milliways_bar | (no subject)

*Thom accosts him, looking tired and cranky himself.* Hey.

You heard?

"Yeah, I heard." Peter does a good job of not snarling. Because Thom is not who he wants to snarl at. It's a certain pirate. "So what are we going to do about it?"

We, Peter?

I'm stuck here. What I can do is jack shit. I'm waiting on you, brother.

Brother. "Right." Peter sighs. "I suppose that's right. So I suppose we just need to convince the bar to let me go there."

The bar hates me.

What'll you do once you get there?

Any idea where there is?

"No. I know it was a pirate, but how many of -those- do we have around here?" Peter shakes his head. "I think Valentine has more information than anybody."

You wanna bet?

They're in the Caribbean.

"I suppose that means something to you."

Actually . . . no.

You?

"No." Peter's eyes are dark. "But I can ask around."

And . . . what, hire the cavalry?

*Thom looks Peter up and down. He does not seem terribly impressed.*

"Not needed."

Yeah?

Been keeping something from me?

"I can handle him." Is all Peter says, but firmly.

*Thom says nothing.

But he has an excellent skeptical look.*

"Alanna's been training me." He says simply.

. . . uh huh.

Good, so you'll be your own army. Saves on expenses.

"It's the only way to do this." Who can he ask for help?

. . . right . . .

"But what would you suggest?"

*Thom shrugs.* I'm not.

But if I catch you just sitting around . . . ever . . .

"You think I'm just going to sit around here while she's in trouble?"

'S what you've been doing, innit?

Potatoes hit him in the back of the head. They're garlic.

Peter does not appreciate this introduction to a new type of shower. He turns to find the source, glaring.

Val is cleaning a table. Just that. Cleaning a table. If there is a pile of potatoes on her tray, well, um, it was because she had to clean a table full of them earlier.

Peter tries to ignore her again.

More mashed potatoes hit in in the back of his head. Mmmm. Smell the garlic.

Well, at least now Peter won't be approached by Angel again anytime soon.

He can't ignore her any longer. He orders ice cream from the bar, but gives her one more chance before retalating.

A couple minutes pass. And then Peter is the proud recipient of a glob of Jell-o to the back of her head. Looks like one of the milli-kids didn't finish dinner.

That's it. Peter walks over to her, and dumps the ice cream over her head.

"Hey there, sis. Bye, sis." He tries to walk off again.

He doesn't get very far before spaghetti is dumped down the back of his shirt. "Greetings to you as well, my dearest brother."

Peter whirls around and glares at her. "And this is productive -how-?"

Her eyes darken at him. "Because it's better than me slapping you across the face. Would you rather I did that, because I would be more than happy to." A glare.

"Shut up, Val." Peter says stormily, grabs some potatos from her tray, and smushes them into -her- hair.

Val picks up a plate, which has a couple bean tacos on it, and plops them on Peter's head, smooshing appropriately.

Peter throws a soda at her.

Ooooh. There's a salad. Val grabs it and drobs it unceremoniously on his head. Look! French dressing.

Look at that other table. It has such a fancy cake.

Now the cake's fancy, but on Val's shirt. A new home.

The bar is an eternal paradox, neh? Well, Peter has become intimately aquainted with a few of them who have been smosshed on his shoulders.

Peter scrapes one off, tastes it. Raises an eyebrow. "Not as good as I've heard."

She rolls her eyes, facepalming. Turning, she leans over a table to grab something off of the next one.

Timmy likes cranky people. ~~They panic faster~~.

He hovers over Peter and sips his Kool-aid.

Peter looks up, and blinks.

"...do you realize you're hovering in a raft?"

Timmy smiles at Peter, who is probably beginning to feel a little short of breath.

Peter figures this is just because there is a kid floating above him who could -fall down on him at any moment-.

He seriously considers moving.

Timmy flips over and paddles his hands happily in the . . . air. The raft bobs up and down over Peter.

If this goes on, Peter may start feeling dizzy.