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[changeinasnap]

So first the gates of Hell open.

Then the Weekly World News shuts down.

Then it turns out the Winchester brothers, Señor Muttonhead and Muttonhead Junior, are the ones responsible for bullet point A up there?

Man, this is the worst fall ever.

Sulking, he scoops up a bite of waffle -- okay, more like a tiny island of cooked dough in an Atlantic-sized sea of maple syrup -- and eyes Milliways at large. Maybe he should tie a couple of metaphorical shoelaces together or something. Pranks always make him feel better.

(Hey, don't judge. He's a trickster. He's allowed!)



[OOC: as per usual, slowtimes are highly likely, but! Post is open until it scrolls.]

Comments

[morethanprops]

(OOC: I may fall over early due to feeling not so good, but I really wanted to tag.)

Moist might be considered a likely target, he's sitting at a table in his elegant three-piece suit and working on something.

Crafting letters that make you seem a respectable investor takes time and effort so his jacket is hanging off the back of his chair.

[changeinasnap]

[OOC: Eeep! No worries at all; hope you feel better soon, hon.]

Hey, if nothing else, it gets Moist a second, interested look as he slices off another chunk of soaked waffle with the side of his fork.

It's the suit. The suits always give it away. It's like kicking your way through a rare flock of penguins that like to peck small kittens to death in their spare time.




Maaaaaybe he exaggerates a little. But his point remains!

[morethanprops]

It is a well chosen suit with a few surprises sewn into his lining, Moist always likes to be prepared.

The current stationery is given a final look and he blows on it to dry, that should do.

[changeinasnap]

One sleeve of his jacket lifts up and taps him on the shoulder.

[morethanprops]

Moist turns towards the tap and instinctively covers over the paper he's working on with one hand.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck is really not at all sure how he feels about the fact that apparently, he is not supposed to burn, drown, shred, or otherwise destroy Havelock's books.

The option of talking to Havelock about it is momentarily bested by the option of ogling this fellow's syrup.

(From a safe distance down the Bar. He doesn't exactly need to call more attention to himself at this point.)

[changeinasnap]

It's very tasty syrup, judging by the way he's wolfing it down.

(Albeit still with that sulky air. Come on, The Weekly World News has been around for decades! It's an institution!

...oh yeah and lots of demons flooding the world Sam and Dean are being morons again blah blah blah.)

When he catches sight of the guy, he quirks an eyebrow as if to say, yeees?

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Once upon a time, Will Parry and Kirjava told him he stood out in a crowd.

He has always accepted they are wiser than he.

Puck quirks an eyebrow in return, not quite imitative, and smiles pleasantly.

[changeinasnap]

"What, have I got syrup on my face?"

(He doesn't.)

[howling_laugh]

Someone is staring at him from a few bar stools down.

A someone who has a rather perplexed expression on her face.

[changeinasnap]

Nom, nom, nom, goes the guy with the waffles.



"What?" he asks a couple beats later, from around a mouthful of food. "They're good. You've ever had Bar's waffles?"

[howling_laugh]

"Not with that much sugar," Coyote says, sounding a little absent. "Too sweet."

There's something off, here...

[changeinasnap]

"Too sweet?"

He is shocked, shocked by that declaration.

"No such thing." He waves his fork around, a few drops of syrup threatening to stretch down from the tines. "Sugar's -- okay, not the finest, but it's up there in the top five pleasures in life."

(On his end, it's not so much 'off' as 'curious with maybe a tiny side of worrisome.' He knows his fair share of gods; not her, though, and either that's because they haven't been properly introduced or because he's been deliberately avoiding her kind.)

[smallestopener]

Ingress and Gavroche sneaked under a table and tied Indy and Raph's shoelaces together once. She would empathize with the Trickster's pain, if only she knew it.

Instead she traipses along with a squid hand puppet on her arm. It was a present.

It's pretty fabulous.

[changeinasnap]

It is! It's entirely possible he wishes he had a puppet like that.

"Nice squid," he calls to her from around a mouthful of waffle.

[smallestopener]

"Oh, thanks," she says, turning around. She waggles the tentacles and makes the mouth flap a high-pitched, "Thanks, mister!"

Ingress is great with fighting. With throwing her voice? Not so much.

[changeinasnap]

Okay, so sue him, maybe his soft spot for kids extends a little ways beyond Anna Milton.

Or maybe she just reminds him of Anna a little. Whichever.

Twirling his fork in an imitation of a bow, "It's my pleasure, kiddo. What's your name?"

[sidhe_king]

Fin is watching this contemplative waffle-eating from a couch--not his customary perch up in the rafters.

He's finding less people jump when something appears beside them rather than above them. It may not be a permanent strategy, but it's certainly one he'll use to break the monotony.

[changeinasnap]

For all the world, it seems like he's completely absorbed in the task of eating those waffles. It's like lives are hanging in the balance, and the only way they can be saved is through the consumption of refined sugar and bread products.



"You know," he points out -- cheerful, but not friendly -- "it's not polite to stare."

[sidhe_king]

"Aye, I've been told," he affirms.

Doesn't make him stop staring; in fact, he just grins. (Finvarra knows how to put on the act of being entirely absorbed in something when you're not; it so often startles the humans, which makes him laugh.)

[changeinasnap]

"Is it the syrup?"

He looks up.

"I'm telling you, nobody has a good solid appreciation for syrup around this joint. I had to send this back twice before I got enough of it on there."

Nicely, because this was Bar's cooking and (a) she does make a mean waffle and (b) he knows it's well worth it to stay on her good side.

[ellectrical]

Elle's leaning over the back of a nearby chair, arms folded over its top and her head resting into them, idly watching the guy's progress with his large plate of maple syrup.

Her expression hits short of open curiosity, mostly similar to that of one watching a dimly interesting television show.

[changeinasnap]

Pretty soon he's going to have to start using a spoon, from the looks of it.

For now, though? The fork's working just fine.

He swishes a tiny fragment of waffle through the puddles of syrup, pops it into his mouth, and closes his eyes in pure bliss. Yeah, it's not as good as a well-timed prank, but it runs a pretty close second.

[ellectrical]

Elle dimly thinks this is an inefficient way of eating the syrup.

But it's not likely she's exactly known for consuming food efficiently.



"Bar'll probably give you bigger waffles," she points out.

(But it can't be said she sounds like she has a very strong opinion on this.)

[changeinasnap]

With mock horror: "And dilute my syrup? Naaaaah."

(Somebody's gotta have a strong opinion on the subject around here.)

He points to the plate. "This? This is the perfect breakfast right here." Beat. "Or dinner. Maybe lunch too."