milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

It's the day before Christmas Eve and the Bennet household is in a flurry of preparation for the twelve days of celebration that will soon be upon them. The kitchen is full of the makings for pudding, mincemeat pies, and gingerbread. The men are out in the woods procuring a Yule log. And the girls are in charge of gathering and arranging the greenery for the house.

The Milliways door obligingly swings open ahead of a cloaked figure whose upper half is hidden behind an armful of holly and evergreen.

A peevish voice issues from behind the branches.

"Kitty!" Mary is walking with the assurance of someone who is certain she is in her own entryway. "Come back here and take some of these! I can't see where I'm going."

Other patrons may want to shout, dodge, or prepare for a Christmasy collision.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Perhaps compression of her burden will help clear her field of view!

Raven seems determined to try this, at least, as he drops from the rafters and lands -- very solidly -- on the greenery.

Hopefully his feathers are not in the way.

"Ooooh!"

Now, Mary has an armful of branches springing with the weight of a large bird.

"This isn't a perch! Go away!"

No, this is very much not the entry way of Longbourn.

Mother would not tolerate crows in the house, for one.

"It is, I think, as much a perch as a tree. So."

Raven will not be moved.

Well, not any more than physics demands.

And sometimes not even that much.

Mary is tired, quickly becoming overly warm in her cloak now that she is not in England in late December, and one of these sticks is poking her in the chest rather painfully.

She takes another few steps and drops the armload of branches onto a table, scattering holly leaves and pine needles.

The bird, she trusts, can fend for itself.

(It generally seems to have no trouble in that regard, no matter what its form. For Mary knows that voice.)

"I think branches cease to be trees when they're cut and no longer attached to something rooted in the ground."

Raven does not squawk.

Much.

He does, however, transfer himself from the bundle of greenery to Mary's shoulder with barely a pause.

Fortunately, he does not say anything about 'pieces of eight'. Nor does he go for the eyes.

"You, perhaps, are not so much lacking roots. Or possibly that is gravity, yes?"

Still.

Mary strips off her gloves.

It's too warm for them (and if the bird were to go for the eyes, she'd now have something to beat it off with).

"I think you just want to liken me to a tree so that you have some excuse to sit on me."

She does manage to undo and pull off her bonnet with the bird on her shoulder.

"As for gravity, I rather hope I can say that I have claim to some."

Grave people are taken seriously.

Raven would wrinkle his nose, if he had a nose.

As he only has a beak, instead he ruffles his feathers, puffing them up and then smoothing them back down quickly.

It is almost the same thing. Maybe.

"Gravity is mostly boring, yes? Unless you are for being very old. Or possibly it is a thing people are not so much expecting."

Or --

"But you, I am thinking, are not so bad a tree."

She's comfy, even! It is high praise.

Mary turns her head enough to give the bird a somewhat tolerant look.

"Oh, indeed?"

"And what manner of tree am I, may I ask?"

He looks at her first out of his left eye, then his right.

Each gesture is accompanied by a very awkward-looking head-tilt.

People expect those.

So.

"Possibly yew, yes?"

What?

"Well, at least it's English. And something I'm familiar with."

There's sure to be some in the Christmas greenery, though Mary's not sure there's any in her bundle.

"Though I believe the pagans had some funny ideas about it."

Raven snorts.

Loudly.

"People are for having funny ideas about everything, I am thinking. It is not so much a surprise."

"Some funnier than others."

And the ancient pagans had some very funny ideas indeed. Worshiping trees and the like.

"I'm sure you must have funny ideas, too."

Just given Raven's usual behavior.

Raven would beam, if he could.

Instead he caws cheerfully.

It is kind of like a laugh.

"That, I think, is a thing I am very good at. Also there is glitter, so."

Glitter is hilarious.

Ask anyone.

"Birds can't carry your glitter."

Mary sounds quite smug.

"How long do you intend to perch there, might I ask?"

Raven in no way looks shifty.

He does, however, ruffle his feathers again.

Where did all that silver glitter come from?

Who knows.

But at least it's festive!

And there he is back in the rafters again.

It is a Christmas miracle. Or something.

No doubt the Apostle Luke simply forgot to include the bit about the raven in the rafters of the stable who rained glitter down into the manger.

Mary swipes at the glitter. A good bit has landed on her cloak and in her hair.

"Do you have any idea how difficult this is to get rid of?" She aims the question at the rafters.

The stuff is insidious. Really.

Okay, now Raven looks shifty.

A little.

"That, I am thinking, is possibly for being the point."

Except where it isn't.

On occasion.

"The point being you wish me to have to go home looking as if I've been gilded?"

Mary eyes her hand which is fairly coated with silver sparkles.

"You know, I try to keep Milliways a strict secret at home. And Milliways occasionally seems to try with all its might to undermine me."

Well, she should at least be able to brush most of the glitter off. Or make use of the shower upstairs in her room.

Raven snorts again.

Even more loudly.

It is quite a feat for so small a bird.

"There is also, perhaps, the possibility of sharing. It will not so much be expected."

Go on a stealth-hugging spree, Mary.

It is a brilliant idea.

And then be conveyed directly to a madhouse! It will be a memorable Christmas indeed.

"I can't share." Any more than she's already done. "People at home would think I was crazy if I tried to tell them about Milliways."

"And believe me, the fate of the mad is not a pleasant thing where I am from."

Again with the snorting.

Raven's nasal passages will not be happy with him after this.

"Glitter, I am thinking, is not so difficult to share. Here possibly better than at home, yes?"

He caws out another rough laugh.

"And if you are for sharing, you will be for having less to remove later. So."

A win for all parties!

"And madness, I think, is not so bad."

Look at how well it works for him!

"I'm not sure birds are supposed to snort like that."

He does seem fond of the noise.

"Share the glitter here? That's a solution of sorts, I suppose."

No hugging. But Mary does manage to pinch enough off of her cloak to attempt to flick it upward in the bird's direction. It doesn't even come close to hitting the mark, but it was a largely symbolic gesture anyway.

"And yet what would you do if everyone were mad? Would you be sane just to be contrary?"

Raven appreciates symbolic gestures.

On occasion.

Maybe Mary will see evidence of this later!

In the meantime --

"That, I think, is not so much what I am for."

Plus sanity is overrated.

And boring.

"You've been barnapped," says someone who doesn't sound at all like Ako.

And also sounds nothing at all like Kitty. Or Lizzie or Lydia. Or Mother or Father or any of the servants.

The bundle of branches shifts a bit until Mary has a gap to see through.

"Naturally," she sighs.

Mary steps to the side and drops the greenery on the closest empty table.

A fair number of holly leaves and pine needles cascade to the floor.

The needles make an interesting contrast to the lego brick of the surface and mechano braces that hold it up.

The unfortunately barefoot brunette frowns at the holly and needles.

"Happy Cubefall?"

"Merry Christmas," Mary replies, automatically.

................wait.

"What's Cubefall?"

And what is the reason for all of the blocks she sees scattered about?

"Robot holiday from a different planet than Earth."

Sorry Mary. The universe is making even less sense than usual for a few days.

And in Milliways, that takes some doing.

Mary is loosening her bonnet and cloak. It's rather warm in here compared to an English December.

"In that case, Happy Cubefall," she says.

"What does it celebrate, exactly? Cubefall?"

"You play with the toys, throw things you don't need or want anymore into the furnace and maybe choose a different body for a while."

"Choose? A different.....?"

What?

"Body?"

"Only if you want to. You should be able to get a pop up screen with your choices."

Mary just stares.

"Thank you, but I fear I must decline. I'm...really quite comfortable in my own body."

Never more so than at this very moment.

"I can't imagine who would be so reckless as to attempt such a thing."

"It's one of the best parts of the holiday and it's good practice for the less polite one. Like Halloween."

"But..."

Mary lowers her voice ominously.

"Imagine if you couldn't ever change back."

"I remember Halloween. Bar dressed me as something very strange. An astronaut, at least that's what someone told me."

"But those were just clothes. I could always change them."

"I won't say people haven't been change permanently but you have to choose to keep the new body deliberately and before the holiday ends."

"I'm going to be changing back. No one would recognize me at school like this."

And being a robot has a bunch of other potential issues, especially when your source of spares wouldn't be reliable.

Edited 2012-05-31 04:13 (UTC)

"Change back? You're usually someone else, then?"

Mary wonders if it's someone she knows. That might be embarrassing.

What is Milliways for if not for new and exciting embarrassments.

"I'm always me, this just isn't my regular body."

Somewhere around the fifth shape change and the body swap with a combat droid you have to think like that, or you'll go truly insane.

"Who is your regular body? If you don't mind my asking?"

It's Milliways. Mary's not sure she'd even want to try to hazard a guess.

"You don't want to try guessing?"

That's more than half the fun Mary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only