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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Autor grins and offers him another one.

"Do the heads make the birth more difficult?"

"They do, cause you have to shift them around, it took a lot of work but they were alive and doin' fine."

Autor shudders and dips more latke batter into his frying pan. "I wonder if I were born to that life I'd be suited to it, too. Have you ever wished you could be something else?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm tryin' to make it so my brother doesn't have to be a rancher unless he wants to be one. Are you in school?"

This is a topic he doesn't like talking about so maybe he can change the conversation.

Autor nods and tops off William's hot chocolate again. He's well aware of his unease; it's almost like a sixth sense for the musician at this point, given that he's usually the cause.

"I am," he says softly. "I study music, which is a far cry easier than your life, I suspect."

He turns the latkes over. "Have you always lived near Bisbee?"

"No, grew up farther east but we moved west because the dry was better for my brother's lungs. Music sounds nice. What instrument do you play?"

He munches on another latke, its a good taste and he knows how hard his life is.

Autor flips the last of the latkes out onto a plate, and brings them to the bar.

"Piano," he says, and blows on a pancake that he selects. "I've been trying to avoid practicing here since the musical plague. Were you hit with that?"

"I was, yeah. Never heard the song before but some folks said it fit me. Were you?"

He shakes his head. "I wasn't, but the noise was awful enough that I took to camping outdoors until it was over."

The way he wrinkles his nose and bites down on his latke demonstrates exactly how much he doesn't want that to happen again. "Which song were you struck with?"

"It was called Valley of the Low Sun, but I didn't know the singer. Lucky that you were able to get away from it."

Autor nods. "I came in before it started, which granted me some sort of immunity, I suppose? I never did learn the cause of it."

He nibbles on his latke thoughtfully. "Did yours follow you home or did you test that?"

"It did and I came right back in as I didn't want to explain it."

Autor's lips quirk in a brief half-smile. "That would be incredibly awkward, yes."

He shakes his head and offers William another latke. "Well, I'm glad it's over for everyone's sake, especially the people who were hit." Lohengrin, primarily.

"Having been here for such a long time, you must have seen some fairly strange things," he murmurs. "Aside from two-headed calves and polar-bear dogs, that is."

"Yeah, some people got hit even worse. I only had one song to deal with. I have, transformations, what felt like the end of everythin' and people are always good at being surprisin',"

He uses his fork to divide up a stray part of the latke.

Autor fills William's mug of hot chocolate up again. He'll keep doing so until the other boy tells him not to--though he suspects he may be finally filling up on the latkes.

"That they are," he murmurs, remembering how unassuming Charles seems, or Punie's wrestling.

"You've stuck around this long, though."

"There's hot water, a library and better coffee than I can make,"

There's more than that but he's not going to go into any of that with someone he just met.

Edited 2013-05-07 03:14 (UTC)

"Oh, the library," Autor gushes. He grasps a key around his neck, pleased that it's his, that he lives there. "Yes, the library alone is well worth whatever plague throws at us."

Then he withdraws with a shy little grin. "Sorry. I suppose you can tell now where my love lies."

He nods towards The Prince and the Pauper. "Is Twain your favorite?"

The use of love like that makes him blink and he looks around to see if Thalia's nearby,

"Oh yeah, but you've got library at your school, don't you? I like him."

Autor notices the glance, but doesn't press.

"I do," the boy says, sighing, "but I've read everything in it twice. This library is so vast, I could spend my life and afterlife there, reading."

Then he waves a hand. "Anyway. Aside from reading, what do you like to do for pleasure?"

"You've got time to do all that readin' if you're in school? Don't you have to work or anythin'?"

Maybe he's like Regulus who can just focus on his school work.

Autor tilts his head. "I don't sleep much," he says. And that's all he'll say on that.

"I suspect you don't either?" he says, and chews on his latke.

"I sleep when I can. So all you do is read books and sometimes practice piano?"

That's the nicest life he's met anyone having here.

Autor laughs ruefully. "Oh, no! When you put it like that, my life sounds completely lazy compared to everyone else's." He does more than that, of course. But that would take time. And trust--more so than Autor gives his own mother.

"More latkes?" he offers. There are two left.

"Its not? What else do you do? No, I'm good for now."

"I make latkes," Autor says, throwing a sheepish, disarming smile at the sharp-eyed ranch hand.

After looking him over, the boy decides that he actually likes William, so he changes tact. "Really, it as you said. At home, I read books and practice tune my instrument. On the moon, I have three jobs and am looking to start an apprenticeship. And here, my activities are a variety of things, of course, because whose aren't?"

He sips his tea again, his posture loose, and his head tilted slightly. "Still. Not a hard life at all."