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

>:O

"I object to the implication that I copied dinosaurs. I spent a lot of time on birds!"

"...uh...whut?"

. . . Epimetheus looks slightly shifty.

"Oh. Uh. Did I not mention the creation of animals thing."

"Nooooo, you might have left that bit out of the introduction."

He shrugs.

"I have a five-syllable Greek name. Sometimes people already know."

"You could have just had classically fixated parents for all I know."

". . . Technically I did!"

Mike opens his mouth to reply, but then snaps it shut a second later.

"Touche."

:D, says Epimetheus.

Mike's embarrassment dissipates in seconds.

"So...tell me about this whole creation of animals thing."

"Oh." He drums his fingers on his guitar, shrugging. "Yeah, that. My brother did humans, I did animals."

Don't ask about what happened after that. Epimetheus is enjoying this conversation.

"Like...all the animals?"

"All the ones where I'm from."

"It's an Earth, yeah?"

"Got it in one."

"So then..."
His sentiment sort of drifts off as he gestures to the other seat at the table, and how if Epimetheus moved his feet Mike could sit there.

Epimetheus helpfully removes his feet from said chair and kicks it out in invitation.

"So then . . . ?"

Mike sits, elbows propped on the table top, with his head resting on his hands.

"Explain to me what was going through your mind when you made turtles."

--Epimetheus double-takes.

"Turtles?"

His response is a silent, but earnest, shake of the head.

Epimetheus eyes him.

"Most people want to know about the platypus."

"I'm not really a whole lot like most people."

"Nah, really?"

He puts the guitar aside and leans his elbows on the table, considering Mike.

"Turtles are great. The neck folding alone oughtta win me an award."

"Turtles:" he says, his hand reaching out as if to place it on a marquee. "The retractable animal. Were you like...pressed for space at that point or something?"

"Nah, man, it's a good defense strategy! Also space-saving," he allows.

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