milliways_bar | (no subject)

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That thunderstorm the other day had kept Sunshine indoors - she'd brought out the big guns, so to speak, and cleaned her rooms to chase away the blues.

Today, though, has been gloriously bright. And Rae isn't one to miss an opportunity.

So there is a baker, in an tangerine-hued tank-top and deep purple jean shorts, flopped unceremoniously on a large rock at the edge of the lake, seeing to the very serious business of soaking in the sunlight.

It's clearly occupying all of her concentration. That, or she's fallen asleep.

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"Will Scarlett? Yey high, scar on his face, bright red hair, adorable?"

"...Can't say I've met him," she says, still rather green about the gills. So to speak.

"For the record, he's not a cannibal, right?" Just to make sure. One never really knows, in Milliways.

"No, no, he's not."

"Good to know," Rae replies. "The vampires are bad enough without adding cannibalism to the mix."

"Vampires?"

"Yeah," she nods, wondering with a twinge of jealousy if this lying glitter-guy comes from one of those lucky worlds without them.

"You know, vampires? They're super-strong, super-fast, nocturnal, drink blood, pretty reliably go up in flames if exposed to sunlight?"

"Not ringing a bell," Atton shrugs.

"Lucky you," she says, dry.

"Yay!" Atton beams. "They sound very friendly and cuddly."

"You'd think that, from their description, wouldn't you?" There's a faint, wry upturning at the corners of her mouth.

"So, it may come as a surprise to find out they're really not."

Though all the scars that grace her arms, shoulders, neck and upper chest might give the surprise away.

Edited 2012-08-09 03:00 (UTC)

"I dunno about that, they sound like they'd fit in just fine on my world," Atton says thoughtfully. "And my world was the cuddliest place."

"Tell me about it," she says, curious, as she leans back on her hands.

"Binary star system, only inhabitable planet in the system. Heavy light-and-heat absorbing cloud layer means that the sunlight never gets through - but there's alternating warm seasons, where the sky is dark, and cold seasons, where the sky glows in just about every possible colour, of between five and fifty years," Atton says.

"Wildlife is either calorvorous or carnivorous - the human colonists are pretty much at the bottom of the food chain. But it's interesting wildlife, at least. We have monster crows, which can pick up a child's crying from ten kilometres away and snatch it away to feed its chicks; snow wraiths, which are telepathic swarms of calorvorous insects that suck the heat from people; Kazic wolves, er, huge wolves," Atton gestures with his hands, having to move a little to do so. He mimes out a length of about seven or eight feet, "with prehensile, razor-bladed tails - they were my clan's emblem. The Old Things, but unless you're a miner you're not likely to ever see one. They're all in hibernation at the moment, way, way beneath the ground.

"Territory is divided up between the clans. There are about twenty-six in total, but they're mostly indentured to the three biggest," he says. "Or they were. We were orbitally bombed about fifteen years ago, civilisation hasn't really built itself back up. I've not been back properly for a while."

.... She is left staring.

"I feel I should offer you a drink." And full membership in the Our Worlds Are Horrible; Don't Come Here club.

"But I was going to swim," plaintively, "or wash, I hadn't decided yet."

"And I have no drinks with me to offer," she says with a faint smile, holding her empty hands out.

Atton's expression could probably best be described as 'indecisive labrador.'

"So difficult."

The smile grows slightly, though she'd be lying (poorly) if she said the mental image of Atton's world hadn't shaken her.

"Go swim. Or wash, or whatever," Rae says, getting to her feet. A light, iridescent dusting of glitter flutters down onto the rock as she stands. "There'll be drinks by the time you get back. What would you like?"

"Rum," Atton says immediately, squirming out of his t-shirt, "s'a good drink. From Earth, I think. Spicy."

"I'm familiar with it - it's a good choice," she grins. "I sometimes use it in my baking."

"You bake?" Atton asks, squinting at her.

"Yeah," she replies with a grin. "I've been Head Baker at my step-father's coffeehouse for nearly a decade, and I've been selling my baked goods here every so often to pay for my tab for the last few years as well."

Atton considers this thoughtfully while attending to his jeans. "I don't think I've ever actually met a baker. Eaten a lot of baked goods, but generally from Bar."

"Then you're in for a treat," she smiles.

Because there are a few cinnamon rolls-as-big-as-your-head left from this morning, and she's pretty generous when it comes to giving potential customers free samples. Her cinnamon rolls by general consensus are extremely localized miracles, at least to judge by the usual reaction to them.

"I do like treats," Atton says gravely. "Do I have to do anything for it, or ... ?"

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