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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"You're apparently you even at 6 years old." He grins. "And cute. I don't think I was nearly that cute when I was a kid."

She flushes rather brightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you were a cute little kid," he says with a shrug. "All short an' bouncy an' you sang to me." He pauses. "I don't think anyone but you has ever done that. I made Draco sing something once, which was really cute." Awww, look how dopey he gets thinking about that. "But it's hard to do the Rolling Stones when you sound like a choirboy." HEEE. Oh, he loves him so much. "But you... you sang like I sing. Like you do it 'cuz no one else does."

She smiles too, when he talks about Draco.

And she ducks her head a little, her hair falling into her face in a rather unconscious imitation of Miniver hiding behind his hair. "'Till I met Roger, nobody did," she points out shyly.

"I would have," Miniver says softly.

"I know."

Hugs. Lots of them.

"I could still. If you want."

"Always and forever," she declares - a bit childishly, perhaps, but he brings that out in her. "And it goes both ways, too."

Miniver looks down at his hands and remembers the song Paul and Collins and Ali sang. That was a good song.

There's only us
there's only this.
Forget regret
or life if yours to miss.
No other road, no other way,
no day but today.

April grins and kisses his cheek again. "Exactly."

Awww, sister kisses! Miniver will sing for those ANY time.

"I like that song," he murmurs. "It's one of the very BEST."

"Not better than Strawberry Fields Forever, I hope!"

She has a real soft spot for that song.

"Nah. Well. Y'know. Depends. Hey. How come you like that one so much?"

"Daddy danced with me to that song," she says quietly, sounding very young all of the sudden.

It's really her only completely good memory of her father.

Miniver looks away, lost in thought.

"Oh," he says, almost whispering. "Oh, I see."

His own good memories of his parents are few and far between. He always liked his dad, though.

"Mine... he used to sing me old Irish folk songs. My mom'd join him, sometimes, 'cuz I'm all Irish on both sides. Grandparents all from Ireland." His voice breaks and melds now again into accent -- Irish, but flawlessly so. "Me father used te sing te her... 'tis how they met... Her name was Kathleen Brennan. He'd sing te her..."

Miniver pauses, then sings, very quietly,

I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen
Across the ocean wild and wide
To where your heart has ever been
Since first you were my bonnie bride.
The roses all have left your cheek.
I've watched them fade away and die
Your voice is sad when e'er you speak
And tears bedim your loving eyes.

Oh! I will take you back, Kathleen
To where your heart will feel no pain
And when the fields are fresh and green
I'II take you to your home again!

April closes her eyes and listens, her head resting on Miniver's shoulder and a slightly wistful smile playing about her lips.

"That's very pretty."

"It goes on," he says, as American as ever. "He used to sing it to her, oh, ALL the time, when I was real young. He stopped... after a while, all the music stopped." He sighs. "I miss it. Missed... it." But he meant the first one. He does miss it. He misses a family, a mother and father, his grandparents and cousins. Even if he saw them rarely, even though his parents hated each other and were none too fond of him... Home's home. He'd never go back, but it was something about it that'll always be part of him, because it was his, was what raised him.

Home's home. As miserable as she was, even April misses it sometimes. She slips her hand into his and squeezes lightly. "I do too, sometimes."

Miniver has an Idea. "Hey, April. Be my sister. I mean for real. Forget we ever told anyone we were anything else. And if they ask why we have different names, tell 'em you... married some trucker when you were 16 and the very next day his rig exploded. Come on. Be my sister. I never had any siblings."

"I barely had any either. Miranda was the youngest, and she was seventeen when I was born." She grins brightly at him, and this is literally the happiest you're going to see her about anything that's not related to Boromir.

There's a brief pause.

"I married a trucker? Why the hell did you let me marry a trucker, Miniver?"

In other words (as obvious by the big grin and sparkling eyes), she'd love that.

"Well... obviously you were pretty dumb when you were 16. I told you the guy was a deadbeat but would you listen? Noooo. You had to go and elope with some dude whose individual biceps were the size of whole porks and whose deepest thought, at the time of his death, was noticing that his head was on fire. Hey. How old are you, anyway?"

"We-ell... It sorta depends on whether or not you age here when you're dead, I guess. I usually say 23, 'cause that's how old I'd be if you do. If not, I'm still 21. And in my defense, he was very romantic. For a trucker."

Miniver snorts. "How romantic can you POSSIBLY be when your name is ELROY? I tell ya, sis, you can pick 'em. I'm uh... 24. Turned 24 a little over a week after I got here, actually. Like a month ago. We could almost be twins!"

"Why shouldn't we be?" April asks rather excitedly. "I mean, I'm dead, right? And it's only been two years since then for me, but it's been nearly five for Mark and everybody. Time works weirdly. It's all a matter of when Bar brings you in!"

Beat.

"He bought me tulips, okay? He went to an actual floral shop and got me my favorite flowers. I was blown away by the thoughtfulness."

"Sis, I could get you BOATLOADS of tulips. Although granted it'd be Mark paying for them." He giggles. "Fine. Be my twin. My dead twin sister. Like Roderick. Only I don't think his sister was twins. Still. Oh, he'll love this. Or sit and babble at a wall for a while. Poor Rod."