(Untitled)

[winewomenand]

Robin Goodfellow sat on a stool at the bar in the Catscratch, though not particularly well. He would have been weaving on the small seat if it weren't for the fact that his head was morosely pillowed on the bar-top over his folded arms. His green eyes were dull stones, brown curls damp and plastered to his grimly pale forehead on a face in need of

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[winewomenand]

He should have figured that Ishiah would find him out eventually. Peri or human or whatever the hell else he was, could be, had been, it didn't matter. He was a nosy shit. A nosy shit that Goodfellow inwardly adored and wanted to spend the rest of his long life with, but still a nosy shit. Standing from his seat, he raised one arm, but wobbled, leaving him to instead plant both palms flat against Ishiah's chest.

"Ishiah," he said gravely. "You've a face like a cat's ass; it's interfering with my drinking."

[winewomenand]

Robin more fell back into his seat than was eased, mostly on account of his knees sliding out from under him. His stomach churned, did a backflip, and then settled nervously back down. Thankfully, it hadn't decided to mercilessly dispel its contents all over Robin's only pair of shoes. He watched his tumbler go with a look of mild disappointment before turning his eyes back on the still-standing Ishiah. There was a heat behind his glare, but it was less angry than it was petulant and defensive.

"If I'm to be a mere mortal," he hissed. "At least I can be one that does what feels good. Teetotalers lack the sympathy and generosity of humans that drink."

[steedtoherpeel]

Giles knew better than to come to the bar, really. He knew better than to let himself get drinking and maudlin. And yet, here he was, three fingers into a bottle of Scotch himself and writing bleary lyrics and chord progressions on a scrap of paper with a fountain pen, wearing down one of his precious few nibs that he had left.

The sound of a respectable language -- Greek, at that -- perked up his ear, and he tilted his head towards the man spouting epithets. "The real hell of this place is that it's so damned close to paradise," he opined in the language, his accent a bit stilted from years of studying the classics.

[winewomenand]

Lolling his head to the side, Robin picked himself up out of his chair. Shuffling a few seats to the side, he wobbled slightly before plunking himself down judiciously in one much nearer to the person speaking to him in Greek. He rested his pointed chin on the other man's broad shoulder, taking a long, deep breath before speaking up.

English was the very best language for swearing, Robin thought, but Greek would always be his favorite.

"I was born in paradise," he intoned with a good helping of melancholy. "This isn't it. I will never see it again. You smell good." He paused, taking in what the man was doing with a wrinkled nose and searching his paper for stray blots and spots of ink. "Few of us can have as many virtues as the fountain pen, although many of us can manage half its cussedness."

[steedtoherpeel]

Company! Drunken, interesting company. Giles felt his mood improve by just the slightest hint. It was more than the scotch had done. "I was born in Kensington," he replied mournfully, "So by comparison the world has only gotten better the further I go."

He glanced down at his shirt -- his somehow partially pressed button down shirt, a proper decent one with buttons at the collars and nary a hole in it. It wasn't the most attractive pattern he'd ever seen, but some judicious overwashing in hot water had taken the worst of the color out of it. "Thank you," he managed. "It's likely ink and sand."

He wiped the pen tip on a separate bit of paper he'd torn off to use as a blotter and capped it carefully. His writing was almost obscenely crisp for a man in his cups. He'd been using proper pens since he was a schoolboy and it showed. "I'm rather fond of the little blighters. I'll be quite put out when I run out of ink."

[winewomenand]

"I was born on a supercontinent," Robin drawled, a peculiar combination of anger and longing mixed into his alcohol-slurred words. "When the moon filled nearly the entire night sky. The dragonflies were big as ravens. The ocean water was drinkable and sweet." He paused, eyes slightly crossing. "But I've been to Kensington once. Dreadful. Awful. Small."

He finally pushed his weight off of the other man's shoulder, pausing to press the tip of his nose into his hair for half a second. He sat back in his chair, almost tipping over in the other direction from the force. He held himself up with one hand clutching the table.

"I miss Englishmen sometimes. They had a cheerful fashion. Not like New York at all."

[endlessdel]

"iF yOU'Re not somethinG thEN YOU must be noTHing. yOU're vERY big foR nothing. sEE i caN POKe you anD anything," Delirium said in perfect Greek as she poked the man drinking himself into her sister's realm. If Del really concentrated she could almost see her sister in the man's glass or maybe that was just his distorted reflection. Either way. "i hAVen'T Heard gREEK that dRUnk sincE oRPheus's weDDinG. diONySUS KepT hiTTing on my FeET."

[winewomenand]

The finger he was poked with got an initial look of exaggerated disdain before Robin pulled himself together, sitting up a little in his seat and staring at young woman who had decided to voluntarily enter his personal bubble. For whatever reason.

She didn't look Greek and looked too young to speak Greek as clearly as she did as a second language. Her voice seemed to warble. He would have suspected drug use was involved, but somehow she didn't come off as a drug user. Something else he couldn't put his finger on, but not a user.

"Orpheus," he replied, hanging onto the word uncomprehendingly. It meant something. His green eyes dropped to her feet. They were very adorable feet.

"Yes, well, sometimes he had very good taste. Do I know you?"

[endlessdel]

"LoSt hiS head to a giRL. QuiTe LiterALLY. voiCE LiKE AN angeL evEN afTER hE BECAMe aLL Head-oNNA-PLinth-y." Delirium said, looking at the empty glass mournfully. She hated empty things they made her ache for noise and chaos and- it would be really easy to just smash it all. "mAYbe, maYBe nOT. eVer DeLightED in anYThing? Ever Been dRivEN TO MADness? tHen suRe, maYbe, a LiTTLe. i'm DeLiRium. i uSED TO dELight but... dO yOU Like dancing? i Like dancing. yOUR hair is nice, LiKE puPPies NippiNG AND fuckiNG each other. nEAT."

[winewomenand]

"Ah," said Robin ponderously, having remembered where he knew the name from after her helpful, if a little peculiar, explanation. "That Orpheus. Poor kid."

The look she was giving the glass was curious; he wasn't sure what was going through her head, but everything given, he also wasn't sure he wanted to know. He moved his hand, flicking it at the wrist to slide the tumbler closer to her across the table.

"Driven to madness." He considered her words, all of them - even the bit about the fucking puppies, which got two eyebrows raised in mild approval. He still wasn't sure what was going on, but the words made a sentiment well up in him that showed in his eyes and forced him to jerk his head to look away from her. There was loneliness and tiredness on the very edge of madness and panic in the expression.

"I am Robin and I fucking love dancing."