milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

kim bauer,
meg giry

(no subject)

*Meg wanders downstairs and into the bar, coffee mug in hand and tutu around her waist. And everyone subsequently dies of shock.*

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"Indy told me what happened." Anthy cannot help eyeing the tutu suspiciously. "I didn't realize the wood . . ."

Neither did I. *Meg rubs her head ruefully.* So the whole time-travel thing came as sort of a shock.

"What happened? He wasn't exactly sure . . ."

I went todash, *Meg says simply.* Through the place where Roland was.

"Todash?"

Pleased to enlighten the purplehead!

"I don't know what that is, really."

It's -

*Meg waves her hands vaguely. Explanations so not her strong point.*

In-between space. Where monsters are. And really nasty chimes.

That didn't really help. "Oh."

Anthy takes a quick sip of tea, and looks hopefully at the subject. The subject does not magically change, even when Anthy makes big sad eyes at it. So she says, "I never did see you dance."

*The subject is impervious to puppy-dog eyes? Impossible!

Meg grins.* Well, like I said, you'll have to come to Paris to see a real performance. You could come watch me practice, though, if you liked.

It is a cruel and heartless subject. :(

"When will your next real performance be?" Paris is nice. Paris is happy.

*That's what ~~Roland~~ everyone thinks. Until the DOOM strikes.*

Probably in about a week or two, *Meg says cheerfully.* I'll tell you, don't worry - save a seat for you and everything.

Anthy bites her lip. "By myself?"

Well, I'll be onstage - it depends if anyone else wants to go. I'd bet Andrew does, actually, so you can probably sit with him, if it bothers you -

*Awkward? Nah!*

"I don't know that Andrew would like that," Anthy says carefully.

Well, otherwise he'd have to sit alone, too, *Meg says reasonably.* It makes sense.

"If you say so." Anthy takes a peaceful and obnoxious sip of tea.

The alternative, *Meg adds,* would be sitting with my mother, and that is a no.

Anthy looks blandly inquiring.

"It's a no?"

Imagine that . . .

She wouldn't approve, *Meg explains.*

"Of what?" Anthy blinks at her.

People from here coming to see my shows, *Meg says, matter-of-factly.* Bad enough that I waste time here; at least I should keep it separate.

"Oh."

A little uncertainly, she says, "I don't like crowds . . ."

You're fine, *Meg assures her hastily.* My mother half the time doesn't even come; she has her own job. It's just, that's why she wouldn't be a good chaperone.

"That wasn't . . ."

Anthy looks at her teacup, frowning. "Andrew wouldn't want my company, and crowds scare me. All the faces blur together."

*Meg considers.*

Would it be better if you went with someone who wasn't Andrew?

*She hesitates, then adds,* I really would like you to see it.

"I don't know. . . . Who did you have in mind?"

Anthy considers saying she'd rather go with Andrew than most people at the bar, and considers not saying it, and, being Anthy, chooses the latter.

She considers saying something in response to Meg's last. But she's still Anthy. Guess what she decides.