milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Edward walked in casually, and toward the bar not too unconventionally for habit. At the bar, he simply cleared his throat, removing something from where it had rested inside the front breast pocket of his long grey, and black accented, pea coat.

He laid it on the bar, with only "I'm certain you know what to do with this."

There is a relatively slim volume, wrapped in brown pack paper and tied in beige cord, with a folded paper beneath two, sideways, bearing the simple inscription Mrs. Reynolds.

I don't believe that you are missing this,
but I do think, perhaps, you might enjoy it.
Consider it something borne of both our pasts
being given a possible future.

Edward

That done, he left the bar and in walking across the room was sidetracked by the piano. When had he last played that was not at Bella's behest since Volterra and James?

Edward reached out and ran a finger in a small scale on the end closest to him.

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"You know what's funny? I don't even know that whole poem. Mike just likes to say the first line like I know the joke it means."

"Ribald limericks." Beat.

He glanced over, chagrined bemusement from golden eyes fringed black. "Almost as old as I am."

"Clearly the dust mites pale in comparison to your bounteous age, Mister Cullen," Sallie snickers, trying to be boisterous and cracking wise.

Edward doesn't mind too much.

"One of the first ones went along the lines of;

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.

But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man

And as for the bucket, Nantucket."

But of course, as says the curl of his lips. That one obvious isn't ribald. It's just a literary motif and a play on words.

"But there's no way Mike would find somethin' that tame funny."

Edward chose a middle scale.
His lips curled toward something like a wry smirk.
Tapping a very juvenile single note set with one finger.

His voice really shouldn't allowed to be velvety,
Nor for the golden seventeen to never change;

There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose dick was so long he could suck it.
And he said with a grin
As he wiped off his chin,
"If my ear were a cunt I'd fuck it."

Somewhere at the opposite end of the bar, Carlisle snaps a pen in half trying to keep back a hysterical bout of laughter.

Sallie doesn't notice or overhear over her own chittering laugh.

"That is supremely awful."

Whereas Edward hears even the spring in the pen which groans and then breaks. The individual pieces of plastic splintering. The riot of differing amusements (and reason for it) from both of them.

Edward only tilted his head, with something like a shrug.

"The very reason it's referenced as the poetry people know."

"Lowest common denominator?"

Edward's thought on it is far more pointed.

"In education, understanding and taste."

"Not all of us can be connoisseurs like one Mr. Cullen.'

Edward half rolled his eyes, gaze never shooting much further up than the shadowy under-bronze of his far too long bangs. Ending it with a glance toward her that was something smug and teasing.

"At least you've started well."

"Never too late for an old dog. Or some such poetry."

On that note.

"Thank you again. For the book. You didn't have to."

Edward nodded, while looking back to the piano.

There really wasn't much more to say about that one.

So he reached out his hands flat again and start to play.

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