milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Hello, handsome."

It should be a familiar voice—a distinctive mix of husk and honey—as it drifts over his shoulder. And it's not the first time that the hand ruffling his hair has been in contact with him.

"Sunshine," he says, without glancing up, his lips curling into an absent smile. "Wondered if I'd see you around this place again."

He points at the bench opposite, a strong gesture from the hand that's not holding his cigarette. "You should sit, and drink with me."

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do," she replies. Her level of sincerity is hard to ascertain, but she looks glad enough as she accepts the invite and slides onto the bench.

"What are we drinking?"

Eros shrugs, and lets a thin stream of smoke escape his lips. "I was drinking Nectar, but that's kind of a - y'know, Greek God thing. Not opposed to switching over to something a litte sharper, though."

"Nectar?" she says, interest visibly piquing in her face. "I confess that I've never had the opportunity to sample the elixir of the heavens."

Beat.

"Well, that's not true," she then says, glancing at the bar. "I suppose I've just never thought to experiment with the more exotic end of the beverage spectrum, despite the full range being available here."

She refocuses on Eros, with a slight shrug of her own.

"Since it's at hand, may I try it now?"

"Actually, this I brought from home."

Eros reaches for a moment and pulls a metal flask from his back pocket, setting it on the table on its end. He spins it gently with a finger by the cap as he gently shakes his head. "And I can't, I'm afraid. It's undiluted. The pure stuff. The real McCoy."

Taking the flask up again, he adds, "Wouldn't be good for you. Sorry."

Goldy's nose crinkles disappointedly.

"Oh. That's a shame."

"In what way would it be harmful?" she follows up with a curious tilt of her head.

"If you're not a God, it could make you one. Or it could kill you."

A brief pause as Eros tucks the drink back into his pocket.

"Sometimes both."

"The killing is unlikely," she confesses. "My story's readers seem to take care of me whenever death looms. At least, that is the theory."

"And perhaps I would like to be a God?"

"One story against another? Would you really care to chance it?"

With an odd amount of solemnity, he adds, "Regardless, it's not really your choice to make. Nor is it mine. Things have changed. We're not in the business of making Gods anymore."

"I am a risk-taker at heart," she says in reply to his first, perhaps rhetorical, question. "I was merely curious though. I do not wish to be a deity as it turns out."

She reaches over and helps herself to a cigarette from his pack. It's not really theft if one takes with the degree of idle presumptiveness that she does.

"Vainglorious bunch, the lot of you," she adds. There's a little laugh to intentionally betray the jokey nature of that remark.

"Plus: too much power for me."

At least she admits it.

Eros watches her for a long moment, then slowly grins.

"Right."

He idly tosses her his lighter, and asks, "So what would you like to drink?"

Goldy sparks a flame and inhales deeply before giving her answer.

"I'll take a Manhattan," she decides.

The lighter is pushed back across the table, through a thin veil of exhaled smoke.

"Good choice." Eros nods at her and slips from the seat. "I'll be right back."

It's good to give the waitrats a break, every now and then.

Goldy leans forward, propping her chin on her hand, and watches him go. She continues to smoke, separating her time between nonchalant scanning of the bar room, and absent tracking of the pale tendrils that dance away from the cigarette tip between drags.

One such tendril snakes across the table and slithers off the far edge. She follows it and then lifts an eyebrow as she catches first sight of a flip top spiral-bound notebook that lays open on the seat.

Eros is still at the bar, so the ever-nosy Fable leans further as discreetly as she can, and peers at the page. It's mostly covered with numbers and variables, most in equational and formulaic presentation. There are also some notes in the god's scribbly hand. The only ones she can make out at this distance are: Au vs Cu and other methods untested. An extra craning of her neck reveals a solitary number circled at the bottom of the page—859.

As Eros makes his way back across the bar, she leans back casually and crushes the cigarette out.

Eros saunters back over to the booth with a drink in each hand, and passes Goldy her Manhattan before taking his seat again.

"Your drink, Sunshine. Let me know if you -"

He stops, midsentence, glancing down at the open book, as if just remembering that it had been there. His eyes track to Goldy, with a quick flash of suspicion that's as gone as soon as it appears. He sets down his own drink on the table and casually takes up the book, flipping the cover closed.

Goldy just looks relaxed as she takes her drink, almost to the point of disengaged. And there's not a single hint of guilt about her when the notebook comes into plain view. It's not a facade really, because she doesn't actually feel guilty about her snooping. Such is the way with habitually inquisitive types.

"If I... what?"

"- If you want anything else," Eros finishes, smoothly.

He slaps the notebook down onto the table and uses it as a coaster for his tumbler of scotch. Then it's just: lean back, close eyes, light another cigarette.

"Don't supposed you happened to read what I'd written, did you?"

Goldy says nothing for a long pregnant moment. She takes a first sip from her cocktail instead, licks her lips contentedly, and sets the drink back down.

"I did," she then confesses remorselessly. It's his own fault for leaving the pad open and in relatively plain sight. Her tone turns a little wryer. "Though 'read' implies a certain legibility. I certainly can't say that I comprehended much."

"Top secret god project?"

"Suppose I should learn to be more careful," Eros says, but there's a suppressed grin in there somewhere. "Hard to tell who to trust around here."

For a moment, his gaze lingers on the pale amber of his scotch, but he doesn't lift the glass, doesn't take a drink. Instead his eyes slip away, narrowing slightly as he takes in the bar's current populace as though he's just overheard a comment he dislikes.

"More or less, yeah."

"Well, if that is the case, then there is very little point in me asking about it," Goldy remarks. "I will just pretend that I didn't see anything."

As already proven, she's quite good at that.

"Unless, of course, you would care to tell me something of it."

"I may not be the most trustworthy person around here," she admits, "but... as an assassin, I have a certain amount of experience with confidential matters, and with keeping them that way."

He smirks. It's not directed at her, not necessarily. It's just a smirk, out there, like a puppy at the pound that you may take home or abandon as you please.

"You said you couldn't read my writing. So you barely need to pretend, do you?"

But after a moment, as he adds another corpse to the tiny cigarette graveyard by his elbow, Eros folds his hands and speaks.

"There's not much to tell, not just yet. It's just... thoughts, measurements. Things I... really couldn't explain to you, even if I wanted to, which I don't. Elements to the world that I have the ability to look at differently from everyone else.

"Things are changing. Will change. Maybe they have already changed. And I need to stay two steps ahead or I'll wake up one morning too far behind to ever catch up."

There's a latent spark of interest in Goldy's complacent gaze. It's masked soon enough, as she averts her eyes towards a raised hand, idly checking her fingernails.

"Ah well. I'm sure I shall survive in my ignorance."

"Regardless, it sounds like prudent work."

The oddly formal language gets Goldy a brief look, but then Eros shrugs.

"Yeah. Well. It's good to be prepared."

A moment, and he takes a mouthful of his scotch, perhaps larger than strictly advisable. And that seems to be that.

"So what's new in your life, Sunshine?"

"Not much."

She shrugs dismissively. He doesn't need to know about the immortal issues that were aired by Miho last week, and she doesn't want to talk about them anyway. Instead, she opts to backtrack to his very first remark of the evening—curiosity getting the better of her once again.

"Tell me. Why did you think you might not see me around here again?"

Eros frowns and places the scotch glass carefully back on the table, releasing it to find that his fingers have left marks in the condensation.

"Any number of reasons. Bad timing. Maybe you go home and can't find your way back. Maybe I can't. Maybe you decide you've had enough of me and you dodge all subsequent meetings."

Goldy snorts good-naturedly.

"Timing is one thing, but this is my home now. I doubt I will ever be leaving through my door again, unless I get word that I have been granted an unconditional pardon."

"Next: I thought gods and other ethereal types could always find their way here, if they so chose."

"And finally," she concludes with a gentle smile, "you should give yourself a bit more credit than that. It is early days in our friendship, but I get the feeling that I shall never tire of you. Or your company."

"Stranger things have happened."

Not often, but...

"And sadly, I'm not the god of the bar. So while things do seem to work in my favour most of the time... it's not a given."

To her third point, he doesn't reply. Instead he just leans back and looks slightly smug.

Goldy notes his expression and decides to turn this whole vein of conversation on its head.

"Well, rationale aside, here I am," she says placidly. "Assuaging your fears, and fulfilling all your hopes and dreams."

"And I'm ever so grateful," Eros tells her, with sincerity that might be just a little too much so, and tilts his glass.

"Here's to my hopes and dreams, and yours as well."

"I'll drink to that," Goldy replies, mirroring the toasting gesture. "Though you probably shouldn't, given that all mine are terribly illicit and/or sordid in nature."

She drinks through her dirty smirk.

Looking rather shocked, Eros says, "Excuse me? Who died and unmade me the God of Sex?"

"Who said I was talking about sex?" Goldy responds.

Despite the implications, she looks dreadfully innocent. It's deliciously paradoxical, not unlike Bar's special brand of snack food.

"You better have been talking about sex, otherwise why else am I here?"

"I don't know," is her quick reply, loaded with feigned ignorance. "To take stock of all the new visitors, and work on your secret Science thing?"

He leans forwards onto his elbows, eyes bright.

"Ah, but what's it all for? When you get right down to it?"

"Aw. You are such a dutiful god," she deadpans. "It must be a hard life."

The accompanying grin defeats the dryness of tone, however.

"Oh, like you wouldn't believe," Eros tells her, voice tinged with melancholy. "That's why I treasure my nights off so much."

She half-snorts, half-snickers.

"If sex is your occupation, I can't help wondering what you like to do on those rare occasions when you aren't somehow occupied by it?"

Eros elects not to answer.

Because he's drinking. Yes, drinking. That's it.

Goldy waits patiently.

As do her expectant eyebrows.

Eros coughs.

"So."

"How about that... local sports team?"

Goldy ignores him with a slight roll of her eyes, and hazards her own guess.

"I think... that your days off are for enjoyment of that activity which you normally induce for others."

She affects a semi-dejected expression.

"...Which is rather sad for me, given that this is obviously not a day off."

Eros looks apologetic. "Well. It can be. But only if it's a day ending in 'Y'."

Goldy beams.

Much as she hates to betray her cool posturing, she can't help it. Dammit!

"If that is indeed the case, I suggest we drink up."

"Ahh, I knew there was a reason I liked you, Sunshine, and here it is. You're the girl with the plans."

Eros throws back the rest of his scotch in a single, burning gulp, then grabs Goldy's hand and makes for the front door.

After a minute he returns, and snatches up his notebook.

And then they're gone.

*Eri sweeps in and drapes herself over her cousin's shoulders*

Hel-lo.

[ooc: Hey, sorry, I was already in bed by the time you tagged, sorry! Did you want to continue in slowtime?]</small.