milliways_bar | (no subject)

Because he's clearly having a difficult day. And he's new here.

"Difficult," he says, fervently, "doesn't even begin to describe it."

You'll get used to it, *Meg says airily.*

Really. Don't try to figure it out. It'll just give you a headache.

"Not today, I'm afraid."

He smiles, slightly, and departs.

*Meg blinks at Andrew.*

Well. That was bizarre. I wonder if he knows another one of my relatives?

*Andrew has begun to make that odd snorting sound that means he's suppressing a laugh.*

I'll explain later...

*Meg eyes him suspiciously.*

I did meet someone yesterday who we decided was probably a great-great-great-great-great-great-grand-niece-cousin-thing.

Oh? Who?

Violet. Invisible girl. The Flash said she wants ballet lessons, *Meg explains cheerfully.

Only at Milliways.

She adds, rather thoughtfully,* I'm a bit worried - we started talking about the resemblance and relations and things, and she got all, 'I want to be exactly like you,' which probably isn't healthy for her.

*a bit carefully* ...how did she want to be like you?

In every way, I think, *Meg says, a bit glumly.* I warned her about the eating thing, and she said no, she ate lots, so that's good, but otherwise -

*brightly* -- well, maybe you can teach her to dance, and she can teach you to eat ice cream.

I do eat ice cream, *Meg says, a trifle indignantly.* And I had a whole - quarter of a thingy yesterday.

Oh? *curiously* What kind?

It wasn't ice cream, *Meg explains,* it was something Mexicanish. Roland bought it for me. Before the conversation went to doomish things.

*Her tone has gone from actually light, to deliberately light.*

Doomish things, huh?

The usual kind, or something special?

The usual hot-button topics, *Meg says, dismissively.* Possession, messing with people's heads, changing the past . . .

*Andrew would headdesk, if there were a desk handy.*

oh no, not again.

Don't ask me how the conversation got there, *Meg says, defensively.* It just sort of happened.

-- Is this, what, stuff happening now, or were you trading stories, or what?

Trading stories, *Meg says, immediately.* Well. Not trading. More Roland talking about how he went into people's heads, and me glaring and freaking out, because, you know. And then Roland talking about how he changed the past.

*She sighs, and looks down.*

And me listening probably with more interest than I should've been.

*Andrew nods slowly.*

Yeah.

*Meg fiddles idly with a curl.*

He saved someone's life that way, Andrew.

*Andrew bites his lip.*

And it worked? It didn't screw up his timeline?

[ooc: must run. slowtime?]