milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

If there's one thing to say about Milliways, one darling, lovely, spectacularly fabulous thing, it would be this: There are no No Smoking signs as far as the eye can see.

Furthermore, there's no place Lorne would rather be on a Sunday afternoon, having his breakfast (cuppa joe-with-added-sumthinsumthin). At the moment he's kicking back on the couch - that one, right there - taking up lots more space than is technically necessary. You see, this is one of those books that require active reading.

And by active, we mean sprawled all over and enjoying oneself immensely.

The book? Just a little something he found in the Library, handily translated and everything. If one were to look at the cover, it reads:

MARE KANDRE
BESTIARIUM

Judging by the slight frown of perplexity, it is quite the little piece of fictional literature.

For a given value of fictional, perhaps, this being Milliways...

((Edit of SlowTimes: Also known as aaaaaaargh I need sleep! This has been wonderful, lieblings, but the bed, it calls for me. I call slow-times, and wub you all!

Post is open until next EP. Which could mean weeks. I don't EP all that often, as you may have noticed.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The man is green and has horns!

Donovan tries not to stare, but fails somewhat, as this is his first green guy with horns ever.

Oh, is he ever.

He also happens to have developed a keen little something-of-a-sense, alerting him to the fact when pretty people keep on looking his way.

It prompts him to tilt his eyes up from the intriguing little lines on page 9, and boy is he not sorry.

One deeply ingrained frown line/eyebrow goes up, as if to say: 'Care to up the ante, stranger?'

The horns are red, and small, and pointy, and remind you a bit of a dog's or wolf's...

Donovan firmly refuses to finish that thought!

Perhaps that is a good idea. The mind is inventive enough to fill such evocative strings of text in all on its own.

It might be noted that the red eyes light up with something very much like amusement. "Well? Are you just gonna admire the view, or mosey on over? I ain't got all day, cream puff."

The eyes are red as well!

"Afternoon," Donovan says, and comes closer. "I've never seen anybody who was green before. Or had red horns" -- the shape of whatever -- "let alone both at once."

"The red's all about bringing out the verdant green." He smiles, always a sucker for compliments, and he does think blondie here is as sincere as they come.

"Trust me, doll, I'm one of a kind."

"So I'd better not get used to seeing green guys with red horns," Donovan grins, "because I'm not going to see another one."

"Precisely, my shiny new friend." But, for the purpose of adding a little addendum, if you will, a clause, should he be wrong... "At least, none of my kith and kin is as charming as Yours Truly. Nor as innately fabulous."

"What colour are they?" Donovan asks. "A toadish, muddy green-brown?"

(no subject)

nomorekaraoke - 2009-07-26 19:18 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

born-to-it.livejournal.com - 2009-07-26 19:21 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nomorekaraoke - 2009-07-26 19:51 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

born-to-it.livejournal.com - 2009-07-26 20:21 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nomorekaraoke - 2009-07-26 20:46 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

born-to-it.livejournal.com - 2009-07-26 21:01 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nomorekaraoke - 2009-07-26 22:12 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

born-to-it.livejournal.com - 2009-07-26 22:23 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nomorekaraoke - 2009-07-26 22:27 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

born-to-it.livejournal.com - 2009-07-26 22:46 (UTC) - Expand

Would Lorne like some verdurous and muscular company in the form of Jennifer Walters?

Jen's decided, after the delightful surprise of a door to Milliways opening as she finished breakfast and was about to quest for more coffee, to claim an armchair near Lorne's couch. She's still in her purple hoodie, purple jeans, and sports a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head to use as an impromptu headband.

The fact that she's got an issue of Columbia Journal of Environmental Law in one hand and an iced latte in the other doesn't obscure the fact that she's also got a wrapped up copy of the Dieux du Stade 2009 calendar in her backpack, but no one will know that unless they've got x-ray vision. Hey, it was gift from Jazinda, and she hasn't even opened it yet!

Her latte goes on the small table next to the chair, her backpack gets shrugged off and dropped on the floor, and Jen executes eminent domain over her chosen chair by sitting down.

"Well, good morning. I haven't seen you since you served me up a case of Martian Love Juice."

Alas, Lorne was never gifted with such a marvelous thing as x-ray vision. He got stuck with something else entirely, and so far he doesn't feel the need to want for anything else. In other words, his life's plenty complicated enough, thank you very much.

However, he does light up at the sight of green beefcake (who wouldn't?) and beams right up, Scotty, thank you very kindly.

"Kinkiest name for a drink I ever mixed, and that's counting Sex on the Beach." He winks. "How've you been, gorgeous?"

"That batch of Martian Love Juice had a secondary benefit, I'll have you know."

Yes, that is a wink, with a heavy subtext of implied satiety.

"It didn't kick in until I went home, but let's just say it was memorable. Speaking of which, I don't think we were ever properly introduced. I'm Jen. And I've been fine, if you count the usual insanity of life back home as 'fine.'"

She leans over to offer her hand.

Let it never be said Lorne doesn't have a soft spot for big, strong, toned ladies. Never. Just don't even think it.

He meets her half way, shaking her firmly by the wonderfully green hand. "I'm Lorne. Unless you'd rather I say I'm positively enchanted."

"Oh, I'd definitely rather you say that. I pray thee continue. Likewise, of course."

His hand, needless to say, is also wonderfully green by Jen's estimation, and pleasantly masculine. And the handshake? She is a sucker for a good handshake - you can tell a lot about a man by the way he shakes hands - integrity, boldness, willingness to carpe the diem, and all manner of other things Jen considers important.

She retakes her seat, but scoots her chair a bit closer to the couch. She has to stretch out those long legs, though - the chair's too low for her to cross them comfortably.

"Let me count the ways, and all that jazz? Certainly."

He scoots himself into something more approximative of an upright position, both for the purpose of polite and intrigued attention, and because there's a whole lotta room for tired feet right on this here seat.

"Love, love the complexion. There's not enough verdant people in the world, as far as I'm concerned. Love the purple, and the outfit in general. Oh," he flashes a brief but heartfelt grin. "And did I mention yowza? Not that I need to tell you you're fine, I'm sure you've looked yourself in the mirror recently enough."

Why, is that an invitation to join him on the couch?

"Why, thank you. Can I return the compliment and admire your cheekbones and taste in authors? I'm also quite fond of horns."

Not to mention the savoir-faire, the devastating chin cleft, and the overall Lorne package from head to toe.

"No, not enough of us greenies on Earth and the associated realms and planes of existence. At least, not on my Earth. Are they all green where you're from, or are you a special case like me?"

Jen's been to planets where everyone is green. But there's a woeful lack of greenness back home - and where there is green, sometimes it's problematic, to say the least.

"Oh, this old thing? Found it in the library. Can't stop reading." And lo, the freckles-for-lack-of-better-term on those fierce cheek bones shift just a touch to the darker end of the green scale.

Compliments? Still a somewhat new notion. At least, from such drop dead gorgeous people. The green, the long hair, the ample charms, what's not to like? It's enough for him to puff his chest up just a tad, because slouching? So unattractive.

"Most of us are green, not all of us. But that home hasn't been a home in years. I'm an Earthian, these days. Proud New Yorker, as a matter of fact. ...not that I'm not a special case. I always was."

(no subject)

gammagammahey.livejournal.com - 2009-07-26 22:09 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

nomorekaraoke - 2009-07-27 18:21 (UTC) - Expand

It's been years, literally, since he first arrived at the bar, and more than a few months back on Earth. So much as happened in that time, Wesley can hardly believe it.

But at the sight of Lorne, he's back to that night, as if no time has passed at all.

He hesitates, almost decides to head upstairs and not disturb what looks like an enjoyable afternoon. But, of course, he can't possibly do that.

"...Lorne."

At times like these, you might ask yourself: how does a Pylean Deathwok deal with tremendous amounts of stress? If you know how very much this particular member of his species differentiates himself from the rest, you would know to ask: how would he deal with tremendous amounts of stress?

The answer, would this be any other time and place, any other context, might read: with a skip to his step and a smile on his face (because Lorne has issues with negative emotions).

But that voice, that delightful gentlemanly quality... Lorne doesn't so much as manage a smirk. He stares, caught somewhere between the rock and hard place called Shock and Horror, because all he can think of is one, very special conversation.

"It must be a shock. --I don't know what you must have heard?"

He hesitates a moment, then moves to the chair beside Lorne's

. Etiquette might demand asking first, even between comrades in arms such as they were (or at least his counterpart and this Lorne were), but different worlds or no, there are matters in need of discussion, and now is no worse a time than any other.

He swallows visibly if not audibly, his throat suddenly dry as a desert; his vocabulary as though sucked into a vacuum.

It's been so long. Too long without looking back, and faced with his friend, Lorne simply doesn't know where to start. Sitting up will have to do, for the time being. Clearing his throat comes next, but he can't make himself look Wesley in the eye. Setting the book to the side, he pats himself down for his pack of cigarettes.

"You died." His jaw works slowly, as stiff as the rest of him. "You were killed."

"I did."

"In most worlds, I gather."

He has to pause for a moment.

"In my world... My next memory was my arrival here. It was... disorienting. As you can imagine."

"...Especially considering Fred was here (http://community.livejournal.com/milliways_bar/9719195.html?thread=403676315#t403676315)."

"Yeah..."

Finding his pack, he singles one thin cancer-onna-stick out, places it between his lips, and fumbles with the lighter, which promptly falls to the floor, skidding its merry way to the other side of the table. But Lorne doesn't move out of his seat.

Fred... Dead Fred. Fred dead.

"She was?"

"No. As it happens."

"She had come here from earlier in her timeline. Still at Wolfram & Hart. Still doing research. Exploring."

(She was just curious. I think I hate her a little for that.)

"Which meant, eventually, the day came when she left the bar to...."

"We had one last day (http://community.livejournal.com/milliways_bar/17187218.html). And then... she was gone (http://community.livejournal.com/milliways_bar/17217739.html)."

He has to pause again.

"The fact that Illyria had also been here from the start made it all that much more complicated."