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*Brian wanders in. He's got muddy tyre-tracks across his shirt, and a mostly-deflated bike tyre looped around his neck and under one arm. If you look close enough, you might be able to see that someone's chalked 'MISS WALES' on it. Around his waist is a huge Welsh flag, tied like a sarong, and his face is continuing the whole 'mud' theme.

He's a little bit drunk*

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"No tiara?"

*he presses one hand flat on the top of Hat, and pulls Hat up a little way, carefully, around his hand*

Crown.

"Ah."

She looks him over.

"Lovely ensemble. You must have killed the competition."

*he grins widely*

No no no no. Adopted country. Adopted country won, with the rugby and the ooooOOOOH! And the WAHEY! And the oh man drink so much.

*he plucks at the flag around his waist*

This's Rich's...

She looks at the mud-covered flag dress.

"I'm sure he's generously donated it to you at this point."

No no no. Don't want it. 'mEnglish! Whole other country. Big place. Trees. Hedges. Tiiiiiny tiny churches.

None of those things in Wales?

*he looks at her for a moment, frowning*

Um.

*then the grin reappears*

Whole other country. Small place. Trees. Hedges. Tiiiiiiny tiny churches. Also sheep.

She grins.

"Sheep are very important."

Sheep are funny. Sheep are comedy geniuses. Genii? They are, anyway. Ever seen a sheep doing stand up?

"I've never seen a sheep at all. At least not in person."

They're cuter on TV.

*he nods decisively*

They smell. Also, chased Absinthe Joe across a field.

Why would they chase you? What could it do if it caught you?

Headbutt you. Plus, sheep? Totally know capaoiera. Watch 'em sometime, when they don't know any humans are about. It's amazing.

"Ahh, but I know okidoki. They would flee from me in terror."

*nods sagely*

You lie, white man!

I never lie, young one.

Pfft! Everybody lies. Everybody everybody. Even if it's just an itsy bitsy teeny weeny lie it's still yellow and polka-dotted in the stakes of truth and justice and the Welsh way.

...perhaps there are embellishments and omitted truths here and there.

Lying's alright so long as it's not malissssh- melish- mean.

No, never that.

*he pats her on the head*

Then you're all good, short stuff.

[[[OOCish: In an act of 'adopted country soldiarity' Gil bounces from the kitchen waving an inflatable leek, hugs Brian violently, kisses him on both cheeks, then, just cuz he can, on the mouth. then he bounces away again to make caws pobi and cawl while singing 'Hymns and Arias'.

Bet it's noisy where you are!!]]]

[ooc: Brian is terribly flattered by the kisses. And surprisingly not, actually, although I'm thankful it's still cold enough to keep windows closed. Currently debating whether to drink cider in adopted country solidarity-ness...]

[[ooc: well, drinking something is probably compulsory, so might as well drink something you like.]]

*Xander approaches Brian, glancing nervously around for puppets as he goes.*

Hey! Um, I don't really know how to break this to you ... but you seem to be the victim of a Welsh monster truck rally.

*Brian blinks at him*

...Wales has trucks? Wow. Dude, have I been missing out. Do they keep them in the multitude of churches? 'cos I swear there's a church for every single person, which seems excessive.

I ... wouldn't know, having never been to Wales. But, uh, I guess they say that your body is a temple-- maybe the Welsh take that literally.

My body is totally a temple. It's dedicated to worshipping saint Geoff, patron saint of dangerous driving.

Haven't heard of that one. But it definitely explains the ... uh ... tires. *He extends his hand, eyeing Brian as if he is a few Froot Loops short of the bowl.* I'm Xander.

*he looks bemused, then looks down at his shirt*

Oh man. Yeah. Bikes in the park. Wales won the rugby. I can't say I get it, but y'know, excuse to drink cider, so.

*Xander nods slowly.*

Wait, is rugby the game where they have brooms on ice? No, wait, that's hurling or something ... uh?

Rugby is like... American football with no padding. I reckon. I dunno, really, I'm not big with the sports watching-ness.

*Xander isn't, either.*

Football. Cool. Yeah, I'm not big on the football. Especially when this is the result. *He gestures at Brian's "Miss Wales" getup.* No offense. Beauty pageants just aren't my can of Coke, if you get what I mean.

*he leans forward confidingly*

They fed me cider. I'm not responsible for my actions or dress code.

Cider? Like "made with apples"? This was hard cider, wasn't it?

... Who is this "they," some extreme-football-playing-drag-queen cult?

You've heard about them? Shit. Run, run while there's still time!

*he snickers*

And... woah, hard cider? Um, it was, y'know, liquid...

*Xander blinks. Even HE has never said anything that dumb.*

... Yeah. So, cults. Or not. I may never actually attend a sporting event because of this. At least demons and vampires leave your mangled corpse with dignity.

I dunno, the demon guy didn't seem that bad, from what I remember.

*he grins*

... Did this demon guy wear sunglasses and shack up with the other team-- in terms of friends, I mean? Angel friends?

*Brian grins and nods*

That was the whole apocalypse thing.

Oh! You were in on that.

*Xander frowns, confused.*

I don't remember rugby being a part of that story.

No, that was in my pre-rugby days. Um, eleven. Small apocalypse-fighty thing.

Wow. If only my childhood memories were filled with that kind of fun. You're an apocalypse-fighting prodigy, man. Most of don't get started until out late teens.

*he grins, wrinkling his nose*

Dude, most people miss out totally.

Gits.

Um, Xander, I have to be elsewhere, but cool meeting you. I'll bein again soon, so I'll see you.

*he laughs*

Oh, yeah, and Brian, too.

What, are you getting tired?

*Xander winces at his own pun.*

I have no idea where that came from. Uh, nice to meet you, Brian. See you around! *He waves feebly.*

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