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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You can't have very many Autor EPs without a certain wizard showing up.

He eyes the specials once he's moseyed over to the bar after seeing who was behind it.

And reads the addition Coyote made under everything else.

"'Virgin Bartender?' So. Going for a little truth in advertising tonight, eh?"

He is highly amused by this.

"If you can't trust me," Autor says, looking up from his book with a ruthless smile, "who can you trust, really? What are you ordering? I don't have all day."

"You're labouring under the pretext that you are someone I can trust about as far as I can toss you without benefit of magic."

Pause.

"You aren't."

That smirk he's wearing goes up a size or two.

"Order? Oh, I think I can come up with orders for you. But you're bar tending tonight so I'll have to limit myself to just that."

"Tsk tsk tsk," Autor says, shaking his head and shutting his book. "I'm sorry, doctor, but the sarcasm transplant was wholly unsuccessful. We'll have to leave this patient for dead."

He places a cocky hand on his hip. "So are you really going to sit there and smarm at me all day? I can go back to reading my book, right?"

"Autor can't do sarcasm tonight? Have the poles finally reversed?"

So disappointing!

"No, Autor. When you're on tending duty you're supposed sit there like a good little boy and wait for the grown-ups to ask you for a drink or to sit and jaw with you."

Pause.

"As far as drinks go, I haven't decided if I want one yet, to say nothing of what I want to drink."

Autor busts up laughing, clinging to the counter with a hand so that he doesn't fall. "'Good little boy'? Are you serious?"

He looks up at Rabastan's face, and cackles again. "First drink is on the house," he says, "because apparently you really need it. I should probably just choose it for you; I don't know if I trust you to order for yourself."

"Knowing you? No, you're not. But. Try to fool the others who don't know you the way I do a little better, okay? Let them have their illusions."

Stroking his chin as if thinking about what he wants...

"I can make up my own mind about drinks. I've done it for some time now. You don't need to choose for me."

Here he gives Autor a somewhat amused smirk.

"Because you'll try to poison me if I let you pick."

"What, me? You really think I carry poisons on me?" he says, grinning as he props his elbows up on the counter. "They'll realize I'm not 'good' as soon as I open my mouth, I hope, so why not correct that assumption right off the bat?"

He turns to prepare tea, because there's no point in waiting idly for Rabastan to make up his mind.

Rabastan's only stalling to annoy you. Kind of what you'd do to him if the two of you were on the sides of the bar opposite to where you both are now.

"Poisons, huh? Not poison. Poisons. As in, more than one. And yes, you would carry poisons on you. Whyever not?

"Because you're a wretched child, that's why."

Autor laughs and dips his tea ball. "See? A wretch like me shouldn't be letting people think I'm good. They'll be caught unawares."

"Or..." He stretches it out. "It's good camouflage for when you want to sneak about unnoticed.

"Nobody ever suspects the nice ones."

"Why are you giving me advice on a tactic you've never used?" Autor asks dryly.

"Possibly because, unlike you, I actually am a nice person, and thus do not need the camouflage of niceness to mask my intentions?"

Autor raises a brow. "If that's the case, then I should suspect you, based on what you said earlier."

"Based on what criteria, lad?" Pause. "Playing otter and getting you all inked up or sending you to sleep via magical spell don't count."

"Based on your saying that the nice ones are never suspected," he says, shrugging. "And now this is a circular argument, so unless you have another topic for us to 'jaw on', order something."

"Funny you should complain about going in circles."

Smirk.

"Didn't seem to mind going about in circles the last time you went flying.

"Never saw someone do so many left turns in one afternoon for a long time."

"Three left turns make me right," he says, shrugging.

But he can't hide his rapidly reddening cheeks, augh! Autor decides that this is the first thing he'll do once he's off the hook for tending is invent a blush-preventing moisturizer to smear on his face every night.

He fidgets. Of course. "So are you going to order anything?"

"No. It just makes you dizzy."

Heh heh heh.

"Might order. I want to know why you're blushing this time.

"Going for a flight is not normally something to make your face burn red."

"My face burns red at random," the boy says, sniffing disdainfully. "I am cold-blooded and cold-hearted. My body has to warm my blood up somehow, and it chooses my face as a heater..."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and folds an arm across his chest. "Cripes, this is awful even for me. Would you just order something?"

"Oh, I think it's for something other than your latent reptilian tendencies."

Innocent smirk.

"Tell me why you're so red this time and I'll order. Then we can talk about it over my drink."

Autor sucks in a breath to keep his composure, but the oxygen only feeds the fire spreading down past his collarbone. He saw her just a little while ago, and he can still feel the brush of her fingers against his own.

"No sale," he says. "I'm pretty sure I can refuse service, right? On the grounds of you being an extortionist jerk and threatening the tender?"

"But enough about how you'd convince me to talk. How about why you're turning red?

"Can't be that involved, can it?"

Autor pops his nose in the air. "Can't I just blush in peace for once? I turn red, and you have to jump on it like an otter to a fish. If you keep hanging around me, you'll get fat in simile."

He slouches and leans against the counter. "You know what the reason is. You just like taunting me."

"Don't act like you wouldn't do the same to me if you had an opportunity to, Autor. I know you would. You get off on it.

"What you don't like is having the tables turned."