milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[ Sandford, 20 March, 1987: Happy Birthday, Sissy Skinner. Warnings for, er, references. Can you guess to what? ]

A pub is a great place to wind up in when you're having a crappy day. Voluntarily winding up in a pub where it logically would be is even better. Involuntarily winding up in a pub where your house is supposed to be is not so good. Involuntarily winding up in a pub full of animals where your blessedly animal-free house is supposed to be is even worse. It's not the same as being dumped or mocked or seeing off your vehicular baby, but it's definitely not good for one's mental constitution.

Color Simon Skinner, age 37, very WTFBBQ.

Any patron, fuzzy or non, is welcome to tell the tall guy at the door where he is.

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"Why are you talking?" whines Simon.

"..Charming. I could stop if you'd prefer? But I did have a whole welcoming spiel ready in my head, and I don't think I can convey it so well in chittery noises." Oh yay, a weasel using sarcasm, just what Simon needs on his birthday.

"Animals aren't supposed to talk," he sulks.

There is a slight roll of his eyes. "Yes, well doors to random bars aren't meant to appear out of nowhere, but it happens."

Skinner points. "You are a very rude little ferret."

"Weasel," he snaps back with an indignant manner. "Mustela nivalis, if you fancy using the binomial nomenclature."

As if the fact he talked wasn't enough for you, he's now trying to correct you too, Skinner.

Skinner looks unimpressed. "Whatever you are you're still very rude." Beat. "And possibly demonic."

The weasel looks very offended, or as best at looking offended as he can when bluffing. Weasels can't bluff quite as well as humans.

"Now you're just being offensive. You've not even been here five minutes and you're already insulting the patrons of this fine establishment."

"What is this fine establishment, then? What the devil happened to my home???"

"This would be Milliways, bar at the end of the Universe," he makes a general gesture to the ensuing animal mayhem.

"That would the be proof," gesture to the Window o' Doom.

"And that would be your home.. if you still have a door visible," gesture to the door area.

He should totally be an air hostess. But not.

Simon looks at the Window o' Doom.

Simon reaches into his pockets and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.

You know what happens next.

Le Chiffre watches Skinner rather than the window. He could do with some chain smoking right about now, but cigarettes seem a little daunting in his current state.

"So, where did you come from?"

"Sandford."

It's the weasel's turn to have a wtf moment.

"Sandford?! Like uh.. the village..?"

"Yes," he says, a little surprise. "The village."

Pause.

He would ask if the weasel has ever been, but...talking weasel.

Dude, wtf.

..Maybe he's a son Skinner forgot to mention..?

"Oh. And what is it that you do there?"

"I help run the local grocery store with my father."

"Aaah," he replies knowingly, nodding slowly. "You look very much like your father. That's possibly not something you like hearing, but it needs to be said."

"...you know my father?"

WHY DID HIS FATHER NOT TELL HIM HE WAS ACQUAINTED WITH TALKING WEASELS AT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE?

"Absolutely. He's a good man, when he's not being an arrogant bastard, which, let's face it, is rather often."

WHY DID SKINNER NOT MENTION A SON TO HIS BFF? THAT IS SAD.

Skinner looks unimpressed. "He's always a bastard."

"I suppose that's the problem with being a parent," he states with a shrug. He wouldn't really know, he's never had experience with parents.

"He never wanted to be a parent to me. Never wanted more than one kid, then out I came. Never let me forget it. He's always calling me names like--like 'Sissy'--I hate that bloody name--why can't he call me by the name he gave me: Simon..."

Another shrug which pretty much states he's just a weasel. How the shit should he know? "I supp-- Simon?"

"Yes. I suppose he hasn't tol--how do you know my father?"

Because. You know.

Talking weasel.

Don't have many of 'em in Sandford. Or maybe he's just going muy loco.