milliways_bar | (no subject)

Melpomene's there, in the corner, somewhat indistinguishable due to a haze of smoke.

He would know her anywhere--or at least in Milliways.

He gathers up his wine and his boxes and starts toward the corner, cautiously.

"It's been a while."

"Yes," she says with a small smile, pulling the end table with its ashtray and tequila around to be more accessible.

"Been traveling the world?"

"Mostly staying at home," he says, taking a seat, resting the boxes on his lap. "I had a guest for a while, but... you know how things go. Work has been slow."

She looks him over.

"Yeah."

And then: "I feel like I should be in a less familiar pose... given our feeble attempts at changing our routines."

"All we can do is try," he says. "And anyway, there's some comfort in routines. We shouldn't abandon them altogether."

He sips his wine. "I hope you have been well."

"As well as ever," she says cryptically.

"I would've hoped you'd be better than that," he says, "but at least it isn't worse."

He lights a cigarette. "I missed you."

She takes a drag.

"Clearly we need to be more coordinated with our rendez-vous."

"So it seems," he nods. "But here we are now, together, and that's more than enough for me."

A pause.

"I made a boat, for the lake here."

She raises a brow.

"Tested it out yet?"

"I've set it out on the water, but never gone for a ride in it," he answers. "Not something I would do, on my own. It was made for sharing company."

She tilts her head.

"I'll bring the parasol if you bring the alcohol. And the oars."

"There are no oars needed," he says with a small smile. "It's a swan boat. It does the paddling of its own accord."

"I should have known," she says.

"Weyland wouldn't settle for the expected."

"And it folds up pocket-sized, of course," he says, "so I have it up in my room. I wouldn't risk leaving it to its own devices out on the lake."

"Of course," she says, amused.

"Who knows what people might do to it? And it doesn't have any defenses of its own, it seemed safer to keep here that way. Safer for others, not safer for the boat itself."

She nods, slowly.

"I'd like to see it."

"Right now, then?" he asks. "I can go upstairs and get it for you, if you'd like."

"If you have time," she agrees.

"I have nothing but time, in here," he says with a small smile, and tosses back the rest of the glass of Atlantean. "I'll be right back."

"Good," she says, returning the smile and taking a drag.

He carries the boxes toward the stairs, and returns a few minutes later without them, but with a small leather pouch instead.

"What shall we have to drink, then?" he asks, as he approaches her table once more.

"Something aged?"

She glances curiously at the pouch.

"And a parasol, of course."