milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Ganymede is flopped down in front of the couch, today, warming himself by the fire. He's dressed in a weird mix of classical and modern, today - a tunic and a pair of blue jeans - and he's busy amusing himself in an oh-so-serious manner.

Specifically, he's spinning a makeshift top across the floor, near the hearth of the fireplace. He looks mildly engrossed, but he's actually quite botherable. Even he can only be engrossed by a top for so long.

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Kim has settled onto the hearth, about as near the fire as she can get without being singed, to nurse her banged cheekbone and generally be grumpy.

Ganymede and his top are a distraction -- possibly even a welcome one -- so she wraps her arms around her knees and shoots glances at him, in between scowling into the fire.

Ganymede is, from the looks of things, quite talented, when it comes to getting the top of keep spinning for long periods of time. He's less useful when it come to aiming it, and, occasionally, it flits out in a dangerous path, spinning close to the fire or off along the floor.

Eventually, it darts right in Kim's direction, making the immortal look up in momentary frustration.

"Oops. Sorry."

She blinks. "'S all right."

She leans down to scoop it up -- and automatically assess its worth. "Here."

Well, as far as toy tops go, it's pretty valuable - even more so if one notes that, despite being in perfect condition, it likely qualifies as antique. And, of course, if one went on to learn that it was from Olympus, it would probably add a few more dollars to the estimate.

But, of course, it's still just a simple, toy top, and Ganymede has briefly forgotten it, in favor of looking over the thing's latest victim.

"Your face alright?" Kim reminds him vaguely of some of his early (and only) training in combat - there had been a lot of boys walking away rubbing arms or legs or cheeks.

Kim doesn't really know from antique. All she tell is that it's old, and simple -- probably not worth more than a few shillings.

At the question, one hand goes up to cover the soon-to-be-bruise.

"Just -- banged up a bit. 'S nothin'."

"If you say so." Ganymede agrees, reaching one hand out to claim his top.

"How'd you get it, though?"

He is made of nosy, basically. When half of your duties in life involve serving food and drink to a bunch of immortals who make soap opera conflicts look bland, it happens.

"Bit of a turn-up." She jerks her head towards the door. "Out there. Cully got me in the face before I scarpered."

She examines the top for another moment -- just to be sure -- before passing it back to him.

"I. Hm."

Ganymede arches an eyebrow dramatically at Kim.

"I believe you speak a brand of English that I have no encountered. I have no idea what you just said...you got hit, back in your world?"

Kim does not roll her eyes -- but it's a near thing. (She is, after all, a fifteen-year-old.)

"Yeh. In a crowd. A scuffle got started."

There is a soft whicker from the direction of a portrait.

It appears that the white horse who has just leaped through is amused by the spinning top.

Ganymede looks up at the noise, and immediately stares. He's seen animals about the Bar - the waitrats and a few cats and a canine here and there - but certainly never a horse.

As he gawks, the top comes to a stop, rolling over onto its side on the hearth.

"...Strange."

::No stranger than many others around here::, the voice murmurs in his mind. It carries warm tones of amusement.

...Talking horse!!

This really shouldn't surprise him, given where he's from and where he's at. But, still, talking horse!

"I suppose not," Ganymede intones, slipping into the sort of careful tact that he would use in a sticky situation, back on Olympus. "But...what does a horse do in a bar, exactly?"

::It depends,:: she replies -- the amusement stronger now.

::Although I am not usually here.::

A beat.

::I am Megwyn.::

"Ganymede." The immortal replies, lifting his head a little and turning his eyes upward, so that he can get a better look at the equine.

"Nice to meet you? Sorry if I was a bit, rude at first."

There's just the slightest tone of "don't step on me" in his apology.

::It's all right,:: Megwyn reassures him, quickly.

::I'm sorry if I distracted you from your game; I didn't mean for it to fall over.::

"That's fine. It has to, sometime, anyway." A grin quirks up on Ganymede's face.

"And it's just for distracting myself with, by this point. The fun of it waned a little after the first thousand years."

This isn't entirely true. Ganymede's no good at distractions that are just distractions - really, it's just become an actual game of skill for him, rather than a case of, "Oh, wow! It's spinning!"

::The first thousand years?:: Megwyn pricks her ears forward and blinks at him.

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