milliways_bar | (no subject)

Charles eyes the triplets with interest.

"My pants, you say?"

"Yes. Pants."

"And why, pray tell, do you want my pants?"

"For Joe." Duuuuuh.

Hmm.

"Who, exactly, is Joe, and why does he need my pants?"

"He's our pet." Rag doll. That they haven't made yet. But they're working on it.

"We have a shirt now." They show him a brightly colored shirt, complete with burn hole in the armpit.

"I see."

There is a pause.

"Tell you what. I'll give you a pair of pants. Just not the ones that I am wearing right now."

"GIMME!" Grubby devil hands reach out.

He shirks back - back, grubby hands, back!

"Bar, a suitable pair of pants for the children, please."

A pet-sized pair of long pants appear, neatly folded. They're dark red. And in impeccable condition.

Barrel takes one look at those pants and laughs until he falls over.

"They have to be your size. Our pet is your size. Our pet is you."

It's quite possible that these children are very, very creepy.

"What do you mean, your pet is me. You just told me that your pet is named Joe. And my name is not Joe. So therefor, I cannot be your pet."

Oh dear God let logic triumph over these children.

"You can be our pet if you want. You're the right size." Shock the witch gazes at Charles.

Logic? Possible? PSHT.

Firmly, "No, I do not want. I am no-one's pet, thank you."

Left-over feelings? What? Noooooooooooooooooo. Never.

"Why not?"

"Because I belong to myself. As the term goes, I am my own person."

And it's quite possible that he does not trust these children. At all.

"But you can be sewn into clothes and be like Sally."

Charles staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaares.

"No."

"Yes."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then we'll attack you." Three masks lower and three hands go for the various weapons that Tub possesses.

Tub being that giant mechanical Tub behind them.

"Oh, that's it?"

Charles sits back in his chair and holds up one finger in the universal "one moment" signal. He picks up his glass of wine, takes a sip, and then puts it back down on the table, on the far side, where's it will remain out of harm's way, hopefully.

"Very well then."

The Triplets *stare* at Charles.

"You're really strange. No whining? No praying for your mortal life? NO FLAILING?"

NO FAIR!

Charles suddenly seems to have the air of a very, very patient tutor.

"It would hardly be very logical for me to pray for my mortal life, or to flail about wildly, when I do not have a mortal life. Children, I am dead already."

And, as an afterthought, "So sorry to have spoiled your fun."

Sip.

"How'd you die?" The children scramble up uninvited onto chairs next to Charles, at rapt attention.

He frowns, thinking. Trying to remember. All he remembers is pain, and rain, and cold, and the fog creeping around Beauty's face.

Oh, there was the man. He heard him scream. Was that it? The sharp pain in his side?

"I was stabbed, I believe. I was not really paying attention at the time."