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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She pauses with her sandwich halfway to her mouth and blinks. "What's weird?"

"That. DIPPING a sandwich. In KETCHUP."

Everyone KNOWS what you need is MUSTARD.

No. Because mustard is of the devil.

April just rolls her eyes and takes a bite. "Okay, sure."

"It's CHEESE," he argues.

"So? You eat cheese and ketchup together on a cheeseburger. This is the same thing, just without the meat!"

"That is DIFFERENT. There is mustard involved! And pickles! And often no ketchup at all! You are DEFILING the very nature of that cheese with your puny tomato substance! You are repressing it! You are TRAUMATIZING it as we speak! OH CRUEL MORTALITY!" He throws his arm over his face and moans.

"Well, you're obviously feeling better," April says mildly. "And for your information, I do not eat mustard and pickles on my burgers. Cheddar cheese, bacon, lettuce, ketchup, and mayo."

Beat.

"I'm going to go back to my cruel dictatorship over my sandwich now." Dip, bite.

"You," he says flatly, "are EVIL."

And that is why he feels justified in liberating a few more of her fries.

"And you are unscrupulous. Sending raiding parties into my defenseless farmlands."

Glaaaare.

Smirrrrk.

"How else d'you expect me to keep my soldiers loyalty? Gotta feed 'em and pay 'em."

Thief!

"You, sir, are a dirty rotten thief."

She plops a kiss on his cheek. She doesn't mind, she can always get more.

"And you, miss, are a wench."

He notices she doesn't stop him stealing the fries.

Which means... he steals more.

April rolls her eyes and flags down a waitrat. "A plate of cheese fries, if you please, to be divided between us." The waitrat waddles off.

April eyes Miniver. "Shall we call a truce, my foe?"

"Ooh. Yeah, sure." :D! "But I get that guy with the limp and his chicken collection when we divide up the lands."

"As long as I get the goats, that's fine with me."

:D

"Fine. But I want the sheep, then."

"Half the sheep and a quarter of the geese. I do like a good roast goose on Christmas, wot?"

The last bit is said in the most outrageous British accent.

Miniver laughs.

"Oi, jes' don' ye go bearnin' i' to a crisp!"

Miniver's accent is a bastard child of Irish and Scottish.

And that breaks it.

April collapses in giggles as the waitrat brings the cheese fries over.

Miniver takes the plate and thanks the rat and munches a cheese fry, looking at April with total and complete innocence.

"That was," she gasps, "probably the worst accent I've ever heard."

"Why, thankee e'er sae kindly, miss," Miniver croons at her, taking more cheese.

Cue a fresh round of giggles.

Miniver, you're going to make her sides hurt.

"I could do this all night and take the fries," he says thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, I think I may throw up if I eat too many." He pets her on the head and hands her a fry.

She calms down eventually, enough to eat said fry.

"You're a goof, Miniver Cheevy."