milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"But musing what an easy thing it were to mix our opiates in a larger cup," Autor says, patting the counter in preparation to hop over it. "And drink, and not perceive"—and here he hops—"sleep deepening lead his truer kinsman up, like undistinguished Night, darkening the skirts of Eve.*"

After a few minutes of setting up his prior preparations, the boy reaches for the specials board. "Good night, Bar."

Bitter Chocolate Aria
Hot chocolate & one croissant

Submission Sonata
Virgin strawberry & wasabi daiquiri

Ode to Blood
Giga ant eggs, sour apple juice, seltzer water, flavored ice

Fiery Trigon
Grenadine, lemon juice, apple juice, passion fruit juice, & cinnamon

Silent Overture
Free coffee if you can prove that you’re knighted

Note: Virgin bar.

[This post is open forever.]

*Ode to Sleep , Richard Chenevix Trench

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The kid glances up from his book at the conversation, of course, and smiles briefly at the entrant. He turns to fill up a cup of coffee, which he sets two seats away from his position. And a croissant, for good measure.

Then he turns back to his reading.

The woman on the other side of the door addresses the Knight in query.

"I'm fine," he assures, turning back to her. "It's nothing."

She says something else.

"Of course I will."

There's another murmur from her and Lohengrin leans his head into the doorway again, his hand resting on the frame. Those close enough would hear the distinct pock sound of a chaste kiss.

That apparently the end of the conversation, he steps fully into the bar and approaches Autor's offering.

Autor blinks at the peck. He's dying to ask if that kiss was from Blanchefleur, but he should probably leave the subject of Lohengrin's mother alone.

"You look surprised," he says, setting his book down, but not closing it. "Did you lose the bar for a while?"

It wasn't from, it was for.

"Can you lose what you're not necessarily seeking?"

Though as soon as he asks, the answer in his mind is an immediate yes.

Autor watches him carefully, and then nods. "You don't look terrible anymore."

The Knight takes a seat and a corner of his lip quirks up, slightly and briefly.

"Thanks. But what's your excuse?"

Autor stares at him in shock for a full twenty-seven seconds before cracking up.

"Who in the hell are you?" he demands, mock-serious. "What have you done with the Knight?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lohengrin replies, finally picking up the coffee.

Autor shakes his head, still chuckling under his breath. "I'd forgotten how dry your sense of humor is. Clearly you haven't been in the bar often enough to remind me."

He picks up his book again. "So where have you been?"

"At home."

Simple question. Simple answer.

The kid nods. His earlier suspicion about Blanchefleur being one party to that kiss seems to have gained more credence.

He'd ask him if he recovered after the music plague, but the Knight seems to be faring well. Better than most times Autor has seen him, anyway.

The boy has found himself without anything to say and--strangely enough--he's all right with this.

He'll probably break the silence soon enough.

It's a nice change, really.

Though there is a gesture to the specials board.

"All your idea, I assume?"

Autor almost does a double-take. He glances up to where the Knight is motioning to and then nods.

"Yes," he says, and curls his book around his index finger, saving his spot. "They're based off of people in the bar."

"Should I bother asking who?"

Or is Autor unable to take as well as he can dish?

Autor's lips quirk in an unconscious mimicry of the way Lohengrin smiled earlier.

So he points to each of the specials in turn. "Bitter Chocolate Aria refers to not one baker, but two: Sunshine and Oswin," he says. "They both baked chocolate croissants with me, and Oswin has an aria that's important to her."

He hesitates on the next one. "Submission Sonata is based on Punie Tanaka. Wasabi is from Japan, where she's visiting, and burns as much as she does. Ode to Blood is Karkat, as it's sour and I'm trying to guess his blood color, but it can apply to any of the trolls. Poins and his friends make up the Fiery Trigon, of course."

The boy laces his fingers together. "And you're the Silent Overture. You're the Knight, dealt with a period of enforced silence, and--as far as I can tell--you like coffee."

There's a twitch of an eyebrow at the last one.

But don't think he didn't notice that hesitation when Autor was talking about Punie.

"Why Submission Sonata, then? Unless you're referring to the drinker?"

"Oh, uh," the boy says softly, and glances down at the table. He wants to give the Knight answers--Autor has stolen so many and wrecked his life, he may as well give some back--but this is the wrong topic.

Not to mention Lohengrin's past with malicious female magic users.

The kid swallows and looks up. "She's an interesting case. She uses magic, but doesn't rely on it, instead favoring wrestling moves and pinning attacks, which she calls submission."

The Princess' way.

"So, really, it's all about her battle prowess and doesn't have anything to do with the drinker," he says, and glances away.

"She must have made quite the impression on you," Lohengrin says, knowing full well it's an understatement.

He sets his cup down.

All he offers in warning is, "Don't forget what happened to Telramund."

Telramund, whose loyalty to his deceitful witch of a spouse cost him his honor and eventually his life.

The boy nods slowly. "That's good advice," he says, and holds up the coffee pot in offer to top off Lohengrin's mug.

Autor places a hand on his hip and looks the Knight in the eye. "Do you have anymore questions for me?"

He half-shrugs, seeing the side-step but letting Autor have it.

"You know Karkat as well?"

It's a good thing Autor's not walking, because he would have tripped. "I do," he says. "He's short, abrasive, and has the most profane mouth I've ever heard. I assume you've met him as well?"

He nods.

"Only once but yes, that does match what I've seen of him."

Autor is learning very quickly that this is what people call a conversation, and that it's terrifying. He turns to make himself a cup of tea.

"So," he says, assembling his tea ball, but keeping his eyes on the Knight, "anything else?"

It reminds Lohengrin of every inquiry Autor's ever beaten into his ears. And of their duel. The calculated versus the primal.

"Hn," he mutters. "Did anything of note happen here in between the musical madness and now?

"Significant note, mind."

Autor furrows his brow, trying to think of what would be significant to Lohengrin. "Nothing major. Apparently the bar needs a rest just as much as everyone else."

Hence why he's tending.

"The Aeslin mice arrived," he says and smiles a bit wistfully. "A group of at least twenty dressed in whatever they could scavenge."

He holds his hand over the bar, as if to indicate how tall they are. "They were warriors and priests and Keepers of Tribal Lore. I think you might like them, if you can get past their chanting 'Hail!' at every little thing."