milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: dangerously existential

(no subject)

Gorlim is in the bar with the usual amount of implicated doom. It sort of hovers around him like an aura or something. At the moment, he has no plot, and is thus rendered even more dangerous. Scarier still, he has TEA.

The tea is scary because it means he isn't trying to disown his dark side by drowning it in alcohol. It may mean the dark side is sleeping, or it may mean it's fingering the knife.

Care to take a gamble and poke at the Traitor Betrayed?

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A slow blink of acknowledgment.

"Then it is a shame that I will not be humouring your morbid curiosity." *Levelly*

"You might if I fill you full of wine," Gorlim counters, weaving his voice into the low seductive tones of Making A Deal. "Your choice. I'll buy you all the poison you can drink if you'll agree not to try to kill me for the next few hours, and we'll see who's humoured."

He snorts quietly and a moment later his lips curl very slightly.

"Deal." Is the simple reply.

"Brandy."

"A man of good taste, I see. Two," he orders, and slides a glass to Parnasse. He lifts his in a silent toast and drinks.

He continues watching the opposite side of the booth intently.

He finally takes a swig of brandy and continues sitting silently.

Pensively.

He invites himself to sit at Parnasse's table. "One or the other of us is going to talk," he says bluntly. "I'm going to be generous and let you pick which one."

He snorts once more and closes his eyes such that Gorlim cannot see him roll them.

He takes another sip and leans back against the back of the booth. His eyes remain closed.

"I'm going to regret this, but go ahead." He replies quietly.

"You might," he says, "or you might not. It all depends on your point of view. Have you ever been married?"

Another sip of brandy.

"No."

"Mmm." The meaning behind his reply is veiled. "You're from a city. We didn't have cities where I come from... not like the ones I hear of in other lands. What is it like?"

"I thought you were doing the talking."

He shrugs and takes another sip.

"It varies from place to place. I tend to keep to certain areas. They tend to be dark and dirty. Dangerous places in general, but they suit me.

The rest of the city is cleaner and safer. Expansive with many old and large buildings, a few parks, and an island in the middle of the city, with a large cathedral. Notre Dame is where I was headed when I arrived here." He speaks slowly and calmly.

"See, that wasn't hard, was it?" He sips his brandy companionably. "Is it a big island? I died on a big tower on an island. There were werewolves involved, though."

"Not large. There is a river. Large enough for a cathedral at least."

He opens one eye briefly to look at Gorlim concerning the werewolves.

"You don't say." *Dryly*

"I do say," he says. "Though not often. What is a cathedral?"

*Shrug*

"A big important church as far as I can determine. I don't frequent them."

"Oh, church. We don't have churches. Elves make towers for things, and I believe some of them may have similar intent, but men of my land have never made houses of worship." He contemplates the brandy in his glass. "It seems a little silly."

"I would be inclined to agree."

He smirks momentarily at a memory.

"But it made a good escape route, from the hands of the police, right into an entirely different prison."

"A church is a prison?"

"No, this bar is a prison."
*simply*

"Ah." He thinks about things. "Denmark's a prison?" he tries.

"It may be. Never left Paris."

Helpful isn't he?

He takes another drink. This could take a while.

"Are you stuck here, too, then?"

"Yes."

A sneer.

"Oh, thrilling. No getting rid of either of us, then, is there. I'm going home some day," he says with conviction. "Ellie and I are going to find home again."

"I hope that day comes soon."

A smirk.

"For your sake of course." *Dryly*