Well hey, look who's back! That's right, ladies and gentlemen, it's Miniver. The usual palm tree Miniver, 25 years old and ENTIRELY too drunk to care that as soon as he tumbles in from LA, Bar outfits him with copious amounts of glitter and eyeliner
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Comments 58
After Axel and Pickles finished talking, however, Pickles found himself alone once more, and had time to take off the chenille scarf and dozens of glittery, glassy colorful bead necklaces he had around his neck and stuff them into a bag under his chair, and get back to writing.
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.tlitdaeH
:D!
Iiiiiit's a baby Pickles. AWESOME.
Miniver sashays over in a manner not at all sober and edges about trying to get a better look at him.
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Damn bars and their constant interruptions. He stuffed his notebook back into his tight hip hugging pants and looked up at Miniver. The hippie got an eyesquint at that. "Do you got an uncle or somethin' that comes here, sport?"
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"Thanks!"
P.S. TACKLE!
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"Miniver"
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He eyes her, and giggles.
"Dude. Nice."
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"You like it?"
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He really has no idea.
Drunk poet is drunk! Also, gay. Also, hopelessly inexperienced with women in any context except having the ever-loving snot beat out of him by them. He's not sure it's SUPPOSED to look nice.
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Sometime after he'd gotten settled, everyone's favorite (and just at the moment far mellower than usual) Cajun meandered by, reaching out to ruffle Miniver's hair as he passed, "Evenin' Miniver, y'seen y'homme yet?"
And we're just going to pretend this happened before the mun konked out last night. M'kay? M'kay.
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Because really, could be the ears, could be the tail, could be the pointy vicious little cat teeth, could be any number of things.
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It's actually really cool. Miniver wants to pet him.
...so he does.
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