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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"You heard 'em, Bar - their on me tonight." He grins, idly picking up the cheak pre-paid in favor of the gutted higher end phone.

"Yogurt is very good food; tastes good, cheap, portable, high in protein and easy to eat when you spend long stretches of time sitting in the car." He chuckles slightly and turns the hybrid phone just enough to show his handiwork.

"Just upping the battery life and signal strength... And a little circuit upgrade." On a hot pink T-Mobile that looks like it's seen better days.

"Well, hell, you're selling me on it." She gives the phone a curious look, then arches an eyebrow at him. "For a friend?"

He doesn't exactly seem like a hot pink phone kind of guy.

She picks up the beer as it materializes, turning to say something else to Michael before realizing that Mary Margaret might not be totally familiar with the whole instantaneous-appearance-of-food thing the Bar's got going on.

"Don't be surprised!" she says, a little too late -- not like her upraised hand and spread fingers could stop anything.

She gives Mary Margaret a sheepish smile. "Uh, should probably have warned you, huh?"

Mary Margaret pulled her hands back so fast she nearly upended the cup, with it's perfectly circle of whip cream and rather extensive dusting of cinnamon. Blinking, as she looked over at Emma's sudden outburst.

Her shock seemed to wear a little for the ultimately awkward, apologetic expression on Emma's face. And she shook her head, smiling. "Yeah. A little more warning about randomly appearing things might have nice."

"Don't worry, Mary Margaret - I personally vouch for the safety of anything the Bar makes. Sometimes she's a little... Tricky... But usually you get what you want."

He sets the phone down and offers another slight smile, a sure sign he's about to tell a half-truth. "It's for a business associate of mine."

It's actually a listening device to be planted in the office of a jewel thief he's about to bust, but it's not exactly a lie.

That sheepish smile gets even more sheepish. "Sorry."

As for Michael...he's not lying, but he's not telling the truth, either, and a little frown pulls itself between her brows.

"You know, I'm pretty sure only hitmen use the term 'business associate.'"

Maybe not to that extent, but it's sure not all that common. She gives him another appraising look: clean-cut, well-dressed, nice but not too nice -- hard to pin down.

Private detective, maybe.

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

Mary Margaret shrugged, with a quiet smile, that it was fine. Because it was. Emma hadn't meant any foul by it. Simply forgotten. She tested the side of the cup with her fingertips, finding it warm instead of scalding.

Picking it up, she glanced over at Michael. "Tricky, how?"

Catching the frown first, Michael raises his eyebrows innocently. With obvious sincerity, he quietly replies; "I'm not a killer."

Every life he's taken has been with great personal loss and the knowledge there was no other choice. They were never innocent.

Swallowing hard, he licks his lips and turns his attention to Mary Margaret; "Oh... she thinks she's funny. Lets just say that you have to be careful what you ask for... she can take requests a bit literally."

Her own eyebrows lift in a mirror of his expression, then pull together for a brief moment of consideration before she relaxes and smiles.

"Nah. You're wearing the wrong color suit, for one thing."

The Bar gets a faintly suspicious look.

"Literal like how?"

Mary Margaret was content to listen to this part, glancing over past Emma to him as he continued to explain and she took a drink of her hot chocolate.

Which was surprisingly perfect. No one except Granny ever got the amount of cinnamon just right. And yet it was. Perfectly balanced.

He looks down at the polished surface and traces a finger over it; "Sometimes you get exactly what you wish for."

A slight smile turns his lips and he says; "And that could be problematic when orderings say... an Irish carbomb." Which Fiona would probably appreciate far more than most bar patrons.

"For the most part, she's a good bar. And, makes a decent pastry."

"Oof. Learned that one the hard way?"

She's really glad the Bar didn't decide to go literal with her bearclaw. That would've put her off donuts for good.

"Seems pretty reliable so far. Better than most tenders I've seen, that's for sure."

"That could problematic," Margaret agreed, considering the top of the bar, in front of her. "I guess we'll have to be careful what we order in the future."

Though it might be fun. It reminded her of some of the jokes her students might play.

"Mmm," Michael nodded agreement and dipped back into his yogurt; "usually it's safe - but I'd avoid anything too violent sounding."

"Anyway," he makes a show of licking the back of the spoon; "what brings you two out of small town America?"

"Combination of a lack of a back yard and a sense of curiosity," Emma tells him, kicking back a little and relaxing. "And so Mary Margaret won't think her new roommate is crazy."

She's pretty sure there was a moment there when that thought wasn't far from Mary Margaret's mind.

Tipping her beer at him in a small gesture, she grins crookedly. "And for company, of course. What's an afternoon without playing guessing games with a brand-new acquaintance at a bar? But we can't stick around too long."

They've both got work tomorrow and Milliways is probably best introduced in small doses.

Plus, Mary Margaret would really like to make sure her backyard comes back. It's the little things that make her would feel secure, you see. But she lets the thought go, for glancing at Emma.

"I didn't think you were crazy." Just...maybe as imaginative as her son. "But this place might deserve it." Then she blinked, catching her words. "I mean. Only in the best ways. Magically appearing hot chocolate and all." The blushing, it was happening. She could feel her face getting warm.

Michael chuckles under his breath offering them a slight shrug; "If it's any consolation it's pretty weird for everyone at first. I still don't think I'm used to having the end of the universe behind a door in the back of my favorite bar - but it's always here."

Briefly, he regards his water, and then the Frankenstein cellphone. "I'm not here long myself, as soon as I finish my project I've got to get to work myself."

"Gotta get your buddy their phone," she agrees, but pats her pocket with a smile.

"At least I know how to get a hold of you."

Mary Margaret nodded, with the flicker of a reluctant but grateful smile, to his words, and drank some more of her hot chocolate.

"Feel free to use it, I have a tendency to get messages that need to get through." Even across universes, stranger things have happened.

His eyes once more glance over Emma's curious friend, catching her concerned but obviously accepting nature. "You too, Mary Margaret. I'll be around if you need the cheap version of the tour."

He doesn't know even close to enough for the real thing.

It's nice to sit and just ... hang out for a little while. Michael's good company and Mary Margaret is sweet and she's got an actual apartment to go back to and and actual job to get ready for and really, aside from Regina, things aren't so bad, right now.

Either way, she likes being right where she is, right now, and it's a shame when she tips back her beer and finishes the last swallow and stands up to head back out.

"Guess that's that. See you around, Michael. Good luck with the job." She grins, slightly. "Let me know how your buddy likes their phone." To Mary Margaret: "Ready?"

"Yes," she said standing up, thinking about all the work for school she does actually need to do before sleeping. "Thank you for everything, Michael. I might take you up on that tour next time."

If there is a next time. This place, even for the passing time, really didn't seem possible sometimes. And the idea that it existed now, or would want her to come back again, was still rather too huge.

"Good night then, ladies." Michael offered one last thin smile before once more dragging out the components and his tape - he was in for an interesting night.

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