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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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.

Now that fellow Rabbit, why, he's mighty perceptive, seems t'me.

Certainly he ain't missin' that smile.

This'd be his cue, he thinks, t'give this here fellow a right big grin.

"You'd be my pretty friend Antigone's friend Charles, now wouldn't you?" he asks, loudly.

Clearly, the gods hate her.

He blinks, and changes course slightly to stand next to Antigone.

"I'm Charles, yes."

Rabbit is beeeeeeeeeaming.

"Why, she was just tellin' me all 'bout you!"

Antigone scowls at Rabbit.

"Hello, Charles."

"Hello, Antigone." There's that smile again.

To Rabbit -- "I don't think we've met. . .?"

"Well, not today, certainly, we ain't," he replies cheerfully.

Antigone gets roundly ignored, as he picks up blade and wood again, not watching his hands as he's too busy studying this Charles fellow.

"I'm called Rabbit often enough, although I reckon th'lady'd be more'n willin' t'offer up a few names as are a mite bit less complimentary."

She snorts.