingly well for someone of her age, "You, boyling, need something to eat if you're going to continue drinking in that fashion."

She even sounded like someone's little old grandmother.

[anotherlifebro.livejournal.com]

Desmond looks up from his sketching with an amused grin.

"That so? I reckon I'm doing all right, sister." He glances at his bottle of Dharma rum on the table, then back at her. "Liquid bread, aye? No, wait, or is that beer?"

[http://users.livejournal.com/_estsanatlehi_/]

She chuckled again, setting down the plate of corncakes, drizzled with honey and still warm, "That would be beer, yes, what you've got is liquid mollasses, or liquid sugar, or something."

She shrugged then, settling herself into the opposite seat, making herself at home. It was just the sort of thing she did.

[anotherlifebro.livejournal.com]

"Aye, something. A bottle o' rum an' the pirate's life for me," he adds in an ironic tone.

The corncakes are eyed, though. They look nice and they smell nice and, well, maybe he's a little hungry.

"I'm Desmond, by the way. Either from Scotland or that bloody island, take your pick."

[http://users.livejournal.com/_estsanatlehi_/]

She chuckled again, nudging the plate just a little closer, "Estsanatlehi, called Changing Woman and a lot of other titles too long and too numerous for a woman of my age."

She tilted her head then, "And they aren't the same thing? Scotland and 'that bloody island' that is."

[anotherlifebro.livejournal.com]

Desmond happily takes this cue, putting his sketchpad and pencil down on the table and taking a cake. He's just tipsy enough not to care about taking food from strangers.

"Estsa-- y'know, I reckon I'll stick with Changing Woman if it's all right with you, sister. --these're good," he adds, swallowing a bit of the cake.

"Aye, s'pose that's one too," with an easy grin. "Different island, though. Different bloody ocean."

[fighting_mad]

Plourr (now with Eiattu-clothes and hair! well, okay, stubble) plunks down across from Wes. She peers dubiously at his scribbles. "The kriff're you doing?"

[undignified]

"Studying," Wes says, mildly defensive because he is well aware of how unlikely this sounds.

Then he looks up and does a double take. It's almost comical, really.

"The kriff are you wearing?"

[fighting_mad]

A reflexive look down at herself, and then a glower at him. "Shut up." She didn't ask for the dress. It was just there, at the foot of her bed that morning. Kriffing maids.

[undignified]

Wes raises both hands in a defence that's pretty futile when his grin's as lopsided as it is.

"Let me guess. At home now?"

[fighting_mad]

"Wow, Janson. What astounding powers of deduction."

[undignified]

He taps his head with the pencil. "Told you before, I'm smart.

"Having fun?"