milliways_bar | (no subject)

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OOM: This is something she really can't handle before coffee.

"--is no way there is a bar in the backyard, Emma. Are you sure you haven't been spending too much time with Hen--"

The voice had drifted closer and closer until a young woman, with short black hair, appeared in the doorway, looking from over her shoulder to the wide expanse of the room in front of her.

"Emma," Mary Margaret hissed. A completely failed stage whisper. "There's a bar in my backyard."

[Two pups, two muns. One semi-new, one brand new.
Tiny Tags: Emma Swan, Mary Margaret Blanchard]

Sadly, we must call slows for sleep after this last round of tags. We might be back for an hour tomorrow night, but definitely on Wednesday night to pick right up where we left off. Thank you, one and all, for your very Once Upon A Warm Welcome. This night has been full of magic and delight.

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"Thank you," Mary Margaret said, sliding into a chair, and fixing her cardigan. Maybe more from a necessity to move than any need for it. "A lemonade?"

She hesitates, tips her head a little.

"Works for me, too."

Well, jeez, it's still only mid-afternoon. And she starts a new job tomorrow morning.

He looks around for a rat and says the order, "Now tell me what you know and what you'd like to know."

For a moment there's nothing. Like a rolling blank. Then the edges fill in with the same day to endless life she's always had. Work and sleep and her small closed in apartment.

All the things she knows, and everything here she doesn't.

"That's a pretty broad question."

"Give us the rundown," Emma suggests. "I mean, I heard the rules, but at the time I thought I was going nuts, so I didn't exactly absorb them, you know?"

Mary Margaret's sitting there neat and prim as ever and Emma feels kind of like a slouching teenager next to her; it's weird, but Mary Margaret just sort of has that effect on her.

"It is but Milliways covers quite a lot. I know that the Bar is sentient and reminds me of my Nanny except she provides liquor. The rules seem to be basically about not causing trouble for anyone else here; no outside business, no violence, no sex or nudity in the main bar,"

They do provide a fascinating contrast and Charles wonders about their stories.

There was so much.

"Sentient, how? Like it talks?"

Emma's stuck on a totally different part of the conversation.

"The bar reminds you of your Nanny?"

Seems like a bizarre kind of association to make, and she gives Charles (though the way he'd looked at her when she'd called him Chuck tempts her to do it again, just for the hell of it) a bemused look, forehead wrinkling.

"So, what, there's like an auxiliary bar?"

What? She didn't get the whole tour.

"She talks through napkins and she has a personality. Yes, she does as she's rather mothering. No, there's an outside and rooms upstairs,"

Emma's looks are quite like Raven's and Charles returns it with one of his own.

Random room takes over her backyard.
Has a bar that talks through napkins.

She volunteered at the hospital.
She knew what people would say.

"Does she have a name?"

He frowns at her and she frowns harder right back at him until Mary Margaret's question snaps her back into the conversation.

"Everyone I met before just called it 'Bar,'" she says, shrugging. "What else would you call a bar?"

Edited 2012-03-21 17:26 (UTC)

Charles has a small urge to stick out his tongue at Emma which he blames completely on Raven.

When they were younger, she'd usually stop giving him one of her stares if he did something silly.

That's not helpful at the moment and instead he lifts one eyebrow at Emma, "That's how she thinks of herself."

Mary Margaret shrugged slightly, a little pink, but not cowed. "It couldn't hurt to ask, it isn't like we go around calling each other 'person.'"

She can't even imagine what it would be like teaching children like that. It's already a handful even with overlapping names.

She lifts both right back at him.

Archie would no doubt tell her that making faces at a new acquaintance is childish, but that's never stopped her before.

Besides, it was a legitimate point, and a legitimate question, and when Mary Margaret's voice comes a little shy and acquiescing, she takes a deep breath and shoots a quick glance at her friend.

"You're the only person I know who would try to get the proper name for an inanimate object so you won't be rude by accident," she says, but it's not unkind. Even fond.

Mary Margaret's the only friend she's got, after all.

"I've heard her referred to as miss or lady Bar if that would be easier for you. She does answer to simply Bar as that's the identity she has for herself,"

Raven would probably tell Charles to stop flirting with his eyebrows and properly flirt with Emma. He also wasn't being flippant but explaining he's a telepath doesn't seem like a useful next step.

Edited 2012-03-21 23:56 (UTC)

Mary Margaret kind of likes 'Lady Bar,' if the only slip of this pleasure might be the way her smile brightens a little for Charles's answer after Emma's commentary on her just trying to be open minded.

She had to try, didn't she?

Emma leans back, stretches one long leg out in front of her.

"Seems like she's pretty eloquent with those napkins."

"I've found her to be so, she reminds me of my Nanny,"

Charles carefully shifts his legs out of her way.

A little perked up. "She talks through the napkins? What does she say?"

She gives him a crooked little grin. What? It's nice of him to make room. Maybe he's got manners along with that accent -- not that they've ever exactly mattered to her.

Of course he has manners, she was the one who called him a nickname that doesn't suit him at all.

He smiles back as he answers, "All sorts of things. She says hello to new people and talks to figure out what you'd like."

Though he doesn't speak with her that way, he skips that step.

Mary Margaret is resisting the overpowering urge to lay a land on Emma's wrist. It's not her place. Emma being an adult, but the urge was there. So strongly.

It was going to be that, or asking about excusing herself.

"I'll have to try that sometime."

There may not be a hand on her wrist, but that sense of disapproval is so strong that Emma feels like a scolded sixteen year old, and she shifts, uncomfortable, glancing at Mary Margaret before straightening up.

She was just getting comfortable, Mary Margaret.

"I'm pretty sure it -- uh, she -- read my mind once," she offers. She can be a useful part of the conversation, after all.

"Gave me a refill on my beer."

Charles takes a drink as he looks between them, he didn't think he was flirting that obviously. After all he's not doing any of his normal lines which would get a definite eye roll from Raven,

"Yes, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd done that. She's done the same to me. You said you're from Maine, I think. I grew up just north of New York City."

A she, who talked in napkins, and read your mind. It wasn't possible she fell asleep and dreamed all of this, right? Some combination of popcorn, soda, Emma, and Henry?

"Yes. Storybrooke, Maine."