milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Alien type wraith downstairs, looking for Rachel Grey. He has a bag and their pup with him, as he sits in a chair near the front door.
The launch is in less than a day, and he's eager to be off.

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And she was there, as always, in Bar proper. Her smile didn't even dim as Race wiggled fit to shake apart before finally giving in to puppy instinct and racing over to greet his 'Mom'. "Do we know how many will be at the launch?" she asked, arms full of canine.

I didn't know how much champagne to get.

He considers. Most of us don't have many people coming. They'd estimated, conservatively, between twenty-five and thirty-five including those of us who'll be crew and their guests.

She grinned at him, passing the ecstatic puppy over into his arms "Alright, Bar can probably deal with that then"

Bar could indeed, after a few more questions about intoxication intent and number of minors included in party. Rach? Guessed, and the several crates that appeared would no doubt allow for a happily tipsy group.

The handcart made her chuckle though.

Michael just grinned, taking Race. The puppy barked once, then settled at a firm look from 'daddy'. "Thanks," both to the Bar and to Rachel. He offered
the latter his free arm.

The handcart was not ignored, no, it just wheeled itself ahead of the merrily floating crates, a strange conductor to their bobbing...

Rachel was more than happy to take Michael's arm, though it never occurred to her to pack a bag.

They head for the front door. Race sprints ahead of them, as Michael opens it and takes a firmer hold of her fingers for crossing the threshold (http://unwraith.livejournal.com/13298.html).

There was a moment, a heart beat or two, where there was the sound of voices screaming, of a force beyond them all trying to pull, to pluck...

...but the Need was not yet strong enough to break Michael's hold on her, and so, the door closed quietly behind them.

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