milliways_bar | (no subject)

Námo appears, staring curiously at the dozing man.

Lee doesn't notice, as he has his eyes closed, but Zeke perks up and tilts his head curiously at the Vala, with a soft 'mrrow?'

Námo likes cats. He had fond memories of Gorlim's kitten.

A small smile at the cat and a quiet purr -- the Vala has been a cat and a tiger, and so his purr is deep and true.

Zeke is intrigued. He uncurls himself and sidles up to sniff at Namo.

The cat's movement jerks Lee awake with a start. "Wasn't sleeping, Mercutio, I just--"

He looks over, putting his reading glasses on.

"...oh, hi."

Námo offers his fingers to the cat as he glances up at the man.

"Suilad, Lee. Perhaps you should be in bed and no in a booth?" he suggests as he looks back at the cat.

Zeke nips playfully at the proffered fingers.

Lee sits up, running his fingers through his hair to untangle it.

"Too early to be in bed. I'm fine, just tired."

He wiggles his fingers as Gorlim taught him to in order to play with the kitten.

"I would believe if you are tired, then it is not too early to be in bed."

"I'd rather be in the bar than upstairs. Don't feel up to being alone in the dark all day."

Zeke claps the fingers between his paws, tail switching.

He continues to play idly with the cat.

"Are things not well with you, Lee?"

"Are things well with anybody?"

Zeke settles down to lick Namo's hand, doglike.

"Just worried about Gorlim. And a bit lonely."

"Yes, I worry for him as well, but he will survive this."

Námo just knows this.

"Would you like company, even if it is just mine?" he offers.

"Just one more day, and he'll be all right?"

He nods to the seat across from him. "I would. Thanks."

He sits, teasing his fingers along the table for the cat.

"Yes. Tomorrow is the day he died."

The vivid imagry in his mind of that end causes a small shiver.

"And once that anniversary passes, the Wraith will sleep again. Sleep as much as it ever has, in any way."

"Back to normal?" The irony isn't particularly amusing.

"I promised him a snowball fight, a long time ago, and now it's snowing. When he's better, I'll have to remind him..."

Odd headtilt.

"A snowball fight?"

Such a thing is completely unknown to him.

"Yeah, snowball fight. You know, throwing snowballs at people?" He mimes flinging a snowball.

"They're a tradition in my family. Even my parents used to get involved with them. I told Gorlim and Ellie we should have one when it got cold enough."

"Ah. No, I do not know about throwing snowballs at people. I have never done such a thing. The only time I have actually walked in snow were the few hours I would escape into one of the gardens during winter."

A smile.

"I am inept at many things, meldir."

"Proper snowball fighting takes practice. Everyone's inept at first."

He smiles sadly. "I miss walking in the snow. It never snows in Los Angeles. At least Milliways has real winters...I could show you how to throw snowballs if you wanted to learn."

This last is spoken quickly, an offer he hadn't been expecting to make, but it's a sincere one.

His smile is much warmer with the offer.

"I would enjoy that. Yes. Thank you for offering."

And the offer means more to Námo than he could express with words or expression.

"You just have to promise you won't use any kind of freaky Vala powers to beat us," he says solemnly, trying to deflect his own shyness with deadpan humor, because though he's glad for the newfound warmness, he doesn't quite know how to proceed.

"When do you want to learn?"

Námo laughs.

"'Freaky Vala Powers'? I somehow doubt I possess any type of ability that would aid me a in a snowball fight."

He sobers for a moment and regards Lee with calm eyes.

"Whenever you feel up for such a lesson. I have few demands on my time."

"Really?" He looks surprised. "My schedule's booked through Christmas."

Mercutio is a horrid influence on him.

"It's not too dark outside yet. The snow's starting to melt a little from when it snowed a few days ago. That's the best time to make snowballs, since partially-melted snow has a higher water content and sticks together more easily."

After thirty years of this, he's got it down to an art form.

His eyes show his shock.

"You mean ... now?"

Glances to the door leading out to the lake, and debates for a moment, then turns back to Lee with a small grin.

"All right. Let the lesson begin."

He hasn't been outside yet since the snowfall, and he pauses only to throw on the sweatshirt draped over the back of the booth.

The snow crunches lightly underfoot. It's the perfect wet consistency and it's the first snow he can remember since the last time he'd had time to fly up to Canada for the winter holidays.

"First lesson," he says, around the not-quite-welcome wave of nostalgia, "is to always be on your guard, because in a real snowball fight, nobody's going to be waiting for you to make your first one before attacking."

His cloak that he has taken to wearing around Gorlim drags lightly along the snowy ground.

"How do you make one?" he asks as he stared down at the white ice. "I have never seen a snowball to make one."