milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: happy

(no subject)

Gorlim is in the bar.

If he looks a little scary, it's because the adjective that applies in this case is well-rested. This doesn't occur often. But Random was good enough to poke at his head and make the nightmares go away for one night.

So here is a Gorlim, looking shockingly content with his existence and eating french fries.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A rather beautiful but sad melody plays from a harp. The man singing is Asmodean looking as he always do.

A sunny shaft did I behold,
From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold-
Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!

He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he trolled
Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
All else of amethyst!

And thus he sang: 'Adieu! adieu!
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms they make no delay:
The sparkling dew-drops will not stay.
Sweet month of May,
We must away;
Far, far away!
To-day!To-day!

"That's lovely," he says when the song is through. "Did you make that song? Or is it from your land?"

He considered for a moment, before turning his dark-eyed gaze to Gorlim. His voice as cool and dry as ever.

"The lyrics are by a man named Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The music is my own."

"I like it. Interesting theme, though. You always pick such sad songs. Not that I'm complaining. You sing them beautifully." He slides his plate of french fries across the table. "Hungry?"

He shook his head, watching Gorlim intently all the while.

"No, thank you."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself. Which I'm certain you do." He takes a french fry and munches it contentedly. "So. What inspires you to gravitate this way, Bard?"

He considered for a moment, but said nothing.

No glance, no indication of anything on his face.

"Jasin? You have to TALK as well as THINK. I don't do telepathy." He waves his hand in front of the Bard's face and contemplates lobbing a fry at him.

Asmodean turns his head and presses a thought into Gorlim's mind.

So sure are you?

"Hey cut that out now!" He clutches at his hair. "That hurt." He glowers not-very-threateningly. "And that wasn't an answer." Stubborn, as always.

A tilt of the head.

"Were you honestly expecting one?"

"Well I--" Pause, rubbing his head. "I suppose not. Unless it was something about dark sheep. At least that was entertaining." He looks at his hands as if expecting to see blood. Like telepathy makes your brains leak out your hair. "How do you do that, anyway?"

Again, he presses a thought into Gorlim's mind.

Like so

A small, simple smile on his face.

He winces. "I said cut that out!" he growls. Trust me, you mess about in there, you'll go crazier than just the voices in your head. I have Spiders and werewolves and all sorts of nasty things in there. Get out." He means it. Unintentionally, he might even manage to communicate that without words, without body language -- probably not much, but enough conviction can have an effect even on those not telepathically inclined.

And Gorlim has a LOT of conviction.

Asmodean laughed.

"What's so funny?" He glowers more, with a hint of a pout.

His face immediately became the picture of calm.

"Nothing."

"Really. Tell me. Come on please?" He tosses a french fry at the bard. "Tell me or the next one will have ketchup on it!"

Ooh, scary.

The french fry explodes in midair.

Asmodean merely raises an eyebrow.

Ooh. That was cool.

Gorlim lobs another one.

The french fry stops in midair as Asmodean gives it a reproachful look.

It flies back at Gorlim, except this time it is on fire.

Gorlim catches it in the hand currently wrapped with a slightly bloody handkerchief. He waves the fire out and eats it.

"Hey... that's really good, you know? You should be a cook. What else can you set on fire?"

Men like Gorlim really only PRETEND to grow up....

Gorlim is now on fire.

Why, yes he is.

Gorlim chirps and leaps out of his seat. He dives into a roll that effectively douses the flames. He DID live through dragons and balrogs, after all. Being on fire is nothing new to him.

Once the flames are extinguished, he sits on the floor and crosses his arms.

"Do you WANT me to do something violent to that harp?" he asks.

Asmodean considers for a moment. A tilt of his head, and a leveled dark-eyed gaze.

"Would you care to try?"