milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"Now, behave yourself," Epimetheus is saying to the gray squirrel perched on his shoulder as he enters the bar. "I know you've had your fur ruffled, but you need to abide by the local rules as long as we're here, understood?"

The squirrel chitters. (It looks even more nervous than squirrels usually do.)

"No violence, no sex, and no outside business, since you ask."

The squirrel squeaks and runs up his collar to perch on top of his head. Epimetheus snorts and heads for the bar to order a whiskey for himself and a bowl of sunflower seeds for his passenger.

"I know you're not a fan of fireworks, but there's no need for that kind of language."

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There's an older woman at the bar, raising her eyebrows at the squirrel in amusement.

The squirrel gives her a mad squirrel look and squeaks at her.

"Hey," says Epimetheus, rolling his eyes up in a vain attempt to look at the squirrel without moving his head, "what did I tell you about language?"

Her eyebrows rise another millimeter.

"You speak Squirrel?"

"Nope, but I'm a frigging genius at guessing."

:D?

"Really?" She glances at the squirrel. "How do you know?"

"I guess, obviously."

Hooray, circular logic?

Another amused snort. "Obviously."

To the squirrel: "Sorry I doubted you."

The flick of the squirrel's tail seems to say As well you should be.

Epimetheus grins at her. "Don't mind her. She's just in a bad mood. Didn't like the fireworks going off in her park."

"Ah. Hence the visit to somewhere ... well, I can't say quieter exactly."

"Yeah, quieter it ain't, but she's at least less likely to get singed."

"So that's an improvement," she says comfortably.

" ... I don't have a very good idea what squirrels eat, or I'd offers something. Seeds? Nuts?"

"Seeds, nuts, fruit, peanut butter . . . mostly these guys eat trash, but they're not really designed to eat cold fries and burger buns."

"I don't think anything is," she agrees, amused. "Bar, could I --"

Before she finishes the sentence, a bowl of shelled mixed nuts appears on the bar.

. . . The squirrel looks EXTREMELY suspicious.

"Oh, relax," Epimetheus says. "She looks like a perfectly nice lady, and Bar wouldn't serve you anything poisonous anyway."

The squirrel hesitates another moment, then scampers onto his shoulder, down his arm, and investigates the bowl of nuts. Epimetheus gives Cordelia an approving grin.

She grins back.

And waits until the squirrel's taken a few and retreated before reaching for a hazelnut.

"So why are there fireworks going off in her park?"

"Fourth of July -- American holiday. They celebrate their independence by blowing things up."

He imagines Zeus enjoys the whole thing.

"Doesn't everybody?" Wry. "Although last time I saw fireworks it was for the Emperor's Birthday."

"Celebrating by blowing things up does seem to be kind of a theme, you're right." He shrugs and adds airily, "I never really got the appeal."

I mean, yeah, explosions are kind of awesome, but why would you use them for celebration?

(He may be stretching the truth here a bit.)

"Really?" Her glance at him suggests she isn't sure whether he's joking or not. "I mean, there's nothing all that appealing about the noise and smoke, but the colored lights are nice..."

"Eh, I can go to a rave if I want to see colored lights."

She blinks. "To a what?"

"It's a thing." He waves a hand vaguely. "With music and dancing and light shows and drugs. All a little bit Bacchanalian."

"Ah. Sounds like fun." Cheerful. "Although I haven't done much dancing in a few years now."

"Yeah, me neither. The youngsters give me funny looks."

Whether this is because he's too old for them or because he's a terrible dancer is left up to the reader's imagination.

(The squirrel, having decided the nuts are safe, warily comes a few centimeters closer to Cordelia.)

Cordelia crunches another nut (this one a pecan), and edges the bowl a little closer to the squirrel.