milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's a nymph perched comfortably up on one of the booth dividers, rather calmly (and relatively palely, all things considered) decked out in suitably flimsy - and jangly - Mardi Gras finery. The gauzy swathes of skirts are smoothed neatly over her lap and one knee is tugged up so that she can rest her book against it.

She smiles down at her bells in the manner that one might an old friend every so often, idly dinging one with a finger between an occasional turn of a pages.

She's getting rather used to this holiday.

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"True," Cloud concedes. Admittedly, Cloud doesn't have very much experience with religion or the religious.

He thinks of himself as a man of logic and finding his own solutions, not relying on anyone or anything else if he can help it.

Can one be counted as religious if they're part of the religion?

If so, Cloud could potentially use her as religious reference should the need ever come up. (Not that it would.)

Her lips quirk up crookedly, eyes amused, "At least you are not wearing bells, Sir Cloud."

The faintest smile of amusement appears on his face.

"Seems the bar is letting me off this time," he says.

Because Halloween? Yeah, not so much.

She really needs to start keeping a tally of how many times she can get to make Sir Cloud smile.

There can be further tallies of smile-degree too.

"Has she been mean to you before?"

It would be one heck of a complicated tally, that's for sure. But it would make a colourful pie chart if one added the degrees of smilitude.

Cloud nods.

"Last Halloween," he explains, "she changed my form."

And we do like colors.

She reaches out a set of fingers, patting him sympathetically on the back of his hand, even as her eyes continue reflecting something that is dangerously similar to giggling.

"It was not too terrible, I hope?"

He shrugs, clearing his throat.

"I'd rather not think about it."

Because thinking about it reminds him how much difficulty he had moving around and getting up on stools (http://community.livejournal.com/milliways_bar/20776922.html?thread=897455578#t897455578).

It's difficult to be short. People can look right over your head or things are occasionally on very high shelves.

"Understandable."

She nods firmly, wrinkles her nose.

"There is something very strange about suddenly not being yourself."

He nods to that. In his case, that definitely applies.

"At least it's just costume in your case," he says. And not pixel-blocking - or gods - gender swapping.

"There are worse things, I suppose."

It's cheerful enough and she marks her page absently, book folding closed and disappearing easily between her hands.

A smile, "How have you been then, Sir Cloud? Any brighter?"

(It is what he is looking for, after all. Light.)

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