(no subject)

[mnt_mike]

It's been a mostly quiet night at the Designated Tortoise. There's been good food, better cider, and an overall feeling of contentment fills the room. Mike has to admit, if ever there was a perfect tavern for one to rest their travel-weary bones, it'd be this one. Raph has chosen well. He's spent the better part of the evening stretching his ninja muscles by being unobtrusive in the back corner in order to gather intel on the woman he hopes one day might be his sister-in-law. That is, provided he can some how fix the mess Raph has made of his own lovelife.

"idiot," he whispers under his breath as he sips at his cider.

Abigail seems to be maintaining well enough. Someone not looking for it would probably imagine she's just a little bit frazzled by the evening dinner rush, but Mike knows better. He's seen those tell-tale single-minded coping mechanisms before.

The last call bell sounds, and Mike steels himself for what is likely to be a pretty awkward conversation. One by one he watches the patrons leave, none of them even casting a glance to where he's currently seated. Eventually even Thomas heads to bed. Mike hates to see the guy leave, but oh how he loves to watch him go. But no, there will hopefully be enough time to oggle his would-be brother in law later...that is, provided Mike is successful at his task. He reaches under the table for his satchel and heads for the Bar.

Comments

[becareful_boyo]

Mike had been unobtrusive, yes, but hadn't gone entirely unnoticed; Abigail is quite familiar with every corner of this tavern, well-lit or very much not, and she knows Mike's was occupied for most of the evening, if not by whom. He is hardly the first patron to prefer shadows to firelight, and if he'd wanted ale from her he'd have asked.

These days, she's not much for idle conversation. Or anything except barking orders.

Almost everyone has gone for the night, now. Thomas opted for kitchen duty and an early night himself. The bar is, of course, perfectly clean, but Abigail is busy wiping it down anyway. It gives her something to focus on that isn't (that damn fool, pea-brained, idiotic jackass of a man!) the person she wants to see most, who also happens to be the person whose head she dearly wants to wallop with a bottle, broom, bedpan, barstool... whatever's handy.

Abigail pauses her furious scrubbing of the already shining wood and looks up, then back at the bottles Thomas keeps neatly lined on the shelf.

"Mithros, if you won't send him back to me so I can hit him with one..."

It's only after she's grabbed a copper brown bottle of the good stuff that her eyes swing back around.







"Mike." A snort. "I always figured, my prayers get answered, they'd get answered slightly backwards and off to the side."

[mnt_mike]

"What can I say? I've got the ear of a pretty powerful being, and I'm more than slightly backwards and off to the side myself."

He slides the hood of his cloak fully off his head, revealing a tussled mop of sandy-blonde hair.

"Political powers: I gots'em."

[becareful_boyo]

For some reason, Abigail opts to study his hair rather than meet his eyes.

"You won't find much use for politicking here," she says at last, tone cool and even, eyes watchful. "We're simple folk."

She removes wax from the bottle's lip.

"Not stupid, mind." Beat. "You've been observin' awhile?"

[mnt_mike]

It is pretty fabulous hair. The kind of hair that makes a gal wonder: exactly how much time did he spend on making his hair look like he spends no time on it?

"To be honest? I don't find much use for it anywhere."
He hops up onto one of the stools and unslings his satchel from his shoulder.

"Eh, not too too long. This is a great place you've got here. Places back home would sell their souls for kitsch like this. I can see why Raph likes it here."

He was looking around the room at the decor, until that last bit about his brother. That last bit was said directly to her.

[becareful_boyo]

"That's due to the large brain you're storin' under that mop."

It is, and the look she gives him is equally direct. A perfectly formed stack of dishes is pushed to the side and cut like a deck of cards, but the only indication that Abigail is focused on anything other than Mike is a slight narrowing of her eyes.

"Many thanks. We're proud of it." Beat. "Which of 'em sent you, then?"

[mnt_mike]

Mike preens under the compliment, and really it's only her question that stops him from asking to get that in writing. It's not every day someone tells him he has a large brain. Normally that's Donnie's deal.

"Them? Them who?"

[becareful_boyo]

The answer is simple enough. So simple she presses on and delivers it in the form of another question.

"The Lioness or the buffle-brained fool you call brother?"

[mnt_mike]

His eyebrows raise in realization.
"Alanna," he says with no hesitation, and more importantly with no shame. "Which isn't to say I wouldn't have come of my own accord, I mean, no one does Raph to English better than me."

[becareful_boyo]

Abigail sniffs and tosses her rag on the bartop.

"So I should've figured. Nobles get nosy with all that time on their hands." The knowledge that this is entirely unfair to say of a knight causes her cheeks to heat. Ignoring it, she spreads her hands out wide. "Well? What've you t'say for the big lug?"

The belligerence in her tone and body language is somewhat offset by the look in her eyes. She's hurting, and all told she's glad to see Mike.

[mnt_mike]

"I don't think it's like that exactly. Her standing's her standing, but she's family before she's anything else."

Yeah, he can see that she's hurting and angry and and and...
Empathy, thy name is Mike.
He takes deep breath and then exhales it slowly. Better to maximize the mussing of the bangs that way, you see.

"Well. My brother is an idiot. And he tends to be more of an idiot to those he loves than those he doesn't. So. Yeah. He's hurting. You're hurting. That's a whole lot more hurting than the multiverse needs right now."

[becareful_boyo]

Abigail's eyes remain on him as she takes a long drink directly from the glass bottle she'd put down and picked up again moments ago.







"Go on."

[mnt_mike]

"And...that I should have known things were bad when he came to me for advice."

[becareful_boyo]

"And what advice did you give him, then?"

And what did he come up with -- or fail at -- on his own?

Hurting or not, she's curious.

[mnt_mike]

"Oral sex. Next to words it's my Go-To apology of choice."

[becareful_boyo]

Abigail considers.




Mayhap Raph should have paid more attention to his brother's advice.


"Now that would've put his mouth t'far better use than what he went and used it for."

[mnt_mike]

Mike blinks.

He blinks again.

"Please don't take what I'm about to do personally. Because...I really like you. A whole lot, in fact. It's just...I've got this imagination, you see. And it's not just finely tuned, but has a hair trigger."

He then holds up a single finger, indicating to the nice lady to give him but a moment's pause...before doing his very best impression of a cat coughing up a furball.

[becareful_boyo]

Unimpressed and decidedly not insulted, Abigail watches until he coughs up the last fake hacking sound.




"T'was you made the suggestion," she reminds him, "and I stand by mine. Yellin' an apology he didn't mean didn't do any of us any good."

That's practically sharing, isn't it?

[mnt_mike]

He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. You know, just in case there's a lingering thread of saliva or something.

"Probably not with the yelling, but I'm willing to be he did mean the apology. He just...he's not so great with words, our Raph."

[becareful_boyo]

She snorts. "That's like sayin' the Peerless herself is good at lookin' pretty."

Abigail's momentary amusement vanishes.

"He didn't understand why he was apologizin'," she tells Mike. "Just as bad, you understand?"

[mnt_mike]

Mike winces.

"He...didn't understand?"

[becareful_boyo]

"NO. An' he STILL doesn't."



That was perhaps a bit more forceful than she intended. Abigail thrusts out her chin and says, in a chilly, flat tone of voice, "He had to be told he should, seems like, but anythin' that was said about why didn't seem to stick betwixt those big ears."

She turns around in an angry swirl of skirts and blond hair, and needlessly wipes off bottles.

"You can tell the Lioness to keep her noble nose out our business, if it's all the same."

[mnt_mike]

There's no use fighting the facepalm, because it's coming. And it's coming fast and furious.

There's apparently also no stopping what comes out of Mike's mouth next either.

"Yeah, so for the best for her to talk with Raph, and have me come here."

[becareful_boyo]

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear."

It's low, dangerous; not at all reassuring. If he looks up from his facepalm, Mike will discover a lovely pair of irate, narrowed eyes focused on him.

[mnt_mike]

...

Mike knows that tone.
It's the tone that finds purchase in one's Fight or Flight centers and suggests the latter.

It's his normal experience to hear, "CASEY!" or sometimes "RAPHAEL!" come next, but he has the sinking feeling that neither of those names is likely to be blamable for this particular offense.

For unlike Raph, Mike usually knows the second he's stepped in it...like...you know, now.

He takes a quick breath before sitting up with his best butter wouldn't melt in my mouth expression of innocence.

"Um...I'm so blessed to be here?"

[becareful_boyo]

Abigail's eyes narrow further.

"Oh aye, that you are. Every man deserves a drink 'afore goin' to greet the Dark God."

She snaps the rag in her hand and advances at Mike, around the bar, approaching full tirade.

"What in the Great Mother's name d'you two think you're doin'? This is no one's business but mine and his! Mayhap we'd be speakin' now if not for your meddlin' ways! Did you think of that? No, of course not. Of all the fool, wrong-headed..."

Abigail takes a breath.


"...pig-brained..."

This could go on a while.