milliways_bar | (no subject)

Greg Sanders is not a bad guy, he's just a scientist.

But considering he's taking up three tables with his current 'science' -- well, it probably looks suspicious.

Especially since one of those beakers is bubbling bubbles the size of Cera's head.

Cera has a rather large head, actually. She's only a tiny relative to other Triceratops, and they have giant heads.

So those are very very big bubbles indeed, and she flounces over to inspect.

"What's that?"

"Well, the current plan is a combination liquid latex body paint and soap. Fun, protective and it cleans you right off. It's not boiling quite right, though --"

Only then does Greg notice he's talking to a small dinosaur.

... Milliways.

Cera stares at the boiling bubbling stuff, and then at Greg.

"Are you a human-pilot?"

This is an important question, yes.

Sticking a toothpick inside the boiling beaker -- hm, it comes out coated purple, not black, but that's all right, at least it stays on -- Greg bites the edge of his lip, then grins.

"I guess I'm a human-scientist. Does that count?"

"No," Cera says firmly. "But human-scientists can play with three-horns, if they're very very good."

She then turns her attention back to the beaker. "That looks very dangerous. You shouldn't be playing near it."

The beaker sizzles, and develops more bubbles.

One of which pops on Greg's head, and he slooowly raises his hand to his hair, and pulls it away -- sticky and purple.

"It has a vengeance, apparently," he jokes, "but it's all within my control! I wonder why it's cold --"

Like a true certified moron, Greg turns the hot plate up.

Cera squeals when the bubble pops, but recovers quickly, pretending that it must have been someone else who was squealing. Someone over there, right.

To prove she's not scared, she edges closer.

"You're purple," she informs him.

"Yeah, I guess I'm my own test subject now," Greg eyes his hand, pouting slightly, "because the main problem with the composition, besides the fact that it stays room temperature, is that it --"

That is when Greg, for the second time in his life, is cut off by an explosion.

This one is far less dramatic, but it does spray latex-soap-purple goo everywhere.

Greg, at the sound of the explosion, ducks under the table.

Cera screams, and turns tail to run...

...but she doesn't quite get there in time, ending up instead covered from head to toe in purple latex-soap-goo. All over her face, horn, and once-pink security vest.

And then?

She bursts into tears.

"... doesn't rinse off and has to wear off on its own," Greg says weakly from underneath the table.

He's afraid to come out.

Greg has never made a girl cry before.

"Waaaaaaaaah!"

She's just sitting there, wailing in high pitched, wracking sobs. It;s not so much crying as screaming, taking a breath, then screaming again.

Someone's gonna need to do something.

Which makes Greg feel like shit.

A lot of shit. Guilty shit.

"Um, I don't know how to get it off, yet, but I can probably do something to compensate, like, uh -- I'll pay your tab until it comes off," he offers nervously.

"Waaaaaaah!"

Still sitting there. Still crying. Probably not listening to anything he says, because her body is still wracked with sobs.

Palaeontologists in the audience may wonder whether dinosaurs cried.

Here's your answer.

Think, Sanders, think!

Small dinosaur. With three horns. Probably small herbivore dinosaur.

Greg jumps up from his seat, runs over to Bar, and returns with ... a fern.

Lunch-like peace offering?

Cera's sobs begin to subside as she runs out of energy and concentration, and then looks at the fern, sniffing.

Then she looks at the human-scientist, and sniffs loudly and wetly.

""

"I'm, uh, I'm really sorry. I can buy you food for the rest of your life, though, or something -- it's a nice fresh fern, and, uh."

His face falls, slightly, again.

"You might be that colour for, like, a week."

Cera sniffs again and risks a bite of the fern, sitting down, and chewing it mopily.

It's not the colour so much, as the shock.

"Am I pretty?"

"Well, I used that particular shade for a reason. It's gorgeous."

He's not even being nice! It really is a nice purple.

Cera sniffs again and look up at him.

"Really?"

Don't lie to her, now!

"Really. Want a mirror?"

Sniff again.

"What's a mirror?"

Most people would refer to Sam as bad guy. He wouldn't, and would prefer you didn't either.

But he is currently watching the strange bebe orange dino with a look of mingled amusement and... wtf-ness.

She's strutting. Strut strut strut, before she notices she's being watched, and turns her accusing gaze on the watcher.

"Are you a human-pilot?"

Sam blinks. It talks.

"...No. I usually pass for human, but I've never been a pilot."

Beat.

"...Why?"

"Because it's important to know," Cera says. "Because human-pilots and human-splorers and human-slaylors all look alike. What are you?"

Sam blinks again. "Riight."

Beat. "I'm a Waywalker."

Cera tilts her head up at him, confused and annoyed at the confusion.

"What," she demands, "is a way-walker?"

Sam grins brightly. "Someone who walks the ways, of course."

"What's the ways?" she insists. Silly furry thing, not explaininbg properly!

He takes pity on her. "They're the paths between worlds. Specifically between Heaven, Earth and Hell."

Cera eyes him, suspiciously.

"I don't know those places," she says.

He shrugs. "Not many people do. One's very nice, one's quite nice on a good day, and the other's not nice."

"Aaaaah," says Cera, wisely. "Like the Great Valley, and the lands outside it."

"I dunno, I've never been to the Great Valley. But I'll take your word for it."

Sam tilts his head curiously. "What are you, then, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm a Three-Horn!" Cera says proudly, tossing her head. "And my name is Cera. What's yours?"

He bows to hide his grin. "It's a very pretty name. I'm Sam."

"Thank you!" she says proudly. "I htink it is!"

He laughs. "You're welcome, Miss Cera. I like the pink vest too."

Snark regarding fashion is really a bit rich coming from a scruffy article like Sam, so it's a mostly non-sarcastic comment.

Cera can't detect snark unless it's very obvious anyway.

"It's armour!" she says proudly. "It protects me from Sharp-tooths!"

"What's a sharp-tooth?"

"They're very mean!" Cera explains. "They're big and ferocious and they eat you!"

He chuckles. "Think I've got a brother or two like that."

Cera had been prancing about miming being a sharp-tooth. Now she stops and look sup at him.

"You're not big enough to be a sharp-tooth!" she says.

He grins. "I'm just the baby brother, though."

Cera narrows her eyes at him.

"You're not a sharp-tooth," she says after some deliberation. "So your brothers can't be as bad."

"Never said I was a sharp tooth. Just that I've got brothers who are like them."

Prue is walking near tree cave reading the book in front of her intently her lips are moving as she does and there is a strange glow surrounding her as she goes.

Guiding Light through time and space
Drab and dreer rule this place
Color brightens and makes cheer
Be thine will to keep from fear

Every once and a while she will stop and make adjustments and then repeat till she finds herself falling. It would seem that she has tripped over the little dinasour.