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Somebody behind the scenes was pointing out that Lesgle could just do his darn job! It's been a while! and that somebody was quite correct.

Lesgle's strong work ethic has of course been keeping him on a routine schedule of busing tables and cleaning the kitchen, and here he is right now, bustling about in a way that is so far un-disastrous. Do interrupt him!

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"Might I trouble you for some tea, L'Aigle de Meaux," asked Death sitting at a table with an empty plate or two while looking at the bottom of his cup with disappointment, "And if you have the time, please join me."

Eric is seated at a table.

There is an empty wine glass at his table. It very obviously hasn't contained wine.
He's got a delicate gold chain dangling from his fingers.

Black clothes, black boots, immaculate hair.

"Certainly!" One of the great advantages of this place is not needing to ask what kind of tea; one can always say to the Bar, A fresh cup for the skeletally thin gentleman in black whose name escapes me but perhaps we've met already, and she'll know just the thing. Which is what Bossuet does, taking the plates as well if the gentleman is done with them; and then, having the time, pauses with a faintly expectant look. Yeees?

"Get yourself something as well," said Death with a nod, the plates were empty, "Thankyou."

And here is Lesgle with a tray! "Shall I bring another?" He's not going to judge! Fake blood, real blood, blood of newborn babes shed at midnight on the thirteenth day of the tenth month--well, all right, he might judge a little if it's specifically that, but he's been assuming it's not.

The blood of babes is far too inconvenient to bother with. Two mouthfuls.

Eric looks up at him. "Yes. The donated blood from the bags, please. O, if you have it."
He appreciates the non-judging.

"I don't mind if I do."

When he's got himself a cup of coffee, he raises an inquiring eyebrow. "I'm fairly sure we've not been introduced."

(Babes really need to get their acts together and make themselves more useful.)

"I'm sure we do!" Even with his luck, Bossuet's never yet found the Bar not to have something.

He's got the hang of heating blood by now, and comes back soon with a fresh glass. The gold chain--a pretty thing--gets a curious nod. "A present for someone?"

Eric accepts the glass with a small nod.

As for the chain -
"It was actually a gift for me. With a cross on it even. I've given that away and now I'm looking for a recipient for this."

"Oh. That's...just thoughtful enough to be one of Hannibal Lecter's Christmas amusements. Was it?"

"It was," Eric says with an unpleasant smile.
"So I would prefer to choke him with it, but since I can't -"

He holds it up so it catches the light.

"Now I am picturing it draped across a full breast."

Well, now so is Bossuet. He snorts--but pauses for just a moment, to give the image its due. It's not a bad image at all.

Ahem. "...I suppose it's not strong enough to choke someone with." Too bad, really.

"He could choke on it, if I stopped it down his throat," Eric says. Contemplating this image as well.

"We have not," said Death, "All though, I see you are a soul trapped here after death."

Death sipped his tea calmly. [image: tire_moi_mes_bottes: (You must be joking)] Laigle de Meaux ( tire_moi_mes_bottes http://tire-moi-mes-bottes.dreamwidth.org/profile) replied to a comment you left in a Dreamwidth entry http://milliways-bar.dreamwidth.org/25800984.html. The comment they replied to was:

"Get yourself something as well," said Death with a nod, the plates were empty, "Thankyou."

The reply was:

"I don't mind if I do."

When he's got himself a cup of coffee, he raises an inquiring eyebrow. "I'm fairly sure we've not been introduced."

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Breasts, violence... it's a little bit like spending time with Bahorel.

After another pause, Lesgle sighs regretfully. "I suppose it would be unprofessional to discuss the murder of a customer while I'm working. Did you have any particular...someone...in mind for the chain?"

Eric grunts a little, perhaps in agreement.

"Well," he says, "the way I see it there are several candidates. This place is practically teeming with attractive women."

There is a definite purr in his voice.

"Ye-es. That's true. But if you'll forgive advice from someone much younger than you--it's teeming with attractive women who probably wouldn't want to run into Dr. Lecter and have him murmur something about recognizing the chain."

"Mmm." Lesgle bows slightly in his seat, not denying it. "So?"

Death sipped his tea.

"Do you ever wonder if you are a pawn in someone else' game?"

He can't help laughing, a little tiredly. "Certainly. Very frequently. And at this point it would be as shocking to learn as--as that I'm a soul trapped here after death. But do you know something in particular, Monsieur...?"

"It would be with full disclosure if I was to pass it on," Eric says. "Obviously. And it would need to be someone who would find it amusing. Minx perhaps."

Heavy eyes, even heavier voice.

Death smiled at that, it might have been a nice smile, but it wasn't.

"You are friends with one Hannibal Lecter, are you not?" asked Death.

Joly watches all this healthy workish bustling with a fond, if highly amused, smile. "You know I've always thought you were an excellent fellow, but I don't recall you being such an embodiment of philosophy back in our former residence."

"Oh, damn, have I become an embodiment?" Lesgle grins, and reaches over to straighten Joly's cravat, which may or may not have actually needed straightening. "I've tried so hard to leave the allegory and embodiment and metaphor to other people."

"Minx! That's a promising name, but as far as I know I haven't met the lady myself. Good sense of humor, can take care of herself?"

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