(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

[maydaybrat]

Okay.

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

Coffee.

Laced with alcohol.

Heh.

[balletrat]

Around here, *Meg says, darkly,* it doesn't take that much, *and takes another gulp.*

Any idiot can do it, apparently - Dieu only knows it's happened enough.

[maydaybrat]

A little sharply,

"Meg!" He reaches out, and turns her around - holding her upper-arms.

"You are begining to make no sense again." Sighing, he lets her go.

"Once you're dead...like, us dead. Killed, murdered dead-is-dead...we can't go back."

[balletrat]

I know that, *Meg says, looking rather hazily injured.*

I said no. Tell him.

[maydaybrat]

"Who?" He asks, quietly.

[balletrat]

- well, it's not like there's a queue lining up to reanimate me, *Meg points out, rather unhelpfully.* I wasn't that good a dancer.

[maydaybrat]

"Andrew?"

[balletrat]

*Meg looks down at her hands, suddenly quiet.*

He doesn't understand.

[maydaybrat]

Mordred reaches out, and tilts her chin up.

"He's alive. How can he?"

[balletrat]

*Meg meets his eyes, with a small, unhappy smile.*

Well.

That's the question of the week, n'est-ce pas?

[maydaybrat]

"Oui."

[balletrat]

*A slightly more real smile, at that - not happy, but real, all the same.*

Merci, *she says, suddenly.*

Pour comprenant.

[maydaybrat]

"Pas de problem, nous morts dovens nous coller, la Oracle."
No problem, we dead have to stick together, la Oracle.

[balletrat]

Vraiment, *Meg agrees, and raises her coffee cup, in a sudden quick movement.*
Yeah, really.
Aux morts?
To the dead?
*Sure, it's morbid. But also appropriate.*

[maydaybrat]

He laughs at that, soft and faintly bitter but it's a real laugh.

"Aux morts." And he clinks his glass of ale (which had not been there before) against her cup.

[balletrat]

- and hey, it's probably better than heaven here, *Meg adds, after another healthy sip.*

I don't think they let you get drunk there.