milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Samantha sat in her booth, her hand over her eyes as she stares dejectedly at the plate of waffles on the floor.

She should pick them up. But crying sounds a lot more fun right now.

OOC: Slowtimes in effect!! Thank you so muchly!

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Montparnasse seethes, staring down at the waffle in his lap, then glaring at the girl. You know he'd be glaring daggers if he hadn't settled for drawing one instead.

The last time someone threw food at him, he almost attacked an immortal, some doctors, and a large rock. Luckily someone was to stop it.

This time he picks the waffle up with two fingers, delicately, reluctant to get his hands dirty and drops it on the table before jabbing the knife through it and leaving it, sticking into the tabletop. That's the second hole in a table in just a few days. There may be a trend starting.

"No one gets these clothes dirty except me," He snarls. "and mind the lace." Especially the lace.

"Oh, so sorry." Sam glares more. "Fucker. You know, you started this. By being an ass to someone you don't even know. That's so rude."

"Why would I be an ass to someone I do know?" He asks, ostensibly puzzled. "It defies all reason, girl."

He brushes a few more crumbs from his lap and relaxes again, somewhat. "But I am nothing, if not rude."

Sam just glares. "You...ugh."

She finishes cleaning up the waffles and hands them off to a wait rat. "You sure look comfortable." She says, hands on hips. "I'll leave you to your relaxing."

"Well, it was your table first." He admits, with a sigh, but makes no move to get up. "But I thank you regardless."

"Nice meeting you, mademoiselle."

Sam sits down and watches him leave, glaring. "Fucker."

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