Sam Linnfer (
necessary_child) wrote in
milliways_bar2008-09-19 09:02 pm
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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]
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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In the bar, 'every year' is relative.
He flicks idly at the feather on his hat. "Some people just get the clothes, some people get the speech as well. Most people old enough get a craving for rum, though, although that may well be just patrons taking advantage of the situation."
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"Oh," he says. Then, "This fucking place."
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"Lighten up, Cal. As bar-wide celebrations go, this one's kind of fun."
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"Enjoy showing off your arse and get over it already."
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That's about it, really. It's not that there's nothing to say to that. It's that there's too much to say, and he can't even find words for half of it. So he doesn't say anything.
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(His own trousers aren't leather, but they are a little tighter than usual, tucking into appropriately piratey boots. His shirt is loose and red under a dark, battered overcoat, buttons not quite done up to the top nor quite done up to the bottom, showing a little pale skin at stomach and collarbone.)
"Aw, come on. If you can't handle a slight costume change you'll go nuts on April Fool's."
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"I'll just stay upstairs."
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"Why? What's so awful about it?"
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He doesn't want Sam to know that he thinks sometimes about following someone back to their world and finding a quiet place to just. fade away.
But some of it's safer, so he goes with that, using the time-honored tactic of not quite answering the question.
"I was talking with someone earlier about Halloween. You have any kids?"
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Beat.
"Well," with a wry downturn of his mouth, "maybe not the worst." Headtilt. "Why?"
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Well, there's always hope.
"You weren't to know, Cal." Quietly, leaning forward to stroke his hair.
Cal hasn't let Sam touch him beyond holding hands since they went up to Cal's room; Sam hopes for at least a little more success this time.
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"I was a shitty father most of his life," he says. "I'm lucky I got my head screwed on straight in time to be better with him before I, before I died. It's about the only thing I did get right in the end. Even if I did end up - leaving." May as well call it that. He knew what he was getting into when he made his choices in the last few days, after all.
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"There are shittier fathers." Quietly. "At least you cared. At least you tried."
La la la la NO ISSUES HERE NO la la la la.
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It's a quirk that seems to be peculiar to Americans (in the modern Western world, at least), and it's one that Sam will never understand. He's just glad he was never on the receiving end of it.
Headshake. "Anyway." He shrugs. "I don't know much about kids. But I always got the impression that it was making the effort that counted."
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He sighs. "Didn't matter, though. About the name. He's a good kid. Besides, I found this great tiger costume in a catalog and ordered it for him for Halloween. I ordered it big, I hope it'll fit. He's growing pretty fast." Pause. "Uh, anyway. Tiger. Wouldn't be the same if his name was Reed."
Long swallow of coffee. The costume will arrive a week before Halloween, with a note in the package so that Deborah and Mother will know where it came from. It will probably be Marisa who sees to it that Calvin gets to wear it, though. If it fits.
(Cal may not know much about most things academia, but he can spot an appropriate Calvin and Hobbes reference a mile away.)
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"I usually wind up calling people about twenty different things anyway. Probably because I've never kept the same name myself for long."
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He is more than ready for the change in topic.
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"Yeah. Mostly I stay in the same country for a few decades at a time, sometimes more, sometimes less. I stayed in Britain for quite a lot of the late Middle Ages - it was interesting. But just about anything would have been better than the Dark Ages."
He pulls a face. "Hideous few centuries. I don't think I spent more than a few minutes a century free of bloody mud. Mind you, the Middle Ages was when burning magic-users hit high popularity, so."
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Cal pauses over that, not sure that the combination of immortality and execution by burning is in fact a more desirable topic after all.
"What year is it in your world now?" he asks instead. It's entirely possible he's heard the answer already, but it all tends to blur together. He remembers the more unusual ones like Esfir's and Teja's, but there have been so many dates all grouped together that he doesn't even try to keep track of those.
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"2004," he answers. Grin. "Too much technology for my liking. I preferred it when stuff was simpler. Interesting, though."
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