milliways_bar | (no subject)

[OOM: If I could I would make you a raging river,
with angry rapids, supplied with rain,
so you could always meander
and forever be able to run away
without contending with myths wrongly interpreted, with pain.
A harsh wind.]

One of the odd (and sometimes quite nice) things about Milliways is that time works differently here.

So while it was only last night that Orpheus fled from the apparently terrifying prospect of dancing with someone he genuinely cared about, from the perspective of the bar, it's been about a week for him in Paris.

He's hardly eaten or showered since he left, and he's still slightly inebriated as he stumbles into the bar, reeking of cigarettes and alcohol. He seems surprised to find himself there, and stumbles into an empty table.

"Oops, sorry," he mutters, not looking to see who he might be apologizing to, and carries his guitar (fingers raw from playing for nearly a week straight) to the bar to get another drink.

The trouble with releasing your emotions in a torrent on the city of Paris is that it leaves you rather, well, drained.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Orpheus laughs quietly.

"Matzoh, hm?"

He still has his hand on Steve's chest, comforted by the touch.

"It's the cure for what ails ya, no matter what ails ya."

He tells Bar, "Matzo ball soup, please, ma'am."

[ooc: now with correct spelling!]

Orpheus smiles fondly. "You're so American."

[ooc: Hee. I didn't even notice!]

"It'd be weird if I were anything else."

He moves the bowl in front of Orpheus. "Can your hands manage the spoon?"

Yes, he is going to hover until Orpheus has eaten.

"I think so," Orpheus says, and he finds he doesn't mind the hovering.

He leans over the bowl as he eats, moving quite slowly despite the fact that his stomach almost immediately pipes in that it is most definitely hungry.

Steve orders a drink for himself so he's not just sitting there, watching Orpheus eat.

Though mostly he sits there and watches Orpheus eat.

Orpheus doesn't mind that so much either.

His fingers are a little stiff, and he occasionally has to put the spoon down to flex them, careful not to touch his fingertips to anything.

"Do you think you need the infirmary for those?" Steve asks quietly. "Or just time, and maybe some cold water?"

"Just time," I think.

He's not anxious to get back to the infirmary for anything.

"Okay."

Though he's trying to figure out how to bandage Orpheus's fingertips without reducing the use of his hands. He's not coming up with anything helpful.

He says, just to make conversation, "I met a friend of yours earlier. Urquart? You fed his dog, he said."

Orpheus looks up from his soup cautiously, not sure what Urquhart might have said.

"Big, blond, and Scottish?"

He has a type. ~~Possibly influenced by Apollo.~~

"Yes, that's him. He seemed like a decent guy."

Urquart didn't say much.

"Seemed like a decent guy to me too," Orpheus says, picking up his spoon again.

"I liked his dog."

"Was it an ordinary dog? I met a fella here who had an alien dog that was mostly eyes."

"Yeah, it was," Orpheus says, managing a soft huff of laughter at the thought of a dog that's all eyes.

Steve chuckles.

He studies Orpheus for a moment, then says quietly, "How are you doing? Really."

Orpheus has to think a moment before answering, and even then all he can come up with is, "Better now I've eaten."

Tentatively, Steve reaches over to caresses Orpheus's hair.

"Tell me what I can do for you."

Orpheus actually leans into the touch a little.

He isn't sure what Steve can do specifically, but he says after a moment, "I should probably shower."

Steve tries not to look ~~lustful~~ interested.

"Do you want company? I mean, help?"

Orpheus laughs dryly.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I think I do."

"Okay," says Steve, quietly pleased. Softly, "Good."

[ooc: OOM?]

"Yeah," Orpheus agrees. "It is."

[ooc: Sure! You want to set it up?]

[ooc: La!]