milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

[OOM: Door in London Below]

Door stumbles in - through the bathroom door, this time. Blood coats the right side of her face, matting her hair and dripping onto her leather jacket.

Beneath the blood, she is pale and scared.

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"If I hadn't already died, I'd die for it."

"Well, I shall try it next time I'm here for dinner on your recommendation, then."

She finishes tying down her bandages and smiles at him.

"If it's awful, I'm blaming you."

"Me? Blame the chef!" Biff objects.

"But blaming you will be far more amusing, I'm sure," Door points out.

"You never know. The chef could be infinitely amusing to blame. You may need to conduct a personal investigation into the level of amusment you could get from blaming either one of us. A sort of compare and contrast project, you know?"

"But who really does the cooking? I mean, Gil, sometimes, of course, but who cooks the things that just materialise on Bar?"

Biff frowns thoughtfully.

"I do not know. Perhaps I should look into it. In fact, to discourage future blaming, I think I will right now. Unless you need more help."

"No, I think I'll be fine. Thank you so much for your help..." She laughs. "You know, we never even exchanged names. I'm Door."

"Levi-who-is-called-Biff, professional disciple. You take care of that gash, Door."

"Will do, Levi-who-is-called-Biff. Let me know what you find out about the chef."

Hey, this is the girl who, in all seriousness, called Richard Richardrickardmayhewdick. And anyway, she's gone.

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