milliways_bar | (no subject)

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*Lurks in the door way of the nearly empty bar, watching the lake party and sulking. There are far too many people having far too good a time for him to have any fun at all. He turn to the bar and produces a penny from thin air. Hurling it at the serving spell, he angrily demands:*

The one thing I can never have!

*He waits. He watches. After a moment, when nothing happens, he turns away.*

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*her voice strained with sleepiness* What was it?

*Turns slowly to face her. He cannot think of a clever remark, and for once he does not want anyone to guess. He gazes at her dumbly.*

*looks at him blankly, and then suddenly shudders* Don't tell me. You wouldn't anyway, but don't. I hate the smell of peaches.

*Nods, solemnly. Jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Beatrice.*

Think she'll die?

No. This place is like home. Stuck. Nobody dies, nothing changes.

Too bad. I thought my night might be looking up.

*lightly* Poor Paul.

*shoots her a withering glare.*

*smiles sweetly*

*Smiles...not so sweetly*

*carefully* I think . . . I need to go to sleep.

*blows her a kiss*

*ruffles his hair*

*comes over tiredly* She en't going to die. Aziraphael's got her.

*turns to Anthy, warily* Will said I shouldn't ask so many questions. I'm... I'm sorry.

Hmm?

I expect she wouldn't have even if the angel hadn't helped.

You have blood all over you. *blinking* Are you all right?

*shudders; Pan huddles by her legs* She looked like the man in the world of the dead, with the cut throat and the dragonflies. And she en't dead.

*rubs futilely at her eyes* She'd be better off dead, if it makes you feel better.

It doesn't, does it.

If there were death here like we made, like vanishing into the green world, that would be better.

There are too many deaths.

And not enough. *slowly* And coffins. Coffins are warm.

The tombs in the crypt under Jordan, they were cold.

Have you been in a coffin?

*yawns* I'm always in a coffin, didn't you know? But it's nice and warm.

*touches Anthy's face with a bloodstained finger* You are warm. And tired.

Like the gyptian story of the princess in the glass coffin.

I'm cold as ice.

*looks at herself* Probably because I'm wearing a bathing suit and the sun's set.

Princess? Not me, then. Lyra. *take hold of Lyra's hand, suddenly, and squeezes it a little desperately* I'm going to fall over. No balance.

*grips Anthy's hand, helps her to a chair* Are you all right? Have you eaten anything?

Just sleepy. Dizzy. Haven't slept in more than thirty hours, I think. I should give Hob his jacket back first.

*shivers* Remind me not to do that again. Sleep is good.

Thirty hours? What have you been... Go to sleep!

Didn't want to . . . oh all right.

*squeezes Lyra's hand and shuffles off sleepily*

Spotting the ghost, Barbie screams and points in horror. 'You-you're so pale. It's revolting! Haven't you ever heard of foundation?' She rolls her eyes, annoyed.

*Dully*

I'll shake your foundation. You'd like that, wouldn't ya, ya dumb broad?

*He spits at her, bored-ly*

Barbie sighs, 'I don't need foundation, you stupid thing. I'm perfect already. I was suggesting you use it.' She is, of course, far too lady-like to spit, but instead gives Paul a withering glance that amounts to the same effect.

*He laughs sharply, his fangs appearing a clicking together like metal*

Whutta girl.

She brightens suddenly, beaming at the ghost 'I am a wonder though, aren't I?'

If you say, doll.

'And I do. I could make you beautiful. Well, pretty at least.'

And I could make things real ugly for you.

So let's call it a draw.

She sighed, feeling the weight of the load upon her shoulders 'Everything is already ugly for me. The world is a makeover waiting to happen.'

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