milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The still slightly crippled hippie is in the bar. He remains unable to use his right arm, which is in a sling, but this is kind of okay -- he has a new toy.

It's a laptop.

Now, based on the way he is using it, it's fairly clear he really doesn't know what it does other than function as a typewriter hooked to a television screen. Since he can't write just now, he's instead typing. Very, very slowly.

Click.... click... clickclick... click..........click..... click click.... click...

He's got almost 3 whole lines written!

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There was a young man not far off, working on a sketch, one that wasn't in his usual fashion design book, no, this was a completely different book, costumes for Mother, especially now that they had a new, better, venue.

He blinked up at the irrythmic clicking, gnawing on a thumbnail, "You... alright?"

"Uh-huh."

Automatic reply.

Click... click...... click... Fuck, how do you make a... thingy? That thingy over the 8. Oh, maybe it was the way you make the capital letters.

One-handed keyboard acrobatics, right here, right now, funny faces no extra charge.

He couldn't help but smile at that, just a little, "Sounds like you could use a secretary."

"Hmm?"

He looks up finally, and smiles, seeing Clive. "Hi! Sorry. What?" He turns towards him, rubbing his arm. It's becoming a nervous habit, really.

He laughed, just once, shaking his head, "Said it looks like you could use a secretary, or at least a typist."

"Oh." He laughs. "Yeah um... I never typed much. Typewriters were expensive. Just got this thing yesterday. Cool, huh?"

Another smile, nodding, "Not bad. Looks about the same as the one my assistant uses, not that I really have any idea. They just keep getting smaller."

"I never even saw a computer in my time," he says, eyeing the tiny little box thing. "But I saw pictures. They were as big as whole rooms and they could do math and not much else, I think. Um. So. How're you doin'?"

He nodded, "Pretty good. Even with the crap that's gone down stuff has come out better for it." He tilted his head, "You?"

He shrugs lopsidedly.

"Rumor has it things will work out eventually. Apparently there's something called... what was that word everyone keeps using... ummm... patience. Right. That thing where you sit down and shut up and realize you've got all the time in all the worlds to work it out, so long as you're here. Kind of a pain, but... not as much as this is." He raises his right shoulder just a little. That he can even do that with it is an improvement.

He couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head, "I wasn't ever very good with patience." A shrug, "Don't see why I should start now."

"Apparently there are other interesting things to do in the meantime. Rumor has it I can be a little singleminded sometimes." He swings his feet off the bar stool and crosses them at the ankles. "You were making pretty things last time I saw you. Did they come out okay?"

He nodded, smile spreading once more, "Sold like hotcakes, going to have to do a third run on some of them, taking some time off from the company for a while, they've got enough designs to keep them going for now, working on costumes for the club my friend Gypsy works at."

"Remind me, um, what exactly d'you DO?" It's been a while. A lot has happened.

he laughed again, "I'm a fashion designer for Vance & Marks, thanks to how well I did in Milan I've got my own line for them now instead of just being under their general one."

"Oh, hey, that's great, isn't it! Awesome." He tosses his hair out of his face. "Um. Have a drink with me?"

He could barely contain his glee, though he tried, "it's fucking fantastic!"

His smile returned at the second question, nodding and closing up his sketchbook to pad over, "Sure."

Miniver, with slow precision, saves the thing on the computer like Momiji showed him, and pushes it aside carefully. "Bar... um... What d'you drink?" he asks Clive.

He shrugged, "Absynthe is for celebrations, but I haven't had any in ages."

Miniver GRINS.

"Oh, oh, that stuff is fantastic. Bar, old girl, absinthe for two." And it appears. "D'you want to pour or shall I?" He likes the sort of ceremony around it.

He was grinning, no, really, that was Clive grinning, "You go ahead, probably spill it if I try right now."

And that would be a terrible shame.

"Okay."

He goes through the little sugar-cube-and-strange-spoon thing theatrically, making a real show of it with the absinthe and water and managing not to spill anything even doing it with the wrong hand, and finally offers Clive a glass with a shallow little cute bow. "Milord."

He smiled, accepting it with a nod, "L'chaim. Salinte. Cheers. Whatever, take your pick."

Miniver raises his glass to Clive and drinks.

"Hmmm that's good stuff."

He nodded, sipping at his own, almost purring, really, "Been too long."

His smile spread, "Missed that."

"Yeah, I know how that is. Y'know you couldn't get this stuff where I'm from? I made due with cheap whiskey. Sometimes something nicer if I could scrounge a little money at the end of the month. Christ, I was boring then."

He laughed softly at that, nodding, "Never thought to ask where Gypsy got it from, just that she did."

Miniver sips the absinthe blissfully. "Nothing about this drink is imperfect, I think. But hey. So you make clothes. Darren makes plays. Kit makes poems. Lotta people I know make cool shit. Can I look at your drawings?"

He nodded, sliding the book over, "Be my guest, this is just initial stuff for ChiChi's boys for the grand opening, gala... thing."

There wasn't a lot to most of the costumes, but that was the point of ChiChi's boys.

Miniver flips through the book, inspecting each page between sips of absinthe and giggling softly, in an admiring way. "Man, this is fantastic. Hey. You're a really good artist, y'know."

He smiled at that, shrugging, "Just a hobby. I mean, even the big-time design work is just a hobby, I still want to be a filmmaker."

He keeps flipping through the book.

"I know a director. He's fantastic."

"Really?" He said, both brows arching, "Film or stage?"

"Stage. He's from Canada. He's fantastic."

He smiled again, "I'd love to meet him sometime. ChiChi's background is stage, and man, I wish I'd had a teacher like her when I was in school."

"He lives with Kit Marlowe. But um, I'm not sure Kit's supposed to know that, so don't tell anybody." He giggles. "He's doing Dracula as a musical. It's genius. And he's done stuff in Berlin, which is wonderful. He took me there once and kinda... showed me around the place."

Clive may take that blush to mean EXACTLY what the dirtiest parts of his mind think it means.

Despite everything Clive was still a fairly innocent Ohio boy at heart, and he took the blush as a sign that the alcohol was working.

He blinked, "Musical... Dracula?" He shook his head, "I know they did it as a ballet, but that sounds even better."

"He sang me this song from it... it was beautiful. Even if the story's wrong, that's kind of okay. Like, I figured it out, y'know? Oh, he's wonderful. Darren is. So's Kit. I think they both want to kill me right now, though."

He blinked, then again, brow furrowing, "... run that past me again? Think the booze is kicking in."

"Um, I did something kind of stupid." He nods to his arm. "They're not real happy with me, I don't think. Which... y'know... they're kind of right." He shrugs. And drinks more. That solves everything, really.

He nodded at that, then shrugged, "Kind of stupid isn't the same thing as a deathwish. That's like... monumentally stupid."

"Arguably," Miniver replies a touch sheepishly, "attacking a powerful dark wizard with nothing but an ill-aimed punch is the same as a deathwish."

He winced at that, shaking his head and pouring them both a fresh glass, "That's... yeah."

"He did deserve it. Ex-lover and all that business." He pouts into his drink. "Bastard."

There was a faint smirk at that, Clive knew a couple of people who deserved to be punched, but as far as he knew neither of them were dark wizards, or for that matter, even wizards at all, "S'pose that's fair."

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