milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Ah so, here is the recovering alcoholic hippie, in the bar, at a booth, with real food. Yeah, totally. He's eating it very, very slowly, but he does have what appears to be a ham sandwich. And tea.

And a really big, really old book, compliments of ~~Nearly Wristless Rod~~ Roderick Usher.

He is also playing with a spoon, twirling it in one hand lazily.

Please annoy.

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Well, if you pretend to be King Arthur, you get a Mordred. Fading into view slouched against a chair with his boots on the table and golden eyes very, very sharp.

He'll say something later.

He's never going to live that down, is he?

Miniver isn't paying much attention. He's reading. And like all talented escapists, that makes him almost entirely deaf and blind to the surrounding world.

Hell no. The mun was laughing way too much.

"Glad you seem to be feeling better." The voice is soft, lilting, and not quite alive.

Miniver blinks and looks around, startled.

"What? Oh. Hello. Did I meet you sometime when I was delirious? I'm afraid I don't remember." Nervous laugh.

Mordred is spooking him out just a little bit.

A faint smile.

"No. I just...hang about the place a lot. See things."

"In the Infirmary?" Brow quirk. "Why?"

"Something to do. Mostly the Bar, though."

"I.... see."

That ison is EXACTLY the look Miniver is giving Mordred right now.

"Er. Well. Didn't realize I was that interesting."

"You're not. I'm just a ghost, that's what I do."

Mordred...isn't quite sane right now. It's a ghost thing.

Miniver could understand that. Roderick isn't usually sane, either.

"Oh. Dead. Hey, that blows, man. So many dead people around here... probably lucky I got out of the world before it got me, too."

"It has some perks. If you are a ghost, you can scare people."

"I bet." Mordred gets eyed nervously. "Bet you can get front-row seats to all KINDS of fun things, too."

"Well, there is that, as well."

Shiftily mischevious smile.

"I wonder," he says, half to himself, "if some of the less corporeally-bound individuals around here keep books and trade stories, like in the butlers' club in the Jeeves stories. Shoot. The ghosts and fairies must know all KINDS of kinky stuff..."

"...you know, I've never asked."

"I bet." Smirk. "So why were you watching me, anyway?"

"Actually, I have no idea. I just...drift."

"...Isn't that kinda sad?" he asks, all sympathy. "I mean, just... drifting?"

He would know.

A soft laugh that contains no humour.

"Aye. It's one word for it."

[ooc: and sadly, I have to run! I should be back in a few hours, though, so slowtime?]

[Slowtime's love! :D]

Miniver frowns.

"Do ghosts drink tea? I can get you another cup..."

"My brother has managed to make me drink the stuff." He sounds...well, better. A little rueful.

"There's no tea where you come from?" Gasp! "Not even Lipton?" Which, almost anyone will tell you, is more like factory floor sawdust.

"No, there was tea. I just didn't drink it."

"Why?"

This is something incomprehensible to Miniver.

"Did you drink coffee, then?"

"God, no."