(Untitled)

[balletrat]

*Meg's original plan, in coming downstairs, was to get drunk.

Recent events have only furthered her resolve.

Therefore, after this, Meg can be found at the bar, still covered in stone dust and scratches, drinking a cup of coffee. Into which has been poured a liberal dose of absinthe.*

Comments

[kitchen_maid]

"My dear, you look . . . have you eaten today?"

[balletrat]

Not really, *Meg says, and offers Amy a bright smile.

It's probably not really very convincing.* I'm not really hungry.

[kitchen_maid]

Amy knows smiles. And Amy is not even remotely convinced.

"Well, I am," says Amy, decidedly. "And I'd be honored if you'd join me. Muffins, perhaps. They go well with coffee."

Amy is not at all certain Meg should be drinking coffee with odd green potions poured out of scary looking bottles added in.

[balletrat]

- probably not with this coffee, *Meg says, eyeing it wryly.*

[maydaybrat]

Okay.

There is mind-splitting headache from judgement, and then there's Meg drinking.

Coffee.

Laced with alcohol.

Heh.

[balletrat]

*Meg takes another long gulp of alcoholic coffee.

It doesn't really look like it's helping things much.*

[maydaybrat]

"Well, well, la Oracle...shitty week?"

[balletrat]

I've been thinking, *Meg says, conversationally,* and you know, I'm pretty sure it's only my fifth worst week ever. It may get bumped down to eighth or ninth, even, if I decide Nyarlathotep ranked higher -

[xan_shaped]

See Xander.

See Xander frown.

See Xander not bother to finish this corny tag format and sidle over to Meg.

"Hey, Meg ... you okay?"

She looks kind of ... injured.

[balletrat]

Hi, Xander! *Meg says, brightly.*

- well, I'm not being abducted and held hostage at the moment, which is more than I can say for most of my week, so I'm doing pretty good - you?

[xan_shaped]

"... Can we slow down to the hostage situation before I start in with my witty anecdotes?"

[balletrat]

Two, *Meg says, with a gloomy sort of triumph.*

Two hostage situations.

[river_meimei]

River is just who she wants to talk to, right?

Right!

Well, at any rate, River has paused to watch Meg with what might be concern. It's sometimes hard to tell, with River.

[balletrat]

*Meg looks back at River; her expression is perfectly calm.*

Sorry, *she says, a little tonelessly.* For getting yanked. Probably made it more complicated.

[river_meimei]

River blows out a breath.

Then smiles, just a little.

"Threw rocks."

[balletrat]

- didn't, actually, *Meg corrects, in a perfunctory way.* He shot before I could, remember?

[true_desire]

There's a moment that Meg's state of disarray is eyed, critically.
A moment later, there's the faint scent of peaches and the >quash< of the next stool over being taken: One pale hand reaches over the bar, and brings up a tall glass, half-filled with water. Wordlessly, Meg's papi takes the absinthe bottle, balances a spoon on the rim, and sets a sugar cube on top before pouring the absinthe over it.

Desire stirs it once the cube melts partway into the drink, and lightly clinks the glass against Meg's coffee mug before taking a sip.

Sometimes, the act of a good father is to say nothing when your daughter's already been through enough.

[balletrat]

*Meg doesn't notice her father's presence 'till she hears the clink of the glass; she looks up, when she does.*

- salut, papi, *she says; her voice is a little blank.*

[true_desire]

"Bonsoir, petite." Her papi says nothing else yet, gold eyes watching her over the rim of Desire's absinthe.
There is no 'Ça va?' -- The Endless already knows that answer.
Desire can taste her heart.
Instead, Meg's papi sits silently, and waits.

She'll speak when she wants to.

[balletrat]

Sorry I haven't been back to the Threshold in a few days, *she says, after a moment; her tone is conversational,her eyes on her coffee.*

I thought that probably under the circumstances -