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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Nothing, *Meg announces, Franco-centrically,* ought to be considered from an Anglo-centric perspective.

"Except in countries that are part of the Commonwealth." He counters.

Not even then. They should be done a favor and considered from some other perspective, *Meg says cheerfully.* Because the British one just can't be flattering.

"Ah...the French one would be better?"

Mais bien sur!

"...I should have known better then to ask."

*Meg pats his shoulder kindly.* I can't expect you to understand. It's all right, you can't help it.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Because I'm British?"

Because, *Meg says cheerfully,* you're not French.

"So...would 'Ala understand?"

*Meg considers this solemnly.*

I don't know. He may have been brainwashed.

"He's still fairly French, you know."

I'd have to consult with him on the subject, *Meg says soberly,* in order to really judge.

"Be my guest. If he'd talk to someone else apart from me I'd kiss their feet."

He talks to me on occasion, *Meg protests.* When he comes downstairs.

- which hasn't been in a while, come to think of it . . .

"Exactly" Mordred runs his hand through his hair.

Does he just - not want to come down?

"I don't know. He just doesn't."

At least he still talks to you just as much, doesn't he?

"Yes, he still does that. But I'd feel slightly childish ordering him downstairs."

Well, true. Maybe you could coax him down? Lure him with chocolate or something?

Mordred blinks.

"Chocolate?"

Or, you know, something tasty, *Meg elaborates further.*

He's still staring at her.

"I..."

*Meg blinks.* What?