milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It's too quiet lately, and Pan felt like making things more lively. Also, he was a little bored, and this was a very dangerous thing to be. Though, people can breathe a sigh of relief since the faun was wearing a goatskin skirt to ah cover up. He had some Atlantean where he sat at the bar and has just discovered the squiopera on the bar's TV. All those tentacles gave him some fun ideas, and it's a cute show to boot.

[tiny tag: Pan]

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"Mr Tumnus," Gil says with a smile, settling more comfortably and crossing his little hooves. "I missed seeing other fauns too, though I spend so much time at work that I don't have much time for play. I hope that you will be happy here."

"That's the one, another nervous one. Shouldn't be so skittish. It's not bad, I'd change that last rule, but the rest of it's fine."

Pan's eyes then widened, and he tsk'ed, "Work? Work, oh that's not right at all. Why aren't you having more fun?"

"Well I - um ..." Now he comes to think of it, Gil can't quite figure out why. He used to play a lot - now it's work, work, work.

"Habit I suppose," he says. "People need to eat, I cook." He shrugs. "Being needed is a kind of fun in itself, but sometimes it would be nice just to be frivolous. To dance in the moonlight and play my pipe."

"Others can work. Come back to the woods. You don't have to work every day and night do you?" He fetched his pipe from his side, and started to play a light tune.

Gil's hooves shuffled nervously. It was impossible to keep them still. "No," he said. "No - I don't have to. The rats and the other kitchen staff can manage, I just," he blushed, "haven't been letting them. I could," he whispered, his mind's eye filled with deep shadows and moonslivered leaves, "I could go. I would just need to leave a message for Suti."

That it was, and the notes and melody encouraged dancing. Play amidst the trees, laugh, and enjoy all that is there.

He paused in his playing to add, "He could come to. Come and play, we're not made to do chores after all."

Gil laughs suddenly, blinking in surprise and, just like that, hops up onto his hooves and takes off his apron, letting it fall. The little gold and nacre pipes gleam against his chest.

"Tristan," he calls to a nearby rat. "A message to Asar-Suti, if you please, dear. Please tell him that tonight I'll be running. He'll know what that means."

Tristan squeaks and bounces away, pleased to get out of waiting tables for a while, and Gil smiles with gratitude at his Good God Pan. "Thank you," he says, "for reminding me what it means to be a faun."

Pan sprung up on his own hooves with a loud bleating laugh.

"Any time." Anything for his own after all.

"Now come along, Gil. The woods are waiting." And the hooves clicked and danced on the floor. The flute music trilling through the bar as he spun and danced to the back door, and throwing it open.

Gil dances too, lighter on his hooves but not nearly as graceful, and puts his pipes to his lips where they chuckle a descant to Pan's wild tune.

He bounds outside, stepping might give him time to hesitate, and as soon as he feels the green earth under his hooves and the fresh air in his lungs he shivers, shaking off his responsibilities.

Skipping like a lamb, he gambols after Pan, leaving dishes unwashed and pizzas untopped.

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