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Some people fiddle while Rome burns.

Ava Wilson drinks coffee.

Fyarlbucks, to be precise-- with Bar kind of on the fritz, or so she hears, she thought it best to bring her own. Outside is a huge mess, so she's hanging out by the Observation Window, under a stable or at least stable-looking quadrant of roof, to info-gather while the gathering's good.

(Unrelated to current doom, her cami reveals a pink discoloration running around her shoulders, as if she has been recently lasso'd by Wonder Woman and it left a rope burn.

It's actually mostly healed. She's just kinda pale.)

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"It is wise of you to bring your own," Urquhart says, walking up to her.

"That's what I hear," Ava says, lips quirking unhappily.

"Long time no see. What is going on around here?"

"Apocalypse," Urquhart says. "Or several of them at the same time, I gather."

She brightens.

"Ooh! I missed the last one."

By dying.

Goddamn Jake Talley, she hopes she sees that guy in hell.

... Not that she's in a hurry to go to hell.

"Yes, it seems these are a regular occurrence," Urquhart says. "However, they tend to be unpleasant. Those of us who are dead have nowhere to go. I never thought I'd find myself in the same boat as that Ostrogoth."

Ava makes a face.

She herself has two places to go, but neither of them appeal as forever type options.

"I guess the real question is why it didn't happen sooner. Like, did this ever seem like a stable business model to you?"

"I guess this is soon, in a more geological time scale," Urquhart says. "But you must admit it was good while it lasted."

Ava sighs, sipping her tarlike demon coffee.

"It was awesome."

Beat.

"Wanna sit? I guess drinking would be a more appropriate response to all this, but it's before five for me."

Urquhart smiles, and sits down. "I guess the end of the world will mean that people will want to go out with a bang," he says, "and I'm hoping to provide some of them with a memorable last lay before oblivion. But drinks is a good option as well."

He orders whiskey from a waitrat, which comes with a bottle of MacAbre and two glasses at record speed.

"Want some?"

She snorts.

"Dude, that is a terrible pun."

Pause.

"Yeah, thanks." It might be before five, but coffee and alcohol is like a classy breakfast food.

Rrrright?

"Sex, drinks, and terrible puns, then," Urquhart says, pouring her a glass of whiskey.

It is the best whiskey from the Discworld. If their days are numbered, there is no point in drinking anything except the very best drink.

Go out with a bang, indeed.

Edited 2012-02-17 22:15 (UTC)

Ava wrinkles her nose.

"I'll stick with the drinks."

In fact, she eyeballs her glass, eyeballs her paper Fyarlbucks cup ...

And takes a sip of coffee followed by one of whiskey.

"... That aftertaste works a lot better for me."

"I wasn't suggesting it the other way around," Urquhart says. "In fact, in view of the coming apocalypse, I'd recommend ditching the coffee altogether."

"... Really, why?"

"Now more than ever," Urquhart says, "there is no point in eating or drinking anything that doesn't give you immediate fun."

"Caffeine is fun!" Ava protests.

"It's like, situational awareness in a cup."

"Depends on what you are planning to do," Urquhart says. "Situational awareness is good on a job, but not when the world is ending and you can't do anything. That'll only get you more trauma to work on in your next afterlife."

She snorts.

"No worries, buddy. I have my next afterlife all lined up."

MORE WHISKEY.

(MORE COFFEE.)

"Yes?" Urquhart says. "Tell me about it."

Another afterlife? Somewhere to escape to?

"... I wasn't being totally serious," Ava admits ruefully.

"It's basically hell."

"Anything to do with the devil who comes here?" Urquhart asks.

She considers.

"Unlikely." Knock wood! "I mean, I don't know which version is 'mine,' or anything ...? I don't know, maybe they wouldn't know me. But most demons from my world do. They're gossipy bitches."

"A pretty lady devil," Urquhart says.

Who happens to hate his guts, because of Teja, whom she's oddly smitten with.

"No, no, I figured there was a chance you meant that one."

Ava shrugs.

"All she's ever done is offer me gift baskets."

Huh. How weird.

"She hates me, because of the Goth and all that. She adores the Goth."