milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

*Tim hasn't been sleeping. He's been writing. His room is stacked with notebooks. But he leaves the writing to his room, doesn't want any one else to see it. He's trying to figure things out, and it doesn't seem to be working. There are bags under his eyes, big enough for a family of four. He slouches into the room, more of a teenager walk then he's used ina long time. He takes a seat at the bar, closes his eyes, then sits back up right. He doesn't seem to register if anyone is behind the bar or not, he just runs hsi hands along the edge of the bar and speaks.*

Tea, triple brewed.

*His cards are in his hands as is usual nowadays. They've been quite useful.*

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She glides over, concern writ on her face. "You do not look well, my friend."

Eh?

*Tim looks up, blinking. Ah. Right, mina. Friend. Goood.*

Hi.

She sits across from him, uninvited. "What is wrong, Tim?"

*Tim blinks several times letting words filter in.*

Insomnia?

"Have you tried warm milk?"

*Tim makes a face.*

I'm not much of one for Milk.

"Mothers all over the world throughout the years can't all be wrong . . ."

Want to bet? Theres a reason seventy five percent fo the world is lactose intolerant.

*He shrugs*

Tea used to work but... well.. too few hours in the day.

"What is 'lactose'?"

She gives Tim a 'gently concerned' look. "Then have you tried not doing whatever it is that keeps you up at night?"

Milk.

*He yawns.*

It's important.

"More important than your health?"

Yes.

*said with all seriousness.*

She nods. "Then I will stop worrying about you and give you my best wishes for your success."

*Tim smiles.*

Thank you for your concern.

"I have so few friends, I must be concerned for each of them . . ."

Few?

*Tim grins.*

Coulda fooled me.

"So few friends who would give me weapons, then."

*Tim laughs*

Get good use out of them?

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