milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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

"So does yours. At least mine is meant to look messy." He lies. He just can't be bothered to brush it.

"Nothing wrong with dating a farmboy," Atton grins slightly. "I've got some interesting memories of him."

"'Course it is," Wes says, and sticks his tongue out.

Then he pulls a face. "Ew. Ewww. I didn't need to think that about Gavin. Now it won't stop. Make it stop."

"Ha. I win," Atton grins. He has no idea how this constitutes a win, but it does. "Imagine how you'd be if I told you 'bout the lomin ale conversation."

"You don't win anything! Except maybe a prize for being evil."

He eyes Atton. Lots. But eventually decides, "I don't want to know. I really don't want to know, and I would have to come up with something to counter it."

"Yep, I win that prize, and the prize for hottest humanoid in existance."

"Pfft. It's not as if I would have told you 'bout that conversation anyway," Atton grins. "'Twas private."

"Second hottest," Wes corrects.

"And good. Thanks. My brain can be spared that horror. I mean, it's Gavin."

He pulls another face.

"First hottest." Atton snaps.

"What's wrong with Gavin?"

"Should we ask the rest of the bar in a poll?"

Ooh, polls are fun. It could be in Say True.

Wes shrugs, and says, perfectly innocently, "Nothing."

"You'd blackmail people and rig the voting," And Atton would dress up in different disguises and vote for himself over and over again, but let's not go into that. "Call it a draw?"

There is much eyeing.
"Nothing? So, this lomin ale conversation, right ..."

"I would," Wes admits without a hint of shame. "A draw it is, then."

Then he lets out a wah and quickly covers his ears with his hands.

"I'll tell you about, about, well, something equally disturbing," he warns. "It might involve Ewok food."

"You could just tell me what's wrong with Gavin," Atton suggests. "Because I am far less easily disturbed than you, y'know."

"He's..." Wes waves a hand vaguely. "He's Gavin. He's a little rookie and a kid and a farmboy."

Wes still thinks the kid's sixteen half the time.

"Bet I could think of somethin' to disturb you," he adds darkly.

Atton snickers fiendishly.
"He's hardly a kid," Cough. Straighten up slightly. "Anyway, why would I care that he's a rookie? I'm pretty sure I'm not dating him for his piloting skills. And a farmboy? For all I know, I might be a farmboy," Beat. "I haven't had the urge to raise bantha or work any fields yet, so I suspect I'm not, but I can't really remember."

"Betcha you couldn't."

"But he's Gavin," Wes repeats helplessly. That's pretty much all the reasoning he's got. "Besides, that means you lied before anyway -- you never told me it was Gavin you were dating."

Then he falls silent, contemplating various disturbing things to tell Atton. This may take a while.

"If you complain about being shocked to find out," Atton says darkly. "I will hurt you."

Beat.

"And yes, I know he's Gavin. That's not a good reason."

Wisely, Wes says nothing, but his expression pretty much conveys that this was indeed the case.

"It's a good reason to me!" Ruefully, "It's like how Jaina Solo's four years old."

"I met Jaina Fel. And she didn't look four. More like twenty-five," Atton frowns. "Are you sure you're not just ... insane?"

"Right ... Solo-Fel now. Stupid marriage thing."

Indignantly, "I'm perfectly sane. And Jaina is still just a Solo and she's four years old and this high."

He holds his hand at about what would be knee-level if he was standing.

"More like this high." He holds his hand up at what would be thigh level if he was standing. Because Jaina is short. Short like ewok.

Though maybe not as short as Atton's insinuating she is.

Wes snickers and nods.

"Right, maybe she had a growth spurt recently."

"She's still not four years old, though." Atton replies with a small grin. "You're craaazy."

"She is! She's four!" Wes shakes his head. "It's her and Jacen's fifth birthday soon back home. See? Four!"

"Four year olds don't generally get married." Atton replies.

"They do on some planets," Wes points out. "...but no. But that's the point! She's four in my head. She should stay four everywhere."

This is accompanied by a sad face. No, really.

"You're insane." Atton says, with much eyeing.