milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Fiona has been in the Bar for a little bit, but after finishing her Moscow Mule (thanks to Mal), she has retreated somewhat. A booth, well-lit, and she's curled up with a book.

Perhaps Milliways isn't the best place to read, but sometimes you just need to be surrounded by people.

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Truman hadn't been here for a while, and he'd been starting to wonder if he imagined it. Which of course means that it would show up again in the most inexplicable place: a train. He's startled for just a few seconds until he shakes his head, approaches the bar and orders a martini.

Looking for a place to sit, he finds himself looking at the face of someone vaguely familiar.

Which means that Fiona has a writer headed her way.

Fiona has always had a sixth sense about people around her, always. Which is why she looks up.

However, this was not someone she expected to see here.

"Truman Capote?"

He breaks out into a grin. "Yes. You're Fiona Bariman, right?"

"Yes, Evelyn Flaumel's sister." And she smiles back at him. "I did not expect you to be here."

"I could say the same about you. But I wasn't expecting this place to show up in a train, of all places. I'm used to it being a bar. You know, when the outside's a bar, too."

"I find that nowdays it appears everywhere, both when I want to it and when I really don't."

"How long has it been since you first came in here?"

"In Bar-time...a bit less then a year?"

"In...real time, I guess?" he asks, sounding confused as to what to call time that isn't confined to the bar. He hasn't been here long enough to start tracking time according to the bar.

Airily,

"I loose track."

You know, it's just amazing how those decades just fly by...

"Ah. Well, I haven't been coming here but for a few weeks. They have the best martinis. The best," he emphasizes, "in the whole world, I think."

"And the best absinthe."

"I haven't tried their absinthe," he admits, curiosity and mischievousness creeping into his face. Hmm, would anyone on the train notice if he came back drunk?

...okay, yes they would, but still!

"It's heavenly."

"Oh. Well."

Shiiiifty.

"Shall I order some?"

"If you insist..."

"Mmm, I think I do," and she calls over a waitrat and orders.

"Take a seat, Truman?"

Which he does, removing his coat and draping it over the back of the booth.

"Thank you. I might as well stay a while."

Fiona grins.

"Lovely. So, what have you been up to?"

"I've been in Russia doing research for a piece for The New Yorker. I was on my way back, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, where abouts?"

"Moscow."

"My favourite of the Russian cities."

"It is wonderful, isn't it? I spent most of my time doing research, but I did try to travel about when I had time."

"It's...it has such character, and history...it's beautiful."

"It is. It really is. And you wouldn't think it, but there's a lot of people there who are sympathetic to the West. That's what my piece is about. The youth who sympathize with us."

"I wouldn't," she says, lighting a cigarette, "be the slightest bit surprised."

Agnes is making her rounds in the bar when she notices the woman in the booth. She waits until the other woman looks up from her book before politely asking, "Can I get you something?"

Fiona smiles at her.

"No, I'm all right. But thank you for asking."

"Okay, then. Well, I'm Angie, and I'm on duty here for a while longer, so just wave me down if you change your mind."

"And I'm Fiona. I"ll be sure to do just that."

"Fiona. That's a really pretty name," she can't help but blurt out. "Definitely much better than Angie."

"It serves a different purpose. To my family, I'm nearly always just 'Fi'. Repeat it again, and it sounds like something you would call a little fluffy puppy."

Agnes makes a face. "I had a friend once who named her dog Fifi. Tiny little thing. Used to carry it in her purse. Looked like a drowned rat."

It's a completely fictional memory, but Agnes doesn't seem to be aware of that fact.

"Exactly. Not to mention that dogs should at least come up to your knee."

"Otherwise, what's the point? Get a cat."

A little smile.

"I would say 'exactly' again, but cats and me disagree with each other."

"Ah," she replies with a smile. "Well, I'm something of a witch, so cats kind of come with the deal. Familiars, you know."

"Oh, I do know. And I'm something of a witch as well. I just...don't like them, and they don't like me."

"Never heard of a witch who cats didn't like. Weird."

"I am that, yes. Just ask my siblings."

She grins.

"If I ever meet them, I'll be sure to do that. Well, I didn't mean to take you away from your book for so long. Just give me a wave if you need something later on, and I'll be happy to bring it over to you."

A quick smile.

"I'll be sure to do just that. Thank you, Angie."

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