eleutherios | (no subject)

Entry tags:

oom,
puck

(no subject)

Eros had been experiencing a dilemma, until about thirty seconds before he walked in the door. His dilemma was thus:

Things at the apartment are... interesting. And noisy. Very noisy. And busy. And there isn't really any privacy anymore, is there? And I get things thrown at me.

But if I go to the Bar, she'll be there. Goldy. And she'll look at me. With those... eyes of hers. And then I'll have to tell her...

No. Better to avoid it.

But I really want a drink!

But what if she shouts?

I need a drink!

Shouting!

What about the nightclub?

The what?

You know, the bar-within-a-bar?

Eh?

It's next to the brothel.

Oh, that club! ...That's a good idea, actually.

Why, thank you.

Dilemma solved, Eros thus makes his way up to the club. He is probably the first person to do so while caring more about what's coming up behind him than in front. That Goldy walks soft, when she wants to.

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"The question, however, is which one?"

"I am not so certain you would know him." A thoughtful tilt of his head. "But this incarnation seems to favor an Irish aspect-- dark hair, a certain red about the eyes. Though the latter I expect has more to do with fire and brimstone than nationality."

"I'll keep an eye out," Eros says gravely.

"Dare I ask why he decided you should be bruised?"

Puck pouts.

"Apparently I stung his pride." He wrinkles up his nose. "Which is no enviable state in which to find oneself, may I assure you."

"I suppose you should consider yourself lucky that more people you - er, sting - don't have the same faculty for revenge."

Puck's eyes are very wide and exceedingly innocent.

"Oh," he protests, "surely you don't mean to imply that I make a habit of bandying insults about."

"Oh, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply," Eros says, exceedingly apologetic. "After all, why imply what I could say openly?"

Now there is pouting.

Oh, the pouting.

"Really," Puck murmurs reproachfully. "'Tis most unfriendly of you." He sniffs. "And here I had thought to give you a gift."

"A gift."

It's flat. Skeptical.

"Really."

He laughs, brightly.

"Yes."

And fishes around in his pockets for a moment, after which he comes up with a slightly crushed and slightly wilted purple flower.

Eros may or may not recognize it-- but it was his own arrows, after all, that turned it from milk-white to its current violet.

"I have been thinking on you of late."

Eros' eyes flash.

He takes the blossom, cradling it protectively in his palm, holding it out of Puck's grasp.

"You've been using...?"

"Only a little." Defensively.

Then he tilts his head to the side, an almost coquettish gesture. "It was so long since I had seen my own world-- I only wished to celebrate."

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