milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

coyote,
puck

(no subject)

Coyote is sitting at a table, reading the Phoenix New Times.

Buried somewhere in in the back pages is an update on the massive dust storm that swept through Phoenix and Southeastern Arizona some time ago.

Some of those dwelling in the desert to the East have apparently reported the lingering scent of skunk, after the storm passed.

With one elbow on the table, and her chin in her hand, Coyote is staring at said article with raised eyebrows.

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It is now officially time to panic.

It's been days, and fair though he feels this form to be, it's a static one. It's a mortal one.

"You," he informs Coyote, very surly.

"Have aught that I am owed."

"You could have fixed that at any time, by ordering a milkshake on my tab. I do not shirk my payments when I lose a bet."

Not when the price is a milkshake, for the hilarity of seeing Puck try not to talk. Worth it.

"Yes," Puck agrees, although what? He could have?

He should try ordering things on other people's tabs all the time and see if any of it sticks.

"But then I should not have had the distinct pleasure of speaking on the matter with you."

She finally deigns to look up at him. Her eyebrows raise even more, if that were possible.

"And is it? A pleasure, I mean."

Puck's eyes narrow.

"After these years of amiable acquaintance, how could it be otherwise?"

"Well, you are very changeable," Coyote says, conciliatory. "And so am I. But if you say it is, I am assured."

You know, wrathful fairy kings and impregnation via Endless and the devil himself have yet to make Puck cry.

But Coyote might be juuuuuust about to manage it.

For the moment, Puck lets out a noise too low to be a laugh but slightly too contemptuous to be a growl.

Edited 2012-07-25 04:28 (UTC)

"Don't worry baby," Coyote croons. "You are still pretty."

DOES SHE KNOW?

IS SHE MAKING FUN OF HIM?

Puck doesn't know what to do when he has this many feelings and no way of turning anything into a newt!

(He resolves this by hurling a glass at her.)

Thankfully, she has fast reflexes. She ducks, and the glass explodes on the floor behind her.

"You had better hope you are not around when those creepy janitor things show up."

Coyote lights a cigarette and takes a drag. "You are a little uptight, Puck. What is your major malfunction?"

Puck sniffs. "I do not fear them."

COME AT HIM, BROS.

It is also entirely possible that while Coyote's tone is very familiar, her specific words have never been spoken to him before.

"Seriously. What is your problem."

This time it isn't a question. He has many problems! He may feel free to expound upon them.

Puck scowls.

"All I wish is a milkshake," and a few Havelock-adjacent events that we cannot describe in full here due to FCC regulations. "I have done with this place for the present, or would that I could."

Coyote folds up her newspaper, gets up, and walks over to the bar.

When she comes back, she hands Puck a milkshake. It is in a glass with scalloped edges. There is condensation dripping off the sides. There is whipped cream, sprinkles, and a cherry on top. It is the acme of milkshakes.

"How now, brown cow?"

Puck blinks.

Then he reaches out gingerly to pluck the milkshake from her hand. (He also suppresses a moment's dread that she is asking him to transform either himself or the confection into a brown cow.)

Puck's tongue flicks out, catching a bit of whipped cream flecked with sprinkles.

"... Thank you."

"Why, good Puck, do you not take a field trip, if you are so tired of Milliways and its environs?"

Coyote leans on her hand again.

His lips quirk.

"I have been on a very long one. Did I not tell you?"

(Lick. Lick.

Slurrrp.)

"Why, no! Havelock did mention you were with him when all the unpleasantness occurred. But I did not know it was an extended trip."

Do tell.

"His extended trip," Puck corrects, between slurps.

It is much less convenient without the option of a reptilian tongue.

"'Tis a custom, among those of his station, to travel about among their neighboring lands-- the better to see how they are better off than their neighbors."

"I'm familiar with the general idea. It seems reasonable enough, especially for someone of his stature and profession."

Know your future targets!

"Why did you go along?" Besides of course, that Puck lurves him and they are in lurve.

He makes a face.

"I was hardly going to bide in the city."

"...no, I mean, why were you on his world for that long?"

"I was--"

Puck sips his milkshake during the dramatic pause that ensues.

"And am, aiding him in his endeavors to one day rule the city." His nose wrinkles. "I must say, I haven't any head at all for politics, or else Havelock has rather too much of one. For where all I see is dullness and mortal want-for-wits, he clearly perceives at least something of importance."

"Politics are how humans get power, Puck."

Coyote shoots him an unimpressed look. "And you have exactly the head for it. Faerie politics are worse than anything any human could make up. And you survived that, didn't you?"

With a little help from his friends.

"Barely," Puck drawls.

"You forget, madam, that when it came to't, I did naught but fly here."

"Well, anyone can get tired of toadying eventually," she says, sharp teeth glinting in a grin. "But you did pretty well for yourself for a while. How many hundred years, was it? Time in Faerie always confuses me."

"I did not think to count them, while they were."

He expects to be tense, and grin back with too many teeth, but instead he just feels rather small.

He wonders if this is what it's like to feel mortal.

(Then again, the word toadying gets his hackles up rather. That cheers him.)

"And at any rate," he says, "as he was ever quick to remind me, 'twas not my own merit but his good offices that kept breath in my body and life in my limbs."

"That is because he was full of nothing but shit in the end."

Coyote shrugs.

"I was not trying to make it a pissing match, really, though you do make it easy. I don't underestimate you. You are smarter than you want to seem. All right?"

Puck simply slurps on his victory shake in a desultory manner.

"Very well."

"I give you a compliment and you are still sulking? I thought it was a delight and a pleasure to speak with me."

"Oh, my sweet," he says with a sigh.

"I assure you: 'tis both."

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