milliways_bar | (no subject)

The man who walks in -- no, strides in, moving with confidence and self-assurance -- looks much, much different from the man who came in last night. It's amazing what couture can manage. In addition to much more upscale attire (names such as Armani, Cardin, and Bruno Magli come to mind for the observant), his hair has been properly styled, complete with product and arranged with artfully careless perfection. There's not a bead or a braid in sight.

Jack seems much more pleased with life today as he strolls up to Bar and says, "Darling, it's been too long. You know what I like, don't you? Venti, triple-shot, organic soy, extra-hot latte, and of course I know you won't forget the rum."

The drink appears instantly, and he runs a casual hand down the wood, almost absently, as he picks it up. "Merci. Be a dear, would you, and give me the latest journals? The Times -- Financial, New York, and London all three, I suppose, plus the Wall Street Journal and the Economist. I know the holidays are coming, but--"

Here there's a bit of a smirk.

"--business never stops. Especially in trade, and you know I'm not one to miss the opportune moment."

He takes the papers as well and settles at the nearest table, then begins to read the shipping news.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

At first, Puck doesn't think much of the businesslike fellow with the plethora of papers. However, a second scan of the bar's patrons leads him to do a double take.

Is that ...?

Puck facepalms copiously.

"Why," he groans.

"Depends on what you're asking, I'd think," comes the reply.

Jack glances up from the stock pages of the Wall Street Journal, where he's been checking the performance of a number of companies.

Puck eyes him warily.

The smell of coffee is quite strong, and he thinks he detects a comforting dash of rum, but underneath, lurking menacingly-- is that soy?

"Heaven help us all," he mutters.

Cautiously, he edges closer.

"I suppose," he adds conversationally, "that the question is ... are you feeling quite well today, Captain?"

"Never better -- why do you ask?"

He folds the paper over and gives his full attention to the other man.

Puck was afraid he'd say that.

"Merely inquiring, of course," he mutters.

Jack's beverage is Eyed.

"It would seem there is something of an ailment going 'round-- I should hate to see any more sicken."

"An ailment? Good lord."

Jack looks almost personally offended at the thought.

"I seriously hope it doesn't interfere with the gala."

He said "galley," right?

That was "galley"?

"I beg your pardon?"

He manages to keep from rolling his eyes -- it wouldn't do at all to alienate anyone who might have the proper connections, and Jack's decided that you never can tell about this place.

"The party. Friday night." He permits himself a small, self-satisfied smile. "It's going to be the event of the season."

... Well, Puck does love parties, even if they're being hosted by pirates with seemingly chronic identity issues.

"Really?" he says politely, eyebrows arching. "And it's to be here?"

"Of course." He arches an eyebrow as well, with unconscious arrogance and overly elegant manner.

"On the ship. Surely you don't think all that reconstruction was just for fun?"

Puck does not think very much of the arrogance.

Possibly, he feels his own to be superior.

"I am afraid," he says, "I hadn't realized that anything was being reconstructed to begin with."

Jack looks down his nose at Puck.

"I'd have thought you to be more observant than that. She's sitting right there on the lake, after all."

Puck smiles sweetly.

"I've been away for some time. Do forgive me the lapse."

He makes a tsking sound and shakes his head at Puck. Artfully arranged locks move exactly as they should, in the process, before settling perfectly back into place.

"Come now, you should know better than that -- one can't afford to lose track of what's important if one wants to get ahead."

A smile.

"Or to stay there."

The fairy laughs softly.

"You're quite right, of course-- how remiss of me."

The word "remiss" is nearly a purr.

"Though I doubt very seriously that your current definition of 'getting ahead' shares much in common with mine."

"Do tell."

Jack looks curiously at him, even as he absently picks up the Financial Times.

"Is there a secret you're not sharing with me, Robin?"

Puck looks up at him very innocently.

"I think that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"Of course."

That smile's sharp and wickedly amused.

"I certainly understand the need for discretion when it comes to business. One can't have the competition getting wind of what's coming before the opportune moment, after all."

"I am nothing if not discreet," he promises with a brilliant, guileless smile of his own.

Jack lifts his cup of coffee to the other man in something of a toast, then takes a sip before observing,

"I don't believe that you answered me, earlier. Might I be able to expect your attendance two evenings from now?"

"Oh, certainly," he says breezily.

A grin. "I shouldn't think to miss it, beneficial as it shall surely be to me."

"Excellent."

He finishes his coffee, then neatly folds all his papers together and stands.

"I'll look forward to it, Robin, but I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse my absence for the time being."

A sharp smile.

"Business calls, you know."

Puck's returning smile is every bit as sharp.

Though possibly a little more fanged.

"With its siren song," he tells him sweetly. "Prithee don't wreck yourself against its shores."

"Oh, you need have no fear of that," Jack informs him, without missing a beat.

"Believe me, I'm quite skilled at navigating such currents. Au revoir."

He strolls off, papers tucked neatly under his arm and empty coffee cup left behind on the table.

Puck watches him go, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, clearly," he says. "As recent events bear out."

Oh well!

At least he's going to a party where he won't have to gate-crash.