milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: One commission, two gifts and an unexpected visitor. Small warning for a bit of blood and gore.]

Weyland returns to the bar sometime later, when he has recovered enough to appear calm again, and he carries the gifts he has made up to the bar. It looks like it's going to be another Atlantean night.

He takes a seat at the bar, and waits. There's one person in particular he's waiting for and several others he'd be very happy to see, but really any distraction would be welcome.

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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."

"...Atlantean, then?" he asks, eyebrow raised. "And the parasol. I wouldn't want you getting sunburnt out on the lake."

"Oh, yes. I have to maintain my... olive... tone."

Melpomene stops there. One might get the impression that she doesn't think much about sunburn.

He chuckles, and gathers a bottle of wine from the bar.

"I've been in Minnesota too long. Too used to the dangerously pale."

She shakes her head.

"This is why Minnesota is clearly not the place for me."

"Back home, back in the day, I was even paler than I am now," he says. "But then, when there's no sun at all for part of the year... that'll happen."

"No doubt."

The edge of her mouth quirks.

"Shall we get out into the daylight, then?"

He collects a parasol from the bar as well, and offers it to her.

"Assuming I won't burst into flames at the touch of sunlight... yes. I'm feeling brave."

She gives him a look, through the smoke.

"Let's hope not."

She goes to the door and pushes it open with her free hand.

He walks along with her. "I don't sunburn, actually. Nor burn from fire, so that may be the reason for that."

"That sounds... extremely useful, in your line of work."