milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Lazy Lucifer, sitting on a barstool with supper and a piratical purring kitten curled cutely on his shoulder.

Okay, quitting the awesomely awful alliteration now, alas.

Anyway. The eyepatch is flipped up, and the pirate's hat is set at a jaunty angle, not least because Shreddie keeps batting at it fascinatedly. Sam is tolerating this for now, even smiling - well, it tickles. And besides, it's kind of fun.

You live here long enough, you get used to Milliways' quirks. Most of them, anyway. Come bother the nautical Lucifer.

[Tiny tag: Pomona, Cal Chandler]

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Someone else is sporting a hat and eyepatch, only she is much more confused as to why. It is not one of those things you expect.

But at least everything else was left alone, and she does not have to wear boots again.

At any rate, Sam may perhaps notice a nymph giggling at his fearsome feline friend's antics.

Sam turns, at the giggling, and gives the wood nymph a grin when he spots her.

"Hey, Pomona. The bar got you too?"

"It is not," she says bravely, "as bad as it was last time."

She can feel the ground, after all, rather than teetering on shoes.

Her hat has a feather. At some point, it flipped over her face, and she takes a moment to blow it out of the way. "I do not understand why, though."

"It's called Talk Like A Pirate Day. It's an odd holiday that the bar seems to like to celebrate."

There is a moment of silent contemplation.

"But I am not talking like a pirate."

At least, she does not think so.

"Sometimes the bar just dresses you appropriately - hence the silly hats. Sometimes you wind up talking piratey as well."

"What is talking," nose wrinkle, "piratey?"

"Oh." Sam waves a vague hand.

"Saying 'arrr' and 'matey' a lot, things like that. It's very silly."

"'Arrr'," she says, thoughtfully.

It does not feel very piratey.

Sam grins at her. "Like I said, all very silly. Want a drink, Pomona?"

"Would it have to be piratey?"

"Only if you wanted it to be." Shreddie rubs against Sam's cheek, purring, and Sam reaches up to rub between the kitten's ears.

"I wouldn't recommend it, though. Grog is nasty and rum is... well, that's pretty good, but it's pretty strong."

"Milk, I think?"

Spending time as a cat is catching.

He smiles. "Your wish is my command."

Well, Bar's, anyway, so a glass of milk appears.

A milk moustaches is quickly aquired.

Along with a slightly milky hat feather. It is difficult, working around the feather!

Sam hides a smile with his own drink.

And the eyepatch does not help so much. ._.

(Which is to say, the moustache gets bigger.)

Sam makes a valiant effort not to giggle, and busies himself with petting Shreddie by way of distraction. The kitten, delighted to be fussed, reaches new decibels of purring in response.

There is thoughtful headtilting at Shreddie.

And then, "Would he like some?"

She remembers being a cat, see.

"I expect so. He appreciates that kind of thing."

And indeed, the kitten looks up at her hopefully.

"But if he has too much, he'll get fat."

She considers her glass, which is almost empty. It could be poured into a more kitten-friendly container!

"Would this be too much?"

Sam grins. "I think his figure will survive that much."

Bar is endlessly helpful; a small dish appears on the spot.

And lo, there is pouring and setting before Shreddie.

That is, if it is acceptable to his Kittenness.

It is undoubtedly successful, as can be seen from the fact that Shreddie is quickly acquiring a milky moustache as big as Pomona's own.

Sam strokes the kitten's back with one finger.

"You really like cats, Pomona, don't you?"

"They are very-"

"-lovely."

It is not quite the word, perhaps, but it will do?