milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Sir Apropos of Nothing is in the bar. He is dressed up, tunic and hose and all assorted finery. Where he got them is anyone's guess, but he looks rather good for him. His hand is wrapped firmly around his walking staff, knuckles white. He is looking for Gil. He is Not Pleased.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Hi there, 'Po, you look annoyed. What's the matter?" Gil asks.

I don't have a raptor's gaze. I've always found the birds annoying, especially when found on a nobleman's arm and used to hunt this, that, or the other thing. I do have a rather seasoned glare, however, which is what I gave Gil at this moment in time. I'm not used to glaring at Gil. Of all the people here, Gil was the least likely to ever receive such a thing...but that was before the other day.

"I'm leaving the kitchens."

"Are you?" Gil looks very surprised. "And why is that? Another career opportunity? Of course I wish you very well but this is rather sudden."

I'm trying to keep my temper down. I don't have much one in the first place, such things usually requiring a certain amount of foolish pride which I lack out of pure desire to survive longer. But the other day...

"That flaming eggplant of a deity which you choose to refer to as Asar-Suti. I'm quite certain that if I ever see him again, I will manage to destroy the entire bar and since I'm sure that Bernard and the rest of the patrons will be rather upset with me, I'd rather be poor and avoid it than moderately well-payed and stranded at the end of the universe on a patch of scorched earth."

Gil tilts his head.

He has very little temper to speak of and though a cracking cook, isn't too bright in other respects. However, he can spot a man with a grievance when he sees one.

"Actually, I usually call him Sooty," he says thoughtfully. "Asar-Suti is his name - like my real name is Gilbert Whimple and yours is Sir Apropros of Nothing, plus a whole load of other things if you're being formal. I'm sorry if Sooty has upset you. Can you tell me exactly what it was he did?"

My hand tightens around my staff and I could swear that my nails are digging into the wood.

If not, my hand is a lot harder than I thought.

"I'm not one to anger quickly, Gil. You know that. Annoyed, surely. Considering the general level of intelligence present, it's a wonder I don't spend every day with a migraine. But..."

And I still, because if I don't, I'll do something regrettable. Perhaps not as regrettable as the 'scorched earth' I mentioned earlier, but regrettable nonetheless.

"I'm not going over the whole thing, Gil, because if I do I think something unfortunate might happen, but...since he feels as if it's amusing to kick the metaphorical crutches out from under the lame man and I lived with that for long enough already, thank you...I'll just be leaving the kitchens."

"Ah," Gil sighs. "Yes, he mentioned that. He was very sorry that he upset you. Sooty has a lot to learn about tact and the correct way to phrase things. He often seems to speak without choosing his words but we're working on it."

He studies 'Po for a moment or two.

"How can we overcome this problem? I understood that you are unable to leave Milliways, though I may have been misled, and Sooty spends far more time in the Bar proper than he ever does in the kitchen. I'd have thought there's less chance of you seeing him and being annoyed by his continued existence in the kitchen than in the Bar itself."

"He chose them very well. Very cutting. It wasn't a problem of choosing so much as a choosing to say them."

My hand tightens on the staff again.

"I'm well aware of lacking tact. I've told you; I ran a bar myself for three years, the best of my life. I've seen more drunken people than can be counted and none of them would have known this 'tact' thing had it jumped up and bit them in the ass. This wasn't a lack of tact.

"This was cruelty. I know cruelty. If there's anything in life that I know well, it's that. I've seen it in many forms and from many faces. I can identify it from a thousand paces."

"I see," Gil sighs again. "Can you clarify for me what you intend to do if you no longer work in the kitchen? I did understand that you were - please forgive me if this is tactless but I know no other term for it - Bound. Does the binding restrict your movements to just Milliways its self or have you any other options?"

He looks levelly at 'Po, his face white where it isn't red. "I really don't want to lose you and I want to help you in any way that I can. I value you, 'Po. I hope you know that."

I don't know the answer to his questions. All I know is that I didn't care...and that I thought I did. I had thought that all my time here, the peace I'd found the few friends...

Gretchen. Polly. Zedd. Charlie.

I'd thought I would care. I thought that I had reasons now, things to keep me from that white hot apathy, that desperate uncaring that was more deadly than the most passionate hatred. But I hadn't. And I didn't. And I'm more Sir Apropos of Nothing than I am Po right now and I don't think he understands that and there's not way for me to explain.

Because I won't.

"I don't know."

"You don't know what to do - or you don't know that I care about your well being?"

"I'm not sure."

And I can't talk to him because he sounds like my mother, that same gentle, reasonable tone telling me things that tear and hurt and rip. I remember that floating, I remember that whiteness after the explosion, before the slice from my ear.

I remember my mother, warm and soft and crazy as a loon with destinies for me, but always gentle. Always there until a thundering night.

Blood on her hands. Cold.

"I have to go."

"I ruin everything."

And he hobbles to the front door, opens it, and walks out.

Exit Apropos.

Gil sadly watches him go, unsure of what exactly he has done wrong but pretty sure that the situation is his fault.

He covers his face with his apron for a moment then emerges blinking and goes to carry on with his work.

He'll be washing up as well this shift.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only