milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

*Bernard's at the usual table.

Coffee.

Newspaper.

A shocking lack of scars.*

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm really, really not. His Slayer was killed, and she had a son, and Crowley raised the boy...I met him."

Waugh.

...He didn't have red hair and lots of double joints, did he?

Cause if so, I'm screwed.

"I didn't meet the Watcher, I met the boy he raised...but the Watcher was British, if that helps any."

Great.

"Are you secretly British? 'Cause I met your mom, she didn't seem British."

Unless the Brits were emigrating to be itinerant pickers in Washington State in the 1940's, no.

"Probably safe then. I like your mom, by the way. I'm still shocked and amazed that you weren't the product of an illicit union between a bottle of tequila and a stick of dynamite, but I like her."

Well, for all I know, I was.

I'm adopted, Faith.

"...ah. That didn't come up."

Well, it generally doesn't.

Not like it matters. Doesn't matter with Sunny. Family's family.

"Yeah. And like I said. She seemed really nice."

Beat.

"Interested in seeing pictures of you in the sheep's head, but nice."

Oh, Jesus.

*A glare*

You're fired.

"Crowley's having them developed for me."

He's off my tab.

"I'll put him on mine."

Horrible woman.

"I love you too, Bernard."

And she kisses his (nonscarred!) cheek.

*He rolls his eyes, reddening.*

Shuddup.

"You should know that doesn't work."

What doesn't?

"Telling me to shut up."

Obviously.

"You're even hotter when you blush. No wonder you're gonna have three kids in so short a time."

*There is mild flailing.*

God, Faith! It's like Ophelia's humping my leg or something!

Faith lights up.

"Your sister? Aww, Bernard, I didn't know you thought of me like that!"

And the Barman is being hugged, exuberantly.