milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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?)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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

"Having fun?"

A flat look. "Oodles."

He probably remembers just how much fun it was.

"I'll bet."

His grin actually has a touch of sympathy now! So yes.

"It'll all be over soon? I'd offer a bunch of other tired cliches, but I can't think of any."

"Unless the planet suddenly spontaneously combusts, it's going to go on for the rest of my life." It's a statement of fact, with perhaps some bite (since it's not going to all be over soon. or, well, ever).

Wes refrains from pointing out that that would probably still be the rest of her life, and instead looks appropriately chastened.

"You know what I mean though. Better, anyway."

Okay, he's not really improving, and he knows it, so after a pause he says, "Want a drink?"

That earns a small smile. "Yeah."

"Right."

He grins and orders two glasses of Whyren's from a passing waitrat, then hands one to her.

"Whiskey's always good."

She takes the glass, tips it to him wryly. "Never goes out of fashion." Not that Plourr would ever know what's in fashion.

"Nope," Wes agrees, and takes a sip. But then he pretends to consider. "Does depend on the style though. Can't wear whiskey with a white shirt, for instance. Doesn't work."

"I thought the goal was to avoid wearing the whiskey."

"Never know what'll happen once you get started," he says wisely.

"You mean never know what'll happen once you get started. I don't wear whiskey."

"I am stunned that you would imply such blatant untruths. I never-- ... well, okay, rarely end up wearing my drinks."

She laughs. "It's okay, Wes." She deals him a hearty clap on the shoulder. "The rest of the squad likes you even though you can't hold your liquor."

He does try to keep a disapproving expression, but it turns into a rueful grin.

"That's just 'cause they like laughing at me when I'm drunk, isn't it?"

This clearly isn't a problem, though.

"You got it," she says with something that almost amounts to cheer. Most of her glass goes down in one long drink. Can't take the pilot out of the princess.

"At least I have such good squadmates," he says with a sigh, and takes a gulp of his drink. "Well, you know I'm just laughing right back at you all."

"Not me," she says. Grinning, fond eyeing of him. "Because you know I'll kill you."

"Of course," Wes agrees solemnly, nodding. "I only laugh at you when you're not looking."

"Smart man."

She just called Wes smart, didn't she?

"In a stupid kind of way."

Wes grins wryly. "I'll take that as a compliment. I mean, takes talent to be both at once. Only I could manage it."

Flat look. "That's exactly the spirit it was intended in."

Except, not. As might be obvious from the sarcasm.

"You know, one day, you'll be really nice to me, and I just won't know what to do with myself."

"You'd better go do something you've always wanted to do. Dodge the flying Gamorreans and avoid the hells icing over."