(no subject)

[undignified]

Wes is by the fireplace with a bag of his toy ships and action figures, setting up a scenario that might be a space battle, except that along with the X-wings and A-wings and TIE fighters, there are landspeeders, speeder bikes, one Hot Wheels car, one plastic Ewok, two anonymous Rebel soldiers and a tiny little holographic figure of a Jedi that might be Luke, if you squint.

Today's a day for childish toys.

Also, Oreo cookies.

He won't mind people helping themselves to either.

Comments

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

Today appears to be the day to tinker with things, be they toys or screwdrivers, sonic or no. James watches Wes with mild interest from his armchair.

[undignified]

Wes glances up, then returns his attention briefly to his toys, putting an A-wing on top of an empty Oreo box for a slightly more 3D environment.

(The cookies have all been relocated to a plate, which is currently being guarded by the Ewok and the tiny!Jedi. You can't be too careful.)

He looks back up at James thoughtfully -- then leans over and deposits an X-wing on the arm of his chair.

"It's okay," he says, deadpan. "The S-foils aren't in attack position."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

"S-foils?"

Bond no speaky your jargon!

[undignified]

"...the wings," Wes explains, and pokes one to point it out. "They're closed, which means the fighter's flying faster. Streamlined, see. Have to be open for attackin', though, cause the lasers are on the ends."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

"Right."

James leans back in his chair and sips his tea. He has no right to find what Wes said strange considering where they both are at the moment, but he finds it strange regardless.

[undignified]

"You seem," Wes says with a wry grin, "a little bit cynical."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

He shrugs.

"Possibly."

[undignified]

Wes studies him thoughtfully.

Then decides, "You'll have to get rid of it. Cynicism, I mean. It's banned, here."

[callitavesper.livejournal.com]

James raises an eyebrow in inquiry.

[fighting_mad]

Plourr makes her way through the door from Eiattu, dressed formally for an audience, and she heads straight for the most comfortable chair in the bar, by the fireplace. She drops into the armchair gratefully, covering her eyes with her hand and sinking down.

After a second, exactly what she had seen registers. Her hand lowers and she looks at Wes Janson.

"What the hell are you doing?" is the second thing to come to mind, and she says it.

[undignified]

"Playing with my toys," he replies, affecting a tone of indignation and only glancing at Plourr before concentrating on his ships again. "And you're interrupting me. This is a highly involved activity. I may have to set a TIE fighter on you. These ones are under my command."

[fighting_mad]

"Nobody wants TIE fighters under their command," she says, massaging her temple. "They're flying deathtraps."

[undignified]

"True," Wes agrees, holding one up and studying it thoughtfully. "But these ones only have toy pilots. They don't mind being thrown about. They'd probably argue a bit if they fell in the fire, I s'pose, but I think I can keep them away from there."

[fighting_mad]

"I can always throw them in for you. Those pilots could use some toughening up," she says, but her heart isn't in it. She remembers precisely what it was that they talked about the last time that she saw Wes playing with his toys, even if she was under the influence of something strange at the time and even if they were both acting like children.

She leans over and picks up a little X-wing, turns it over in her fingers. She sets her jaw and says, "So I'm guessing Klivian told you."

[undignified]

"I think they'll cope without your assistance," he says wryly.

He watches her for a second, thinking this one over, and then decides to wing it. "Yes," he lies. "I'm shocked. Appalled."

He's not a very good liar, sometimes.

[fighting_mad]

She glances up, fast, and she regards him a moment. "He didn't."

[undignified]

"Did so," indignantly. "Hobbie tells me everything. Aaaabsolutely everything. Can't keep secrets from one of us and not the other."

Which is obviously why he never knew about Plourr and Aeryn, right?

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"Aren't you a little too old for toys, Wes?" Chloe asks, wincing a little when she walks up to the fireplace. "Come on, you've got to be at least thirty-five."

[undignified]

"--thiry-two!"

Wes glares up at her, A-wing hanging almost forgotten in his hand.

"And I don't look a day over twenty-five. Don't you even try to pretend it."

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"Sorry, make that forty," she replies, settling down in an armchair with her latte. "Okay, really though. Toys?"

[undignified]

Wes just points at her as if his finger's a blaster pistol, then grins suddenly and flies the toy ship around a little.

"Yep, toys. You can never be too old for toys. You got a problem with that?"

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

Chloe nods, leaning back in the chair. "Don't you have something better to do with your time? I thought you were, like, this great fighter pilot or something."

[undignified]

"Oh, of course I am," Wes agrees nonchalantly. "Greatest in the galaxy, in fact."

All right, he'll admit that Luke and Wedge are better than him, but he won't volunteer that.

"But I'm also a great bartender, and a great comedian, and a great teacher, and a great statistician -- it's hard to balance all my greatness, so occasionally I just become a great toy player here at Milliways, see."

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"You are not a great bartender, remember?" Now there is doubtful eyeing not directed towards the toys. "Last time I checked, you made the worse cup of coffee I've ever had the unfortunate experience to taste."

[undignified]

Wes snorts and says, "'s your fault for ordering something non-alcoholic. I'm a bartender at the end of the universe -- I deal in alcohol only, kid."

This isn't strictly true -- he made a pretty good fruit cocktail for Gavroche. He just can't make coffee. :O