(no subject)

[mnt_raph]

Raph's shoulders droop as he stands outside the front door to the Tortise.
It's been nearly two weeks since he told Abigail that he'd be right back. Boy was he mistaken. What was supposed to be a simple return to Milliways for a Security shift became...well far more than that.

Originally he stayed at Milliways out of fear of not wanting to have to explain the magic of the bar to Abigail. Of course if asked he merely said that it was because he was sure he'd change back if only he stuck around for Mike's B Birthday. When that day came and went he started to grow...shall we say a bit concerned.

A bit quickly turned to a whole lot concerned the morning he woke up in Mike's spare bedroom to find that his brother attempting to wrap him head to toe in tinfoil, muttingering something about carbonite and the bounty Jabba had promised in exchange for his safe delivery. Things only got exponentially worse from there.

Raph cringes as he recollects just how bad "worse" actually was.
In the end it wasn't fear of Abigail that kept Raph away, but rather fear of what would happen to Mike if he didn't stay.
Thankfully Leo showed up.

"...never thought I'd be thinkin' that again, that's for damn sure," he mutters to himself, pushing the front door open.

Comments

[becareful_boyo]

There's a busy crowd today, what with the market in the village and the fine weather. The tavern is loud, sometimes painfully so, and overly hot.

A familiar blonde woman breezes past the door, arms laden down with food and ale, brow beaded with sweat and hair shoved messily into a braid.

"Well come on, then. Stop lettin' the flies in. Shut the door and find a seat. Perhaps the Goddess will take pity on you and free one up," she instructs with a voice gone hoarse from overuse. She continues on her way without giving the man a second look.

[mnt_raph]

Instinctively Raph does as he's told. There's just no crossing Abigail when she's like this, and he knows it.

Which of course means that today is just the most PERFECT day of all days to confront her with...well, Milliways.

Sighing for what seems like the millionth time today he makes his way towards the back of the tavern, towards his favorite spot at the Bar. If nothing else that'll be empty, right? Folk in here know not to mess with his spot. Right?

His eyes narrow as he takes in the yokel currently occupying his stool.
"You. Move."

[becareful_boyo]

A bright peal of laughter sounds behind him, faintly mocking.

"You're a bit scrawny to take on the likes of Clarence," Abigail states, dropping a tankard in front of said 'yokel.' "Find another."

And she's gone again.

[mnt_raph]

"Looks can be deceivin'," he says clapping a heavy hand down on Clarence's shoulder. "Besides, looks like he's done here. Ain't you Clarence?"

Then he leans in closer and whispers low into the man's ear. Something that makes the color in Clarence's face drain. Something that the man would surely NOT like his wife to find out.

"Capiche?"

[becareful_boyo]

"Don't sit right with me," Clarence mumbles, starting to slink off, "you seers comin' in here and readin' minds made dull by drink."




When Abigail next looks that way -- to check on Clarence, not the dark-haired man who'd given her the best laugh of her evening -- the stranger is sitting on the stool, smug as you please.

Raph's stool.

She frowns, turning her attention to the other tables as she makes her way over.

"What'll you have, then?"

[mnt_raph]

Seers. Riiiiight. You keep tellin' yourself Clarence. There isn't a regular in this bar that doesn't know that story, and you know it.

"My usu-..." Damn it. "Ale, what ever stew you got hot, an' a moment of your time."

[becareful_boyo]

In the midst of nodding to another man's signal for more ale, Abigail files away ale and stew, then arches an eyebrow at the last request.

"Does it look like I'm swimmin' in those, boyo?"

She looks at him, and frowns again.

[mnt_raph]

Boyo.
For a split second there Raph thought that maybe, just maybe, she'd recognized him. The frown tells him otherwise.

"Make time. This is important. Ain't your brother here?"

[becareful_boyo]

The frown remains.

There's something, like a tickle on the back of her neck, but Abigail isn't prepared to address that yet. Instead she takes refuge in the irritation brought on by his order.

"Aye, and what of it? He's busy, same as me. What's important is the ale I owe, so you'll sit tight until the Gods grant me the moment you're stupidly thinkin' I have to spare."

When she wants to, Abigail can flounce away with aplomb.

Back in the kitchens, she steals a moment for herself and leans her forehead against a wall. Thomas looks at her funny when he comes in for a new barrel, but she waves him off.

The man. The dark-haired man. He sounds like Raph, even moves like him, though his body isn't as honed. What could that mean but that he's a brother?

A brother who needs to speak with her.

If he says Raph isn't coming back, she's going to find that blasted man and kill him again herself.

"You've a few minutes," Abigail grants the stranger, voice and body stiff, when she returns. She deposits ale and stew on the table, eyeing him. "You're a brother, aren't you?"

[mnt_raph]

His brow furrows in confusion as he tries to decipher what exactly she means by that. Of all the reactions he was expecting from her...this one? Somehow didn't make his short list.

"What?" He shakes his head, in hopes that maybe this'll all make more sense, baring that...that maybe he'll get control of the situation again. "There anyway we could go somewhere that ain't here?"

[becareful_boyo]

Good. Abigail would be happy to know she's done the unexpected. He should feel as off balance as she does!

"Here is where I've time to sit. It's good enough for your brother, so it's here we'll talk," she decides, stubbornly.

[mnt_raph]

Oh well in that case she succeeding beyond her wildest imagination.
Good enough for your brother? When the hell was Mikey here?
...
What has Mikey done?!

"This ain't really a discussion for a room full o' people..."

[becareful_boyo]

If it were anyone else, she might consider it. Especially if that person asked.

Of course, if it were anyone else her legs wouldn't feel so wobbly. Rather than oblige, Abigail cranes her neck to glance around them.

"Anyone here look like they're hangin' on your every word? No."

This feels familiar. Obstinacy clearly runs in their family.

"What's happened to Raph?" she blurts out.

[mnt_raph]

"Wait...what?"

You're a brother, aren't you?
Good enough for your brother.
What's happened to Raph?

"Oh for cryin' out loud. I'm fine."

[becareful_boyo]

Abigail blinks.











"And 'tis glad I am to hear it," she grinds out, "but I asked after your brother. Raph. The man who told me he'd be right back."

[mnt_raph]

He buries his face in his hands, then mutters something about really gotta stop saying that. never turns out right.

"Look," he says when he looks up again. "I ain't got no brother Raph, 'cause I am Raph."

[becareful_boyo]

There's another long pause, followed by her laughter.

"Oh, yes. Course y'are." She leans forward, eyes drifting up. "Silly of me t'forget the feel of that lovely thick hair of yours slidin' between my fingers."

Take that, Brother-of-Raph -- he who thinks he can come here and mock her!

"Raph. Nice wig," says Thomas, moving past them with four tankards per hand.

Abigail swings around to watch her brother, then swings back to Raph. Astounded.

[mnt_raph]

Later on Raph will be disturbed by the fact that it was Thomas that recognized him, and not Abigail. But right now? Right now he's just smug.

"Thomas," he greets his near-brother-in-law with a nod. "Why's it always gotta be 'bout the hair?"

[becareful_boyo]

Thomas didn't get a good look at him. Raph's on his favorite stool, talking to Abigail on a busy night when she's got people to help... Assumptions were made.

Abigail looks unsettled. No one else would know to say that, in precisely that put upon tone. Moving fast enough to do Raph proud, she pushes forward off the table and gives his hair a good tug.

It stays on.

"Goddess," she mumbles, close to his (different) face. She spends a moment searching his eyes, before indulging in a fail proof test: a kiss.

Then:

"Where have you been?"

It seems the easiest question to ask first.

[mnt_raph]

Any protests at the hairpulling fall down dead after that kiss.

"Milliways. Kinda got stuck. Circumstances beyond my control, I swear. Wanted to wait 'til this, you know...wore off. But didn't want you to worry."

[becareful_boyo]

Breathing hard and shaky, Abigail focuses on his eyes. Those haven't changed, and she should have seen it earlier; but it's only now, after she's certain that it's him, that she allows herself to admit just how terrified she'd been that Raph was gone. And she wouldn't have said goodbye. Not properly. Part of her had shut down while the rest operated by rote and sheer force of will, waiting for the news she didn't want to hear.

She shakes her head once, trying to clear and reorder her thoughts. He's fine. Well, even. He's younger.

"I thought you were a brother," she says, "come to tell me you'd died."

[mnt_raph]

Raph slips an arm around her waist.

"Even if I'd died I wouldn't send one of my brothers to see you. They'd probably just fuck it up. I'd come back and tell you my damn self. That's a promise."

It's the kind of promise that only a regular at Milliways can make.

"I'm fine, Abs. Really. It's okay. You know, if you don't count my trip into the fountain o' youth."

[becareful_boyo]

"And did you bring some back for me?" she asks, sending him a rueful smile. "People'll start to talk."

Not that she cares. Abigail is annoyed at herself for being blinded by her worry; he's so Raph, even with the hair and body and youth.

And body.

She holds on to him, feeling the differences, the way her arm fits neatly around his waist where it was a stretch before, and frowns again. Well. This is all very odd, isn't it?

"Who's the witch that did this to you?"

[mnt_raph]

"An' here I thought no one in here was hangin' on my every word?" He smirks in that lopsided way of his.

It's odd, how different and yet oh so similar his looks are. His eyes are the same, as are his laugh lines. The nose is oversized, a sign that it hasn't yet been broken, and rebroken, and broken again. And while he's the same size, he's hardly the same shape. Age, recovery, and a few years at the bottom of a bottle gave him a far more turtle'shaped physique than he started with.

Well, not originally started with.

"No witch. The uh...Bar herself kind of...well, she likes to play pranks, an' apparently thinks this one is a riot."

[becareful_boyo]

"Oh." Another frown. "She's got a strange sense of what's funny," asserts the woman who found hitting him over the head with a stool hilarious.

There's no hope for it; she has to keep touching him. First his nose, then his smooth cheek. And so on.

"Your arms!" she gasps at last.