(Untitled)

[i_was_death]

It is with pleasure that Methos takes his place behind the bar tonight.

However, once he is confronted with the prospect of writing up the specials board, his slacker gene kicks in rather hard, and he decides, instead of working his own brain to come up with a theme and drinks to match it, to work the ones of the patrons instead. So:

Get your drink

Comments

[mogget_cat]

It's with the utmost nonchalance that (what appears to be) a very white cat pads down the bar towards the bartender, eyeing the specials board.

[i_was_death]

The cat gets a knowing sort of smile.

"Fancy a drink, then?"

[mogget_cat]

"Goats' milk, if you please," the not'cat miaows, sitting with its tail coiled lightly around its paws.

[i_was_death]

With a nod, Methos serves it up in a bowl.

"No tries for recitations?"

[mogget_cat]

The cat slinks, on its own time, towards the bowl, reciting in a voice somewhere between a purr and a hiss:

"Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind.
They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes
Less than themselves; will not be pinned

To rules or routes for journeys; counter-
Attack with non-resistance; twist
Enticing through the curving fingers
To leave an angered, empty fist.

They wait obsequious as darkness
Quick to retire, quick to return;
Admit no aim or ethics; flatter
With reservations; will not learn

To answer to their names; are seldom
Truly owned till shot or skinned.
Cats no less liquid than their shadows
Offer no angles to the wind."

[i_was_death]

"Nicely done," Methos says, cheerfully.

"Your milk is free."

[mogget_cat]

"My thanks," it says, smiling slightly, and sets to its milk.

After a moment, it sits back and licks its whiskers. "Lovely."

[i_was_death]

"I'm glad you approve," Methos says, leaning on the counter.

"Adam Pierson, pleased to meet you."

[mogget_cat]

"Pleased to meet you, Adam Pierson," says the cat with ears to the fore, its tailtip twitching. "Call me Yrael."

[i_was_death]

"Yrael. I don't suppose a cat is the only form you take?"

[mogget_cat]

"Hardly," it smiles.

Half the time, its shadow doesn't match its shape, anyway, ever-flickering and changing. He is, as he has said, no less liquid than his shadow.

[i_was_death]

He grins.

"Good to know."

[mogget_cat]

"Possibly," it says, smirking.

"For another two verses, think I could get some Atlantean?"

[i_was_death]

"Never know until you try."

[mogget_cat]

"Well, perhaps Atlantean is worth more than just two," he says, amused.

When he recites, it is with the tone of one telling an old favorite:

"Here, where the world is quiet

[i_was_death]

Methos rests his chin in his hand, listening to Yrael's poem.

"It's beautiful," he says, in a half-sleepy way.

"Atlantean, you said?"