milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Alain is on the couch, with graf and a bowl of stew. Beef stew, thick and full of vegetables -- Bar has standards -- and good fresh bread.

He is, again, putting a fair amount of effort into not appearing broody. Luckily, both natural propensity and years of training mean that Alain is very good at putting on a public face when he is so inclined.

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Someone behind Alain clears their throat.
Funny how the Gunslinger didn't hear anyone approach.
If that's not really a hint as to who the throat belongs to, really...what is?

Alain tenses, head turning, hands dropping automatically towards his belt. The gesture is aborted an instant later as his brain takes over, even before he's quite focused on Mike.

Conversationally, "You know, that's really not a good idea."

It's not unfriendly. Though he means it.

"What, it's not like I'm not unarmed."

Mike points down to his own gunbelt, which holds a cooked turkey leg.

"Besides, the way you lot are all wound up, I could be a one man band and still get that sort of reaction."

Alain is torn between laughing and just burying his face in one hand.

This is fairly clear.

Mike unholsers his turkey leg, spins it, and then reholsters it.
Grinning the whole time.

How about combining the two reactions?

Gods. Cort would have apoplexy.

Or knock Mike into next week, more likely. Though Mike is used to this, if his training was anything like Alain's.

They could swap stories, Mike and Alain. On the wonders of corporal punishment in the warping...er...training! of young minds.

"So...can I sit? Or do you want to see more tricks? Because, I have more tricks, but I'd rather sit. Because tricks, not exactly respectful...you know?"

Drily, "I kennit."

He grins, slightly. "You can sit, of course."

Before mike plops down on the floor, he takes a nearly used up roll of plastic wrap out from his back pocket, and begins to roll up the turkey leg.

"You know, for soup."

With that done, he stows the leg, then folds his hands in his lap.

"Sooo....what's new?"

Alain did not know, in fact -- plastic wrap is not so common on Mid-World -- but he gets the idea.

A look slanted at Mike.

He's wondering if this is targeted, or honest small talk. If Mike's talked to Lilly.

A little wryly, "It's Milliways."

"This, also true.
...
You're not a tap dancing sort of guy, are you Alain?"

That gets a blank look.

Dancing, he understands, but...

"Yeah, I'll take that as a no. Um, right. So with the blunt then. Okay. I'm just going to come out and ask. Did you and Lilly break up?"

...Well, that answers that.

He exhales. "Not like you mean it."

He's looking at a spot on the table. It's apparently a very interesting spot.

His glance flicks to Mike, briefly.

Quietly, "Do you ken the clearing? The clearing at the end of the path."Q

"Um...not so much, no."

But should Alain look up from that damned spot, he'd see that Mike is more than willing to ken.

"It's... what's at the end." He glances at Mike again. "Heaven, some call it. Where the Lady ushers everyone."

"Not everyone, but I get your meaning. So I'm going to go out on a limb and say that intermission's over, and it's time to return to your seats?"

Alain would say everyone, soon or late, but it's not a point to argue over.

He nods, slightly. Sober.

At least this time he didn't have to spell it all out.

"I sort of, overheard. Nothing personal, just what is apparently the aftermath. You see, I've been spending a lot of time in Mel's ~~old~~room, and it's kind of hard to miss."

Alain winces.

After a moment, quietly. "Yes. So."

"It's calling me. Us. To... intermission's ending, as you said."

Party's over.

"Not for her."

"I know what that's like. To watch someone follow their destiny, and be the one left behind. She'll get better.

...

Well this sort of takes the wind out of the sails I had prepared."

A faint snort of almost-laughter, there and gone. "Say sorry."

He sighs. Hope you're right, he doesn't say.

Nor does he point out that his experience with the ones left behind generally involves them dying in the course of it.

"Well you should be."

Mike grasps on to the laughter, and holds on tight.

"I had this whole thing planned. Was going to come over under the guise of being a happy go-lucky guy. Get you talking about things, and then WHAM! when you least expected it I was totally going to go Protective Brother on you. With Kung-Fu action grip, and everything.

But now, now I just want to pinch your cheeks and call you Woobie.
...
Would you shoot me if I pinched your cheeks and called you Woobie?"

Mike is like a weird amalgam of Cuthbert and Lilly. Plus caffeine.

It's oddly comforting to fall back into his usual role of sitting back, half amused and half disbelieving at the things coming out of the other person's mouth.

"Probably."

Reluctant amusement threads faintly through his voice.

"Awww man, I am so not up for getting shot today. Oh well. Consider yourself pinched and renamed anyways."

A little more amused, "All right."

Beat.

...Yeah, he has to ask. "...Woobie?"

There are eyebrows. Eyebrows of dubiousness.

"It's just what it sounds like, you know? Like, uh...what's the word? Onomatopoeic? Yeah...that."

He beams back up at Alain.

Alain knows onomatopoeia.

Alain does not understand how it applies here.

He's deciding that either he won't understand or that it's really better not to, though.

"Ah." Lips twitch.

"Was that a knowing ah? Or a just agree with the wierd guy sitting on the floor and maybe he'll go away ah?"

"That was a 'It's probably better for my brain that I don't understand' ah."

"Heh, fair enough. Would you be surprised to hear that I get that a lot?"

Alain snorts.

"Never in life."

Mike reminds him a lot of Cuthbert.

"I don't care what they say about you, you're a smart guy."

A fractional sitting bow.

Still amused, yes. More so than he's been for several days.

"It's okay, I'm strong enough with your masculinity, you can tell me you love me."

He bats his eyes.

That surprises a snort of disbelieving laughter out of him.

It's the batting eyelashes, mostly.

Alain wonders absently if Mike has been spending too much time around Scarlett.

Mike laughs along with Alain, before reaching out and playfully slapping him on the leg.

"Okay. See? See how laughing is so much better than...well, you know, life. I uh...I've been there. Well, where we're going, not where you're headed. Not bad, could use a good dusting, and maybe a couple of throw pillows.

Anyhow, um...we'll take good care of her. Promise. You just have to take good care of yourself. Think you can manage it? Or does Woobie need a babysitter?"

With a faint, crooked smile, "I'll be fine."

The clearing is peace.

More quietly, "Thanks."

For the promise. And the laughter, but more for the promise.

Mike rolls up onto his knees, then back onto his feet, and stands.

"For a Woobie like you, anytime."

Alain should get a really good idea as to what a Woobie is by the tone in Mike's voice.
And yes, with ninja reflexes he reaches out and pinches Alain on the cheek.

Alain bats at his hand, ducking away. An instant too slow; Mike's reflexes, like his silence, match a gunslinger's.

He's laughing, just a bit, as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Well, good. I'm glad we have this settled. I'm going to head back upstairs. Looks like I've got a metric Stampy load of cookies to make."

Mike extends the pinching hand out to Alain.

Alain's hand drops from his face, to clasp Mike's. A smile -- crooked, but real. Yeah, it says, and another thanks.

With the brothers he has, Mike should be quite used to interpreting this kind of communication.

Mike grins, nodding slightly. Yeah, he knows. Mike's got a blackbelt in nonverbal communication, afterall.

And with that, he turns and heads upstairs.
There are cookies in need of a makin'.

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