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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"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."

"Pfft, no one does," Autor says, adjusting his glasses. "Order or I'll make a special drink, just for you."

"You know, there are other means to find out why you're blushing so hard. Means like going stealth and following you about to see if you say anything incriminating.

"Did you know eagles have excellent hearing?"

Pause.

"Make something then. Doesn't mean I'm drinking it."

The boy stands, and straightens his shoulders. "I'd like to say, 'You wouldn't dare,' but at this point I'm reluctant to rely on your good will," he says, narrowing his eyes.

Then he leans back, smiling. "You are genuinely so bored that you'd follow me around? I don't know whether to be flattered or angry."

Probably both.

He's not about to waste a drink, either.

"Or you can just tell me to my face. It's not like you're at risk of it going public by telling me directly. Maybe you haven't noticed, but I don't make it a habit of running around telling people about you."

Really. He doesn't.

"Do you think me the town gossip here?"

Edited 2013-05-16 17:42 (UTC)

"I'm fairly certain you're not," he says and turns to make himself a cup of tea. "But what benefit would telling you net me? I don't mind your pestering, Rabastan."

Lies. Sort of.

"Well, rather, I can tolerate it when I have to, and it looks like now is one of those times."

"Figure there's something I can use to tease you over for the next five minutes. That will cause you to flush and fluster, then snap and snarl at me. Followed by me laughing at both the latest bit of news and your reaction, and finally you shoving a drink at me with a 'Shut up, wizard' message attached."

He smiles. Then chuckles.

"Better to get it out of the way now, than later."

"Sure," Autor says, and fills up a glass of water. He even garnishes it with a lemon. "'Shut up, wizard.' I hope you don't mind that I've skipped a few steps?"

Edited 2013-05-16 18:56 (UTC)

"Oh, now you're just encouraging me to take up snooping just to find out this secret you're keeping, wretched child.

"I'll find out. One way or the other."

"You really don't know what it is?" Autor says, grinning as he cups his chin in his hands. "Really?"

"Hate to disappoint you, lad, but I was never taught how to read minds. You'll just have to tell me the old-fashioned way."

"You can't just use a Pensieve?" he asks. "Not that I would let you siphon my thoughts like gas out of a tank, but still."

"Using one would be a lot easier if I owned one. I don't. And Bar's not able to give me one right now, no matter how nicely I ask.

"So you can either tell me, or, we can make it worse and turn it into a guessing game."

Autor shrugs. "Or I can pull up a book and keep silent for the rest of the night."

And oh, hey, look at that! He can call out books at will. This one is particularly interesting to him.

"Fine. Following you around it is then. Hope you don't mind. Not that I'd care if you did."

"Mmhm," Autor says, almost cheerfully, as he reads his book.

I'll invest in a crossbow and make you bugger off.

Yeah I don't see that working. Trying to hit a flying target without much practise at stationary? Good luck, Overlord.

Frowning, he plucks the lemon wedge from the glass. Making to squeeze the juice into the water.

The juice ends up going in a different direction.

Um. Oops?

Autor sighs, and picks up a maternally-worded napkin leftover from before he put Bar down for a nap.

He cleans off his glasses irritably, and, apropos of nothing, asks, "You can make it snow in the bar, right?"