teen!emcee

[i_am_your_host]

The door opens and in steps a slight and slender youth, dark haired, doe eyed, and rosy lipped. He might be sixteen, seventeen, eighteen -- who knows? Not even he does. But dressed in a white button-down shirt, with flannel slacks and a waistcoat (all neat but secondhand), he may be trying to appear older or educated. He's aware that he's not particularly convincing. It's just part of the game.

"Milliways," he murmurs under his breath as his lips curl in a smile.

The memories come flooding back. He hadn't remembered a thing when he left, his mind seemingly wiped clean of this place and the people he'd met. But now, he remembers. And he wonders how he could have ever forgotten.

He goes right up to the bar and orders a really, really big mug of beer.

Comments

[onceaviking]

And no sooner had Eric decided that teenagers just aren't worth it - well, what do you know?

And yet he hesitates for a while. In the shadows. Quietly watching.

He even heads outside for an hour or two, reluctant to think too hard about why.

When he returns, the youth is still there.

And Eric walks over to the bar as someone who never second guesses himself.

Tall. Pale. Quiet.

[i_am_your_host]

The boy spends the next hour or two reading National Geographic magazines, sipping beer, and filling up on favorite finger foods. Right now he's finishing up a basket of potato croquettes.

He remembered that Eric Northman had offered to pay for his food and drink. He's not sure if the offer still stands, but the vampire seemed generous at the time.

And just as he wonders if he is still around, he senses a presence approaching. Large and cool and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He turns to look.

"Herr Northman," he half-gasps, looking surprised but oddly happy to see him.

[onceaviking]

You shouldn't look happy to see a vampire.
But someone who lose will have to tell the boy that. It is not Eric's concern.

He leans on the bar with the kind of small nod, that a vampire might use when seeing someone again after a while.
Someone - useful.

"You have returned."

[i_am_your_host]

"I have indeed," he says in accented English with a guileless smile, as he turns fully to sit facing Eric.

"When I returned home, I remembered nothing of our meeting or coming to this place. But the door found me again, and all my memories came back-- like magic."

The boy regards him as if he were something of a patron. He can't help it. Eric had been nice to him, even kind, and even confided in him about Godric. He remembers that, too.

"How have you been, mein Herr?"

[onceaviking]

"Good," Eric says.
"Busy."

He cants his head a little and watches the boy's pulse jumping right beneath his ear.

[i_am_your_host]

The boy smirks, sensing where Eric's attention is focused.

"You are a man of many words."

He picks up his mug of beer and takes a sip.

"I hope you don't mind that I put this on your tab. You did offer..."

[onceaviking]

"And you didn't avail yourself of it at the time?"

Not that it really matters.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly doesn't recognize the teenager, and he doesn't recognize the style of his outfit, but he does recognize being young and trying to make the most of secondhand clothing. So when the kid comes up to the bar nearby and orders a beer, he nods, friendly, and offers an unobtrusive greeting.

[i_am_your_host]

The boy glances up from his magazine, always aware of his surroundings and the people in it, and catches the young man's greeting. His eyes flick up and down in a quick assessment disguised as a shy flutter of eyelashes, and he smiles with a small dip of his head.

"Good evening."

[tu_vas_triompher]

His assessment will a young man in old-fashioned worker's clothing, reading a book in French: War With the Newts, Karel Čapek. The shyness of his smile doesn't look like it's disguising anything at all. "Evening. Are you new here?"

[i_am_your_host]

"No-- well, a little bit," he says with a little shrug.

Noticing his book, he continues in French, "This is only my second time here." His German accent is barely noticeable.

[tu_vas_triompher]

The language shift does, now, remind Feuilly of Emcee--but he's not sure. "Oh, all right. You didn't look like you needed the place explained, but I thought I'd check. What are you reading?" A friendly nod to the magazine.

[i_am_your_host]

"Thank you, I think I have a good idea about how this place works," he says with a dimpled grin (and still in French, because he likes to practice it when he can).

He slides the magazine over a little so that the other man can see a photo spread of brilliantly colored birds from the Amazon jungle.

"It's called National Geographic. It has wonderful articles and photographs about every country and its environments and people on Earth. I've been reading it since I was a child, whenever I could get my hands on a copy. Or at least, I loved looking at the pictures."

He didn't learn to read until he was about ten, but that's a minor detail.

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin sees Klaus and the tips of his ears go red as he comes over, last time they met was fun and overwhelming, "Hello."

[i_am_your_host]

The boy looks up from his meal and his magazine at the greeting, and a smile instantly spreads across his elfin face.

"Quentin! Hallo!" he says cheerfully. "I was not sure anyone would remember me, but I am glad that you did."

His grasp on English is better than the last time he was here, though his German accent is more prominent than if he were speaking French.

[heatherandsteel]

"You're hard to forget," His English is better and so Quentin doesn't switch to French.

[i_am_your_host]

He utters a short, bright giggle that dimples his cheeks.

"In a good way, I hope," he says with a blush.

[heatherandsteel]

The tips of his ears are just going to stay red, because Klaus is cute and he'd never done anything like that with someone he'd just met.

He doesn't know if he will again but its good to see Klaus, "Yes. How are you doing?"

[i_am_your_host]

Oh, he remembers.

"I am quite well, thank you," he says, smirking a little at Quentin's pink-tipped ears. "And yourself?"

He then pulls the basked of potato croquettes closer. "Would you like some?"

[the_cupbearer]

Ganymede doesn't, normally, come to Milliways in such a state of deshabille as he finds himself today: he's in dark indigo skinny jeans, shirt slung over the next barstool as he tries to unpick the knots in his hair with a comb.

He's studying Emcee from the corner of one eye, half-amused. "There are better things to drink around here, you know," he murmurs.

[i_am_your_host]

The boy turns his head at the sound of the man's voice, and-- for some reason he's rendered speechless as he stares with big brown eyes at him.

And when he realizes he's been staring, he blushes very pink, and he tears his gaze away in a flutter of dark, curling lashes.

"I-- I have simple tastes?" he suggests with a shrug of slender shoulders.

[the_cupbearer]

"Do you now?" he asks, chuckling. "I don't mind you staring, don't worry," Ganymede says, comfortably half-naked and not aiming to change that.

"You blush, it's cute."

[i_am_your_host]

He breathes out a soft giggle that dimples his cheeks.

"So people tell me," he says, still blushing as he eyes the man with coy appreciation. If the man doesn't mind him looking, then he is certainly going to look.

"And it is true, I am not very-- mm, sophisticated in what pleases me. I like what I like." He shrugs again. "Of course, I am open to liking other things. What do you think I should drink?"

[the_cupbearer]

"I'm inclined to agree," Ganymede replies, smiling and turning towards the boy. "I think...hmmm. Maybe gin," he says. "You look like the type to enjoy the floral bite."

He may be grinning a little. "Would you like to try it? On me," he offers, laying a slender-fingered hand with henna dyed onto it on the bartop, and having two small glasses appear.

[i_am_your_host]

"Oh, I know people who drink gin all the time, but I never thought to have any," he says, and then adds, "yet." He grins in return. "I would very much like to try it, thank you, mein Herr."

When the glasses appear, he picks one of them up and sniffs it.

"I have seen working ladies put a dab of gin behind each ear before they go out each night," he chuckles. "Perhaps there is something to it."