milliways_bar | (no subject)

Epimetheus has settled into a table. Feet up on the opposite chair? Check. Whiskey on the table? Check. Guitar in his lap? Check.

A certain un-invitation propped up on the table next to the whiskey, making him snicker every time he glances at it?

Double check.

Nita also has a table and a drink, but in her case it's a pot of strong black tea. Her manual is open on the table; it's projecting, in silvery-blue lines, a 3D map of what looks like a series of mountain ranges and canyons. Nita is frowning in concentration -- and a little bemusement -- as the projection slowly pans along a particularly stark set of conical mountains.

And last but not least, Carmela has laid claim to a stool at the Bar and ordered a drink that is bright purple, sparkly, and heavily frothed at the top.

She does have a tablet with her that's currently displaying a celebrity gossip website (the text is in no earthly language, but there's something about the formatting that's unmistakably reminiscent of Gawker, and it's just possible that one of the pictures in the article is of a much-loved British actor with great cheekbones). That's just there if she gets bored of people watching, though, and really, what are the odds of that?

[ooc: NaNoWriMo is over! Rejoice with me! Open 'till it scrolls, slowtimes are my favorite thing ever.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah, Epimetheus has probably spent more time in metaphorical doghouses than Orpheus.

Maybe literal ones, too.

"What happened?"

He shrugs. "Apparently I'm a smug, miserable, snide, little man."

"Ain't we all."

"She also doesn't like my face..."

Epimetheus squints at him skeptically.

"Whhhy not, exactly?"

Perfectly nice face! Guy's half-muse, he ought to be good looking.

"No idea. Most people like my face."

His healthy ego doesn't only extend to his music.

"Huh."

He shakes his head.

"Sorry to hear that, man. But hey, at least you've still got all the appropriate limbs and no extra ones. Most guys who tick off goddesses don't get so lucky."

"I spent a day or two as a sea cucumber," Orpheus admits.

". . . You what."

"She put me in the water," Orpheus says, nodding to the trilobyte tank.

"Actually, it was kind of relaxing until I turned back and I was still in the tank."

Epimetheus considers several responses to this, discards them, and settles on, "Yes, that would be awkward."

"It could have been worse."

"No fucking shit."