milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: There's only one more Needle to go. And it's someplace lively and filthy.]

Somehow in the hustle and bustle of Milliways, Lucas returned to the Nowhere Islands and evened the score. It was strange, not even bothering to stop in Tazmily. Lucas barely noticed, however, finding the same comfort he would expect from his former home in Ionia's shell cottage.

He means to go back there, sometime after whatever awaits him in New Pork City. Out of all of the Magypsies, Ionia is the one who stayed with him the longest and he can feel the weight of knowing she's gone now pressing down on his very being.

And if all of that wasn't enough, he's still feverish.

But that makes opening the limousine door and finding Milliways instead of the promised luxuries within the car even better. So he's found himself taking up a bar stool, nursing an apple juice and looking over some literature about New Pork City.

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Awwww... Poor kid.

"How does your mom make omelets, anyways?"

This sets Lucas prattling, mentioning this ingredient and that way she would make them for any meal and how there's always a fight over the last ones and all these other fond memories pouring out.

"-and Claus would always hog the ketchup, so we started passing it around the other way..." he eventually trails off.

And that sets Rabastan to laughing. And feeling good that Lucas has something happy to think about, instead of something sad.

"Good thing you're here in Milliways," he says conspiratorially, "then you can get as much ketchup as you want on yours."

Bittersweet is still bitter.

"Yeah. It's the best food here, better'n when I try t'cook. I can hunt an' cook some animals but it's easier here."

"You're learning though. You'll get it right. Just not right now.

"Besides. I'm sure yours are still tasty even if they're not like how your mother makes it."

"If I don't end up scramblin' it," he jokes.

"Hey, I like scrambled eggs as much as omelets."

Rabastan... You like just about anything you can, eheh, wolf down.

"Well, yeah, but omelets're omelets."

Because omelets.

"I guess so. Me? I don't really think too much about it. Just eat it."

"But see, omelets're what Mom made."

"Maybe scrambled eggs are a thing you make, then? And they'd be the best scrambled eggs anyone ever had?"

"But I like omelets. I like Mom's omelets even though I haven't had'em in four years."

"Oh." Well. That's kind of hard to argue against, especially with a child. "Can you get them from Bar? She'd know how to make your mom's omelets."

Pause.

"I might be able to make them, too. But I wouldn't be able to give it the mom's touch."

Lucas shakes his head a little.

"I just...I mean, she's never gonna make'em again. No matter what kind they are."

"Oh. Um."

He peters off.

"I'm sorry to hear ... that?"

And this just leaves the kid quietly depressed.

Damn. Damn damn damn.

What do you say to that?

When he's said it about Ionia?

"Guess I'm not helping you to feel good today, am I?"

"Well... It's a lot t'ask a'anybody," Lucas glumly replies.

"Is there something you'd rather talk or think about right now? I don't mean to make you feel sad about the people you love."

"I know y'don't."

But he doesn't know what else to say.

"But if you did want to, I'll listen."

Pause.

"Maybe we should talk about the ice cream? Before it melts into a puddle?"

Not that that's necessarily a bad thing.

"If it's gonna melt into a puddle, maybe we should eat it," Lucas suggests, his tone almost joking.

"We'd better. This is one of my better shirts."

Pause.

"I do like strawberries."

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