milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Fall in Scotland isn't something Ganymede has really ever experienced firsthand, outside the Bar, and so when he comes back in his nose is pink from the wind, and his hands are cold, since the only shirt he'd worn is a light woven sweater.

He's currently playing with the ring in his ear while he drinks--and if anyone's been watching him for a while, the sweet and warm wine in the glass seems to have no effect on him as far as inebriation; either that or his demeanor just doesn't change much when he is drunk. Though he does seem to find the wineglass humming when he strokes a fingertip around the rim amusing.

He's still, in relative terms, getting used to drinking from a glass instead of a silver cup.

[ooc: car keys bait for Sally Jupiter, but open for ages to anyone!]

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Sally's never enjoyed the cold. Which is why she can be found lounging by the fire instead of sitting, say, at the bar.

She may glance over at the ringing of a finger against a wineglass, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

The amusement wears off soon enough that it isn't terribly irritating, and he stops, letting the sound ring for only a moment on it before it silences.

He does look up periodically, and that's when he sees the woman looking at him with a lifted eyebrow. Ganymede's become more aware of people finding the collar he wears strange. He's been doing his best to not care, but that comes easier to Dorian than it does to him.

(Before she became the Silk Spectre, Sally saw plenty that was stranger than a collar. Dancing in a burlesque theatre will help with that.)

She smiles, briefly, somewhat to herself, and takes a sip of the drink in her own hand.

(He has yet to be introduced to things like burlesque theatres. Which isn't to say he'd be against the notion.)

Ganymede smiles back in a friendly way, and raises his glass to the woman in a more than slightly archaic way, though strangely enough it doesn't look like he's uncomfortable with it.

(Most people aren't - and if they are, they're likely lying to themselves.)

She also lifts her glass, but now, finding it to be unfortunately empty, realizes she might have to move towards the bar in order to get a refill.

Ganymede sees this.

"May I get you another drink, my lady?"

"Lady."

Sally doesn't scoff, no - but there is a friendly chuckle that slips by.

"Can't say a girl hears that all too often anymore."

The boy smiles. "So I am told," he says with a little chuckle, getting up to go over. It's chilly at the bar itself, and the fireplace is lit and warm. "But I am...accustomed to addressing ladies as such."

"Well, I don't think there's anyone who'd fault you for it," she murmurs.

Her eyes move toward his glass.

"What are you having?"

He glances at the glass in his hand. "Just wine, though it's sweet and warm."

She wrinkles her nose.

"Sounds like an interesting combination."

He cocks his head at her curiously. "In a good way or not?"

Ganymede's not...very fond of the idea of cold, crisp-tasting wine. It's just funny to him.

"Oh, I'm not sure if it's good or not," she says, "but I haven't tried it myself to get beyond 'interesting'."

"Would you like to?"

One slender shoulder juts upward slightly in a small shrug.

"Guess there's a first time for everything."

He flicks his head, enough to push the choppy bangs--that brush his cheekbones now--out of his eyes, and turns to one of the waitrats, asking quietly for a smaller glass.

Ganymede hands it up to her when he gets it, having settled onto his heels beside where she's sitting.

She eyes it, briefly, in the dim light given off by the crackling flames, and then takes a small sip.

"It's a little sweeter than what I'm used to," she admits, "but it's not half-bad."

He smiles lightly. "It is a common enough drink where I am from, though it is sweeter, there."

Sally turns the glass in her hand.

"And where are you from, exactly?"

"Originally, from Troy. I lived on Olympus until a few months ago. and now I live in California, in 1969."

"Troy."

Sally frowns, and then adds: "California I know, at least."

"Troy. I am...older than I look."

Sally chuckles at that.

"Aren't we all, sweetie."

Ganymede just smiles. "Some of us, yes. Are you immortal, as well?"

He's met more people here that are than anywhere else--presuming they aren't gods--and that's both a little amusing and a little comforting.

"God, no."

Sally takes another sip of wine.

"Though that hasn't stopped some people I know from acting like they're going to live forever."

"It isn't as exciting as it sounds, to most. To live forever," he says with a light smile.

"I'm sure it has its share of advantages," she murmurs.

"Oh, some," he says. "My lover and I are both...it is entertaining."

"Really?"

Sally hides a smirk behind her glass.

"So I'm guessing when you say you've tried everything, you've really tried everything."

He laughs. "He has, yes. Myself not so much. But Dorian is teaching me."

"Well, experience can come in handy that way," she says.

"And you, my lady? You said you are not immortal... Where are you from?"

"New York, at the moment," Sally answers. "But it's only 1940, there."

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