(no subject)

[the_taxman]

A gust of harsh, engulfing humidity comes in when the door opens. So does a spare, rawboned man, with an unkempt ponytail and a graying handlebar mustache.

Rust looks around, a little surprised — but the surprise vanishes off his face quickly.

His mouth twists, as though to say, isn’t this a fine joke, and he goes straight to the bar. Within a minute he’s got a Lone Star longneck and a lit Camel Blue.

Might as well drink here as anywhere.

Comments

[theunsmiling]

"Do you mind company?"

The voice comes from a young-looking woman with flyaway dark hair, green eyes, a boyishly pretty face, and jeans.

Plus her T-shirt, which reads Vetustior Humo.

She's got coffee and half a donut. Powdered sugar is a menace. Plus her grip on her cup doesn't look all that steady.

[jackdaws_master]

It's the air outside that gets Kenway's attention. Feels wetter than Nassau did when he left. So he looks up sharply, just in case- but no, no, it's none of the folk from Jackdaw's crew. He's fine with that.

The tobacco smoke's bound to get his attention, though. Back home, it's hardly ever seen in units so small.

[the_taxman]

Rust glances at her, glances at her shirt -- not with any intent or appreciation, but for information -- and, for a split second, his expression lightens.

(It's funny.)

He shifts on the barstool, takes a drag on his cigarette, says around the smoke: "Seat's open."

[the_taxman]

Rust is also paying attention to the bar.

It's been a while. There are things on the walls.

There are people around.

Half-lidded, he turns a little on the stool, takes in the view behind him. Smoke briefly obscures his features, and clears.

[theunsmiling]

She flashes a quick smile, putting down the coffee cup with what appears to be relief.

In a second she'll look around for napkins, just in case.

"Thanks."

Michael shakes her head, looking down at her half-eaten donut.

"I'm almost looking forward to the day when I can't eat this kind of stuff anymore."

But in the meantime, sugar. And caffeine.

[the_taxman]

He taps into the ashtray. "Heard there's a diabetes epidemic."

[theunsmiling]

"That and heart disease."

Her response is flippant, but she checks herself for just a moment.

"I'm just lucky neither of them runs in my family, I guess."

[the_taxman]

His gaze slides in her direction for a moment, then away again.

"Seems like there'd be nothing stopping you, then."

[theunsmiling]

"Eventually my indiscretions are going to catch up with me. Or so every magazine cover from here to Japan tells me."

She laughs a little, taking a sip of coffee.

"I figure if it's in print, it can't be wrong, right?"

Lies.

[the_taxman]

He nods at her shirt.

"You sure?"

[theunsmiling]

Michael grins.

"Absolutely positive."

[the_taxman]

Another drag, grasping the cigarette gently between thumb and middle finger.

"Good to have convictions."

Neutral.

[theunsmiling]

"And the courage of them."

Her response is prompt, and followed by another sip of coffee.

"Though holding too hard to that isn't always wise."

[the_taxman]

That earns her a little more side-eye.

Rust picks up his beer and drinks, long, taking very little care to contain his movements.

"Deep thoughts for a donut."

[theunsmiling]

Michael just laughs again.

"The dangers of a liberal arts education."

[the_taxman]

"That's not a universal outcome."

There's a soft, unmusical clunk as the beer hits the bartop. "Can't blame the curriculum. Unless you went to donut college."

[theunsmiling]

"No, but I did live on donuts during finals. Donuts and the occasional Pop-Tart."

Her smile goes crooked.

"There should be more icing on Pop-Tarts, really. The dry bready bit tastes like crap."

[the_taxman]

"That's some palate," Rust says -- also a little dry.

[theunsmiling]

"Are you telling me you don't like Pop-Tarts?"

Sacrilege.

[the_taxman]

Another drag.

"They're fine."

[theunsmiling]

"So are chain mail bikinis, but I don't see many people wearing them."

[jackdaws_master]

"Interesting cigar you've got there, friend," says Edward, nodding towards the man's smoke. "I don't believe I've ever seen one near that small, or that finely made."

This is, of course, Milliways, where the lights don't give smoke nor heat and the landlord's so rich he can serve everyone in glass instead of mugs or other sensible stuff. Who's to say they haven't fined up other products as well?

[the_taxman]

Rust turns his head toward her very slowly.

He raises his eyebrows.

[mostcharmingsmile]

Gilderoy hasn't been here recently. Perhaps he forgot Milliways existed. Perhaps he remembered and couldn't find his way. Perhaps time doesn't pass for him, and absences don't matter.

He wears a purple dressing gown a most dashing lavender cravat, and, of course, his winning smile. The lovely Bar has provided him with many strips of parchment, and he's writing his named in joined up letters on each one. His peacock quill dips and swirls as he goes.

"Oh, hello, hello," he says to the man sitting next to him. Maybe he'd like an autograph! Gilderoy will certainly ask.

[theunsmiling]

"That was not me volunteering. Nor was it a request."

Trust her on this one.