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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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Eyebrow.

This time, though, Sam doesn't say anything, just keeps moving his fingers through Cal's hair.

Cal colors a little and glances away.

"Sorry," he mutters.

Wryly, "It's all right, Cal."

Cal nods in acknowledgment. He's not sure what he did anyway, except get confused, but sometimes that's enough to owe someone an apology. Or at least act like you think you do.

He sips his coffee and tries to look normal.

"Not that I'm sure what you're apologising for, but anyway. I was just teasing."

He reaches for his own drink, taking a sip of rum.

What, Sam reads minds, too?

. . . actually, that is not out of the realm of possibility in this place. Surely it would have come up before now with Sam, though.

So Cal just glances up and says,

"It's usually a safe bet. Nobody ever complains about being apologized to."

Only when he's really trying. He's pretty damn good at reading Cal, though.

Lightly, "Want to bet?"

Cal rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure you could find something to bitch about," he says, smirking a little.

"I'm very imaginative," Sam agrees, laughing slightly.

"I've always got ideas."

This time Cal's voice is very dry.

"Yes, I know."

"Think you'll find a way to soldier on?"

Sam's own voice is light, but there's a faint, more serious undertone there.

. . . which Cal totally misses.

"Oh, I think I'll manage. Somehow," he says. The smirk is back. If it ever left entirely.

Mental facepalm. But he's smirking, so that's a good sign.

"Well, that's very comforting. I'd hate to think you weren't enjoy - I mean, finding some way to deal with my ideas."

"I get by," Cal says. "I suppose I could hide or something if I had to."

For someone so damn sensitive to some things, he can be really thickheaded at times.

This is true. Cal is lucky he's pretty, really.

"Aw. That'd be boring, though."

Whether he means for him or for Cal, Sam doesn't say.

It's what's gotten him through much of his life.

"Yeah, but I'd manage."

Of course it's about Cal. What isn't?

Sam thwaps at his head again, lightly.

"Who said anything about you?"

Cal is going to start thinking about investing a helmet soon.

"I did," he says promptly.

Sam sticks his tongue out at him.

"Pillock."

"You already said that," Cal points out loftily. And he still doesn't know what it is.

"Yeah, but you still are one, so that's okay."

"What, it didn't change?"

Oh, what the hell. "What is a pillock, anyway? And if you say 'you,'" he adds, "I will smack you."

Amused, "Cal, I didn't know you liked that sort of thing."

Aaaaanyway. "A prat. An idiot. A dork. Something like that."

Cal looks confused for a second or three, then snorts. "Hardly. And I am not."

Some retorts you never outgrow.

"Are too!"

And no-one ever said that living forever made you mature. It just made you old.