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.

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"Ecological responsibility," Del informs him absently while poking at his shoulder (noting carefully the smooth weave and cut that suits him) "means you care about ecology. Or biology. Or other ologies. Or ibiltities, too. There's too many. Ology," she informs him in the same tone, "could take over you all. It'd be funny. Um. Except maybe not. Too much of that around."

It's not that she doesn't appreciate it.

It's that she's not the one causing it, and thus, it is inferior.

Or possibly she just hasn't been to her therapist enough of late, but really, Jack can understand wanting someone a bit more, oh, with it? Pills are all well and good, but meditation is where it's at, and she might just be shopping for one to chakra her channel as well as listen to her family problems.

"Darling, you are such a treasure."

It's said with real fondness.

"Never stop."

"Never," she answers solemnly, and hands him a cell phone in the shape of a fruit that bleeds purple-red juice when you poke the buttons (but has all the latest features), "know what never is, Jack."

Oddly enough, his gaze seems to pass right over anything too unusual about the device, and Jack looks delighted.

"You shouldn't have! I wasn't going to give you your gift until the party -- you are coming, aren't you, Del? It wouldn't be the same without you."

She's giggling.

One green eye is a little bit sulky still.

One blue eye is laughing.

One mouth leans over kisses him before saying, cheerfully, "Really really really wouldn't."

"Good."

He looks down at the device again. "A Blackberry. You always know exactly what I'd like -- darling, thank you."

Jack smiles at her, and brushes a lock of crimson-red hair behind her ear with an artfully elegant gesture.

"But I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for yours, because it's back at the office. Do tell me you understand?"

"Understand?"

There's a pause, and then, "You. Yes."

Always and always and always if not forever.