milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

death,
dream

(no subject)

*he is, again, there. After reading the note he continues to stand near the bar, pondering*

*she slides up next to him, elbows on the bar*

Bar? Vodka. And two shot glasses.

*pours*

You and I are getting drunk now, little brother. Important family bonding thing, getting drunk together.

*his mouth opens, then he thinks the better of arguing with Death*

Yes, sister.

*she passes a shot glass to him, raises it, and downs*

*he echos the motion, frowning a bit at the vodka. He's not much a fan of vodka*

Any particular reason, sister?

Because I'm sick of your cryptic shit? Because it could be fun?

If you don't like the vodka, get something else.

*pours another. Raises it to eye level, then downs, making the requisite face*

*he thinks for a while and then looks at the bar*

Scotch. Good enough to drink, cheap enough to be reasonable to get drunk upon.

*the bar seems to ponder for a moment, then produces a bottle of Lagavulin. Dream seems quite pleased.*

Cryptic shit, sister? You should be used to it by now.

*she sighs*

I am, really. I'm just... *sighs, pours a half-shot, drinks*

I got stood up.

You got what?

*deadly quiet*

Stood up.

Ten billion years. That's a good rough estimate, right? Ten billion years. And Desire comes along and puts the whammy on me, and all of a sudden I'm a stupid teenager.

I will take care of it.

*flat, oh so flatly*

No you won't.

It's my problem. I just wanted to bitch at someone about it.

*a long pause, and then he nods*

As you wish, sister.

*and he takes a drink*

Thank you.

Though if it happens again, feel free. *another drink*

Yes.

*he nods, and touches her arm gently. Then, yet another shot. Death wants to get drunk. Dream is willing to go along with it.*

*contenplating the shot in front of her, not yet drinking*

So what're we going to do to Desire?

((Moves to Vorkosigan thread))

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