milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

And the number of dead, snarky princes in the bar has gone up by one.

Mordred's at his normal table by the front door, carving something.

He might even tell you what it is.

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"Nothing specific," he says, and that's true enough. He's just chafing a little. "I'm just tired of being treated like a child. Things are different at home."

Not better, mind, just different.

"...well, you're not a child."

Logan makes a face. "In my world, I am," he says. "At 17, I'm not allowed to vote, and certainly not allowed to drink, but that last there are ways around. Here, not so much."

My, someone's whiny tonight. ~~Mun is writing final paper, that must be why...~~

"Ah. Well, I'm nineteen and ten months. Technically a child, still. Legally, anyway."

Pause.

"Not allowed to drink?"

"But in your time, weren't you of age?" he asks. You'd think rebelling against your father in a big way would qualify you, right?

"No alcohol for anyone under 21, in my where," he says glumly. "And Bernard is firmly adhering to those customs."

"Not legally, no. I could marry, drink, kill and be killed...but I wasn't legally an adult. Celtic custom. And...no one under twenty-one?"

Mordred is staring at him.

"It's cruel," Logan says. "It was 18, but too many kids were getting killed in car wrecks, so they changed it."

Pause.

"You know about cars, right?"

"I know about cars. I lust after a motorbike."

Logan grins. "Should have guessed you'd be the biker type," he says, and that makes him think of Weevil, and his smile fades slightly.

"Sadly, I don't think anyone is going to give me one."

He notices the faded smile, yes he does.

"Why not?" he asks. "You seem like you'd be an asset to any biker gang. You're handy with sharp things and not afraid to take risks."

The smirk's firmly back in place, and it's not going to slip again. Really. It's not.

Mordred smirks.

And considers his boyfriend's reaction to a bike.

And begins to snigger.

Logan raises an eyebrow. "That's funny cause why?" he asks drily. "There has to be reason. Unless I've got spinach in my teeth?"

"It would break my boyfriend's mind. He's sworn to be my Champion, which means he has to follow me and make sure people don't kill me."

"It's just...Galahad. On a motorbike..."

Logan grins slowly. "Not that I've met him," he says. "But I'm imagining the Galahad of myth and legend on a motorbike, and it just...doesn't quite mesh, does iT?"

Cheerfully,

"Nope!"

This is going to amuse him for a while.

"My 'Ala...quiet, French. Scholar and solider. But...very, very Dark Ages."

"We really might have to see about getting you that motorcycle, then," Logan says, grinning. "I'm sure it can be arranged."

He steeples his fingers fingers.

"Eeeexcellent."

Logan snorts. "That's a pretty good Mr. Burns you've got there," he says.

A blink.

"Who?"

Logan sighs. "You knew about cars," he says. "I couldn't help but hope you'd watched at least one Simpsons episode. It's the best sitcom of the 90s. Brilliant stuff. TV, right?"

"There is a town on the edge of my battlefield, it's not that hard to watch cars. And I know what TV is..."

"Kinda. Prefer movie theatres, though. Easily to get into."

"Makes sense," Logan says. "But I bet Bar could procure one for you. And a Simpsons DVD. You've got to watch it. You'd love it."

A little bemused,

"Sure."

Sounds like Logan knows what Mordred's Christmas gift will be!

"So, anything exciting happening for you?" he asks.