milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Now, it's just a right lovely evenin', wouldn't you find yourself sayin'?

One've them where somewhere round about the place there's some fool of a poet tryin' to write up the evenin' in iambic pentameter, or maybe as a sestina. Or a sestina in iambic pentameter, it surely wouldn't surprise me none at all.

Meanwhile, while them poets get into a fight over rhyme schemes, over here by the fire there's that fool of a fellow Rabbit, sprawled 'cross one've them couches, with wood an' knife an' cigarette in hand.

How he manages to balance all three without droppin' somethin', stabbin' hisself in the foot, or settin' his own hair on fire, reckon I couldn't tell you even if he managed to explain it t'me.

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Rabbit's expression perfectly matches that of this icon.

Scowl.

"That isn't what I meant by Christmas, anyhow," she says, taking another sip of coffee.

"What did you, then?" he asks, lightly, still smirking as he reaches for blade and wood again.

Sip.

Yum, coffee is nice.

"I'm getting gloves, I think," she tells him quietly, flexing the thin fingers of her free hand.

"And who's giving them to you?"

She gives him a look that's nearly reproachful.

Well, it's not as if Charles is some kind of secret.

"Charles is. He said he would."

"An' who's this Charlie fellow?"

"Charles."

If her scowl is a little fiercer than usual, it's only because she doesn't want to betray a smile.

"Charles Wallace.

"He's a ..."

He has no such qualms.

"Um-friend?"

Oh, that so doesn't help with the glaring.

"Um-friend?" she repeats, slightly bewildered.

"Yeah, sure, you know," he says, cheerfully, in direct contradiction of the evidence.

"Fellow you'd go around introducin' as 'This's Charles, my... um... friend...'"

Antigone sets down her coffee cup with a ceramic clink and folds thin arms over her chest.

"I wouldn't stammer."

Rabbit seems awful amused.

"Oh stop it," she demands sourly.

He smiles, and looks at least half-apologetic. Prolly about all she's gonna get, though, I reckon.

"So he's a friend, an' he's gonna get you gloves. Anythin' else?"

Antigone tries very hard not to look as if she is withholding information.

Time for more coffee!

... yeah, he's back to smirking.

She rolls her eyes as she brings the cup to her lips again.

Smiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirk smirk smirk smirk.

Also back to carving whatever the hell it is.

But mostly smirking.

She heaves a sigh of exasperation.

"There was mistletoe."

... Antigone, sweet'eart, this is not making him smirk any less.

Oh yeah?

Well well well now she's drinking coffee angrily.

If she's not careful, she's going to get him snickering, along with the smirking.

He sets down the whatever-it-is, and the knife, and pulls out tobacco and papers and starts to roll a cigarette, still smirking at her.

Antigone vows to herself that Rabbit will never, ever, over her dead body meet Charles Wallace.

She does not reflect on the relative ease and/or kinkiness of things occuring over said body.

The laws of Comic Narrative demand a sacrifice, at this point.

Which is why Charles Wallace passes by right about now, and shoots Antigone a small, glowing smile.