The vegetable wingman.

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Do you know who'd enjoy being trapped by mischievous mistletoe, collecting kisses from pretty girls and others? Do you know who would enjoy making himself a profession of rescuing helpless mistletoe victims?

BOSSUET WOULD DAMNED WELL ENJOY THAT, is who.

But every time he looks up, there's no sprig of greenery above his head, and every time he spots a mistletoe victim, someone else gets there first. (Often, he has noticed, Bahorel.)

Well, that's luck for you, and it's not as though it's the first time a lonely Laigle has taken matters into his own hands. Now he's in the bar with a potted plant, a potted plant with warning signs.

Warning: Do Not Pull The Mandrake Mistletoe.

and then a newer sign

MISTLETOE. It may resemble a mandrake, but I assure you it is mistletoe and it has me in its relentless vegetable grasp.

...which is all very well and good, and he sets it prominently on the bar next to him while he orders a bottle of wine and an extra glass or two. (He also has a book to read, of course. He wouldn't want to look desperate.) But another part of his mind is working away at the (annoying and probably useless) conversation with Hannibal Lecter, and he's got an eye out for anyone he's seen with the man.



((I'm going on slowtimes, but it's still open! OH MAN I'M SORRY, I fell asleep on the couch mid-sentence, back in the saddle today.))

Comments

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

That doesn't do much for the sinking feeling in Lesgle's stomach, but then again Alana Bloom can't be having much fun here either. He looks down at his hands. "It would not be safe for you? --I'm sorry. It's not just idle interest; Lecter said something to me recently that might be important for someone to know. Or else it was all nonsense."

[patterns_bloom]

"No, it's not," Alana says quietly, and then stiffens. "What did he say?"

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"I think there was some truth in it," Bossuet says slowly, "but maybe not. Or you may already know it all. --I mentioned Actaeon in passing; do you know the story?" He assumes she does. "He said that the Actaeon in his own tale was not torn up by dogs, but she--he was particular on that point, she--fell in a burst of glass and rain and blood. Having seen the huntress. Or rather, she will, when she leaves the bar."

His smile is sad and uneven. "Himself, he placed as one of the hounds, having driven his Actaeon to the huntress, and then coming here. Do you know anyone you would call a huntress?"

Lesgle feels like a spy. And whatever the story is that he's looked in at, it's worse for her.

[patterns_bloom]

Alana pales. She clutches at her heart, which pounds mercilessly fast under her fingers. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but no words come. Finally, she shuts it again, and bows her head.

"I- I don't," she says, after a reedy gasp. When she speaks again, her voice is wooden. Detached. "It was raining the night I came to confront him at his home. He'd stolen my bullets, so though I pulled the trigger, the gun was useless. He pursued me through his house with knives, and then he set them down on the flagstones of the steps..."

She swallows. "I locked myself in his office--or, rather, I tried. I ended up here."

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

He asks Bar quickly for a glass of brandy and brings it to her, standing at her elbow for a moment, not that they'd been any distance apart to begin with. "I am terribly sorry."

[patterns_bloom]

She grips the brandy tightly with one hand, nodding her thanks, and sips it slowly. "Thank you for telling me. I... I have to go back, sometime. To face him."

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

"But he's--" Never mind, he's not going to point out the obvious, that Lecter is here. Bossuet has at least a little familiarity with the problems of going between here and there with the Bar. "I don't know if it's of any practical use to you, all this about huntresses and hounds. Some people have had luck changing their paths after coming here." Other people...haven't.

[patterns_bloom]

"Here?" Alana finishes anyway, with a soft croak. "I- I know. We're from different timelines. He's a few minutes ahead of me in his world, so he was able to see how I--"

She pauses, looking down, and sips the brandy to calm her trembling hands. "It's... It's of some use yes. He was toying with me earlier, teasing me, refusing to tell me whether I f-failed. It's good to have a definitive answer."

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

None of the words that come to mind is appropriate for the company of young women in distress. Neither is the sudden desire to hit Hannibal Lecter very hard, square in the face. Lesgle tries to clear his head. "If it is a definitive answer. --Have you friends here?"

[patterns_bloom]

Alana clings to her brandy like a lifeline with white knuckles. "Yes, I- I have Will, and Rae Seddon who--she wants to come with me. Back to my world," Alana says, and draws a breath. "I think I'll let her."

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

Lesgle nods. "Mlle. Seddon sounds like a most loyal friend. Good. Is there-- Can I--?"

Having intruded himself into the business, is there any way he can help?

[patterns_bloom]

Alana's not quite sure what he's asking at first, but then cottons on pretty quickly.

"Oh," she says, her shoulders sagging a bit. "I'm not sure if there is anything you can do. I- I think you..." Alana starts, and then remembers what Rae told her about how Alana herself could help Rae wind down from long days at home fighting vampires. "Have a cup of tea with me once in a while? And a discussion on anything b-but him. Just... your company would be much appreciated."

[tire_moi_mes_bottes]

He smiles warmly at her. "Why, that I would do for my own sake, now that we're introduced! --It is a frustrating place to be trapped," he says more seriously. "So we must all do what we can for one another. Consider me at your service, Mlle. Bloom."

[patterns_bloom]

"So it is, and so we must," she says, just as serious, but then her shoulders loosen a little with his bearing and offer. "And consider me at yours, Monsieur Bossuet. I look forward to our friendship."