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 is tempted--oh, so tempted--to throw a smoke bomb and run. But he promised to take care of Bar tonight, so he'll brave the smug-dragon who deigned to descend from the heavens today.

"It really was for an opera. If she wants fairy lights, she can go get them herself," he snorts, and folds his arms. "I'm not inclined to do her any favors."

Dragon? Does Autor really think that of Rabastan?

"When you present someone with a thing, it's called a gift. When you ask someone to make it for you so you can bestow it upon another, it's called a favour."

Smirk.

"Presenting your prospective amore with fairy lights falls under 'gift', not 'favour', and I was not expecting you to do her favours, lad. At all."

He's not meaning Autor should deign to give Punie gifts, though. Punie makes it seem like, if you give her a fire anything, there should be actual fire involved.

"I'm not presenting this to anyone," Autor says, aggravated. "I was just going to have them free-floating in the bar, and preferably not attached to me. Even less preferable? Outside. Night gets cold, you know."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "And I'm not asking this as a favor. I'd pay off some of your tab."

"Oh, you figured that out all on your own? You actually braved the outside long enough to find out this fact?"

Tease.

"Sounds a bit elaborate for something you want only for yourself." Pause. "Not necessary. Gideon gives me enough to cover even that."

"No," Autor says, adjusting his glasses. "I read it in a book, from whence all men should acquire knowledge."

He purses his lips. "Who says I can't want elaborate things? Opera is elaborate," he says. "I'm not giving you the opportunity to force me to eat again."

"No surprise."

Pause.

"Opera is not fairy lights. We both know this. Besides. You've given me the impression that you like things that are ... how do I put this? More substantial than simple twinkling lights.

"Sorry lad, you just don't strike me as the kind of person to covet all that glitters in the world."

"Really?" Autor says, and props his elbows on the bar. "How do I strike you, then? You really don't think glittering pieces of magic would catch my attention?"

You don't know much about me, do you, Rabastan?

How can you expect him to know you? You keep so much of yourself a secret from everyone.

"Magic? Yes. Plain old sparkly things? No."

"Plain old sparkly things are still educational," Autor says evenly, pulling back to place a hand on his hip.

"I've learned a lot from this discussion, for example," the boy says, smirking. "Like that you vehemently refuse to even think about casting something simply and pretty without accusing me of being wrapped around the finger of some girl."

The very idea rankles.

"Well. You are, are you not? That last blush of yours could be seen from Mars it was that bright. Only people who've got it bad for another turn that red." Pause. "And I'm sure, if you really wanted to, you could make your own sparkly things all by yourself.

"You don't really need me for that, do you?"

Edited 2013-05-22 02:19 (UTC)

No, what he needs--immediately and in the future--is a blush-preventing moisturizer.

"On that large a scale? Probably not," he says irritably, popping his nose in the air. "But now I'm thinking it's not worth it. Good to know!"

"Come off it, Autor. Everyone gets teased for their crushes. You'll never be the exception to that."

Pause.

"Just tell me what you really want the fairy lights for and I'll see if I can do it."

"It's not a crush!" he snaps, and then, after a mild panic, drops his head into his palm.

"I need to find a more reliable wizard."

"I bet she finds your denial adorable. Or something like it."

Pause. This is quite possibly the funniest moment so far this year.

"Pity that at the moment there are no other wizards you could ask to make fairy lights for you, so you'll just have take what you're given."

All right, fine. He flails. "Guess how interested I am in fairy lights now?" the boy snarls. "About as adorable as I am, which is to say not even remotely."

"Stop that. Stop it right now. Getting teased over someone you're interested in is not a bad thing, so stop acting like it is.

"Honestly, Autor. I'm almost 50 and I still get teased over Elea. Half the time she's the one doing it."

"Good for you and good for Elea," he says immediately, repeating what he said a while ago.

Autor draws a breath through his nose, calming down and realizing, sheepishly, the immaturity of that display. "But what did you expect? You're consistently pushing me based on a situation you know nothing about."

He purses his lips, tackling the situation from a different angle. "You say everyone is teased in this manner, but it's foreign to me. As are the subjects of crushes--which I certainly do not have, thank you very much," he says, fully aware of his words running into one another. "If this teasing is normal, fine. I'll flail less so as not to arouse suspicion."

Autor can't quite articulate his disapproval of the wizard's forcing him to confront those nasty little emotions he's kept stuffed down into the festering tar pit of his soul. Really, he'd rather just kill the girl at this point.

He'd probably keep the little pink envelope she sent him, though.

"I'm not pushing you Autor I'm encouraging you. There's a difference, you know. You have feelings of some kind towards her—what they are exactly I don't know—but I think it's worth it to pursue an interest if it's mutual between you.

"I'm telling you to go for it. After all what's there to lose? But I am not dragging you off in search of this young lady and demand you tell her what you truly think of her. Nor am I going to.

"So. Just once, stop assuming that I'm pushing you to do something you insist on not doing, okay?"

Good god, is this absurd.

"And for your lack of experience? Well. You're old enough to develop feelings for others, and you're old enough that when someone sees it, that you'll be teased over it. Nobody means harm by it. This? Is harmless.

"And if you think this is bad? Then you should see the teasing purebloods get when they show an interest in someone their social class looks down on. I'd rather be teased as you're being teased, than to receive the nastiness purebloods reserve for their own."

Edited 2013-05-22 04:16 (UTC)

Autor's shoulders sag a bit at the words, and he shakes his head.

"You have a damn strange way of encouraging people," the boy says quietly, thoroughly discomfited. "Stay out of my life."

He calls a book out of his sylladex--anything but The Language of Flowers--and buries his nose in it. "You really should order something. I am clearly not 'jawing' with you for my health."

Pushing the glass of water he stands up.

"Until this minute I thought we'd managed to make amends between us. That we could be friends. Good friends. Even if we don't always get along or see eye to eye, we could be friends."

He stares at Autor. His expression is wounded.

"Guess you don't want that, after all. If you want me to 'stay out of your life', that is."

Edited 2013-05-22 06:32 (UTC)

He glances up from his book only to catch that awful look on Rabastan's face. Oh, no. Now what?

"Friends, huh? Look, I am terrible for people," Autor admits. "Why would you want that, when I can wound you so? But that's a discussion for later, I think."

He traces Bar's wood grains for a moment, thinking.

"Sit down," he says softly, accompanied by a breathy laugh. "When I said 'stay out of my life,' I meant, 'you've been teasing me for more than an hour about this very sensitive part of my life which you don't understand in the slightest and I'd thank you to back the hell off. Stay out of that part of my life.'"

The boy frowns a bit and picks his book up again. "Which is probably what I should have said in the fist place."

Edited 2013-05-22 06:44 (UTC)

There's no compliance.

"You don't really think of the words you're going to say before you say them, do you?"

Rapid blinking.

"Ever."

He draws breath. Heavy breath.

"I want to be your friend, because I think, despite what you say, that there's something worth being friends with you for. Worth whatever ups and downs there will be.

"But I'd like my friends to be the people who engage brain before they engage mouth. People who think and then talk. Not people who are careless and end up hurting others every time they speak.

"Can you do that much?"

Autor sets his book down permanently, and cups his chin in his hand.

"That I'm not obsessing over my words means that I've let my guard down around you. I don't know why," he says, and holds up a hand. "Butting heads like this isn't what either of us are used to, but apparently it's producing... something."

He grins hollowly. "I'll put the filters back on. With or without them, I'm an egotistical jerk, so you won't see too much of a difference, right?"

"I'd like that 'something' to be a thing that's good."

He returns to his seat, but his moods haven't lifted yet.

More and more he's realising that the boy has an unusual level of power over him. Nothing magical; just mundane. Yet he's able affect the wizard's emotions merely by plucking their strings.

He doesn't like it.

Should he not talk to Autor for a while? Just long enough to guard those emotions better?

"If you stop being such an ass, I shall worry. Possibly shove medicine and food at you and demand you sleep, because clearly you wouldn't be yourself if that happened."

The boy smiles at the wizard, soft and genuine. "And don't you dare forget it."

Then it's gone, covered by a confident smirk and a tilted chin. "Bar will stir soon, so if you want to jump on the rare opportunity to have me deign to serve you, you'd better order something."