milliways_bar | (no subject)

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autor

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Clara would really like to be home now. She's a bit on edge, being stuck in a time that isn't hers, with a man she barely knows (and trusts a bit too much to be healthy, she knows).

So it's fairly easy to explain her exasperation when she walks through the doors.

"Really? Really? We're going to do this nonsense now?"

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"What? No, there were plenty of people around," he says, completely ignoring her comments about Bar. "I just... preferred books. Now I talk to people all the time; some of them are too easy to speak with. Like you."

Edited 2013-11-15 09:00 (UTC)

"You have been practicing in the mirror, good on you." She praises, because last time he didn't even know what a pickup line was.

"Wha! No, no, I hav--okay, fine, I've been practicing, now keep it down," he says, color exploding on his face. "But only, 'how are you?', okay? No pickup lines!"

She snickers into her tea, trying to keep up a 'totally believing you' face, but failing somewhat miserably.

"Well, it's coming off fairly well."

Autor snorts, but her merriment is catching. "Wait, really? Do you think I should I ask like this: 'how are you?'" he says. "Or 'how are you?'"

Overall, he does wonder how Clara is--and how she's related to Oswin.

"Really, though, how are you?" he finally asks, raising his cup in a salute. "Hello, again."

"Well, beside the point that I don't think I'll be able to look at Mars the same way ever again and if anyone has another conversation with my breasts I may have to smack them across the face, I'm fine. I want to go home, but fine." She sighs, and gulps her tea.

If Clara was trying to make Autor choke on his tea, she succeeded.

"Converstion wi--Who does that! They're like books!" he cries, and then hastily adds, "In the sense that they don't talk back, of course, not because of the--oh, hell."

He cradles his head in his hands, heedless to the possibility of burning his fingers with the heat radiating off of his face.

"Goodness, when you spin yourself up, you don't do it by halves." Clara observes, giggling.

"I don't even know what that means," Autor says, burying his nose in his tea. "But from context, I'm going to assume it's similar to 'congratulations on getting yourself completely flustered'."

He shakes his head. "I didn't mean... honestly."

"It's alright, don't worry about it - no one who has meant it has gotten quite so worked up about it." Usually the farthest they get is a very annoying leer.

"Clara," Autor says seriously, blush creeping down his neck, "I promise you that I will always have a conversation with your face."

Edited 2013-11-16 06:16 (UTC)

"My face does tend to be a better conversationalist." She snickers. "Relax, you're fine."

"Oh, good," Autor says, recovering with tea. "I'll take that at face value; this way I may even be able to save some of my own."

She smirks at him - she sees what you did there, Autor.

"So what do people who aren't being dragged around a time period that they just missed the first time around do for fun?"

"I have no idea," Autor says, "as I've never been one of them. But around here? There's a lake, a greenhouse, a forest, and the most gorgeous library I've ever seen."

He tops his cup off again, and once again offers to fill hers. "Personally I like carpet flight."

Edited 2013-11-18 20:06 (UTC)

"... A flying carpet." She repeats, scooting her cup forward for a refill. "Seriously?"

Autor grins. Best purchase, ever.

"Why not?" he says, taking care not to spill the tea. "A bar with a greenhouse appears in a café, and flying carpets are out of the realm of possibility?"

He withdraws a small, rolled up cloth. "Here, I'll show you. Effugium."

Her eyes widen in shock at the unrolling carpet, and it's hovering. That's...

She abandons her tea in a flurry of movement, hurrying to examine the flying carpet from every angle.

It's a flying carpet. You'd do the same thing. Admit it.

Autor steadies her abandoned teacup with one hand and hides his smile with the other. He doesn't genuinely love many things, but reactions to his carpet like this--like Oswin's--are one of them.

"Did you want to try it?" he says, and then quickly adds, "Don't get on yet, though, I have to make sure it won't toss you off."

"Toss me off? Oh goodness, another transport device to not like me, it's ridiculous." She snorts as she runs a hand through the fringe.

Autor laugh softly as he hops off his stool. "No, it's like that with everyone. I shattered a leg trying to get it used to me," he says, and then blinks. "But it's perfectly safe now, really."

He clambers on and offers a hand.

See, this is where sensible people would pause, think about shattered legs, and their relative unfamiliarity with... any of this.

...

Clara Oswald is not known for her wonderful life choices. She takes his hand, and clambers aboard.

No one but Ratonhnhaké:ton has been 'sensible' yet.

Autor smiles, slightly, and closes his eyes. It only takes a moment before they're off, circling up around the rafters in a slow, lazy loop.

Here's hoping Clara figured out how to hold on properly.

Sure she has - she holds on to him. Autor isn't the first person to take her on a spin on an unfamiliar mode of transportation... though he does get a prize for first carpet ride.

Autor freezes. He's long since learned how to not flail when grabbed while sailing around in the air. Oswin was the first to teach him that, oddly enough.

"It's... easier to concentrate on keeping us aloft if you hold the edges," he says, cheeks brighter than the carpet itself. "But, um, do what you have to do."

His next words leave him in a squeaky rush. "Hey, did you want to head outside? It's pretty cool, literally and figuratively."

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