milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They are, for both the one scritching and the one getting scritched. There is well-documented evidence that scritching a cat is a good luck gesture. Also, happy cats avert doom and woe. It is a well-tested law of the universe.

Or a well-tested law of the end of the universe. It could just be Milli-centric. You never know.

The very white cat gazes at Miniver, contentedly, and blinks very slowly.

A staring contest may develop.

Blink, blink, wink, grin.

Miniver is good at responding to critter-language. This is mainly because he has such a vivid imagination, he's always assuming animals are trying to say something and trying to listen and look for what it might be.

His gaze locks on to the kitty's.

Staaaaaaare.

The cat gazes back, unruffled.

The cat's ear is tickled.

The ear twitches.

It doesn't bliiiiink!

Miniver doesn't play fair.

He resumes petting the cat's head, his hand wandering innocently down until he pinches the tip if the kitty's tail. Not in a painful way, or anything. He's played with enough cats to know what won't hurt them.

The cat's tail twitches, too, and the cat purrs at the petting.

But he doesn't blink. Moo Ha Ha.

Oh, this cat is GOOD.

Miniver crosses his eyes at the kitty.

The cat crosses its eyes back.

Somehow.

(ooc: Sorry for the delay. Guests over.)

Now that's something he's never seen a cat manage before.

"Whoa. Cool." Scritch.

[No problem! :)]

Smug smirk. Yeah. He rocks.

He knows the human will have to blink, eventually.

He does.

The cat tends to win whatever game is being played anyway.

Blink blink blink.

"I think you get the prize," he laughs.

"I agree," it says, smugly purring against Miniver's hand.

Miniver squeaks in surprise.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" More laughing. "Um. Hi."

The cat grins, amused. "Good evening."

"Good evening. I didn't realize you could understand me. Er. Man. I don't think I've met a talking animal before."

"You still haven't met a talking animal, but that is all right." Though it shouldn't be able to, the cat shrugs.

"Oh." Blush. "Sorry. You uh... er... well, you're kind of... a cat, so you know I assumed..." Cough. "I'm Miniver."

"Just shaped like one, that is all."

"Pleased to meet you, Miniver. I am Yrael."

"Pleased to meet you, too." This is so cool, he thinks. "Why are you shaped like a cat if you're not really a cat?"

"People like you give me free food and scritches?" He grins, charmingly.

It worked, didn't it?

Miniver giggles. "Okay, I think I'd do that, too. Here." He shoves the rest of the sandwich at the cat. "You can have all of it if you want."

The cat eyes the sandwich, smiling, then decides opposable thumbs are needed for sandwiches.

He gets to his paws and drops down to the next barstool over. As he drops down, there is a bright light, and then there is a young albino man sitting there. His skin is bone-pale, his hair stark white. He's wearing a comfortable white shirt and white slacks. His feet are bare and pale on the rung of the barstool. The lack of color to him hits the eye hard. All his color seems concentrated into his eyes, which are impossibly bright green with vertical slices of black for pupils.

"Thank you," he says, cordially, and takes the sandwich.

....buh.

"Cooooool."

"Hm?" He says curiously, mouth full.