fandomtownies | Fandom Post Office, August 6 (Tuesday)

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Fandom Post Office, August 6 (Tuesday)

On Sunday, Éponine had taken one look outside and immediately retreated back into her warehouse when she realized what was going on, so she had absolutely nothing to contribute to the other postal workers' shark-related gossip. (Alouette had benefited from the whole thing, though, since Éponine had made a deal with a sanitation worker and had a good supply of shark meat stashed in the refrigerator as a result. And no, she wasn't sharing that information with them.)

She had a book about ghosts -- someone had left an entire set of Time-Life volumes out on the curb for the taking and she'd helped herself to the entire set -- that she leafed through during the lulls in the day. It didn't scare her, really; she liked to think she had some things in common with them, anyway.

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Arguably, that whole post office slogan about rain and snow and sleet never accounted for SHARKNADO.

She may be fascinated by the lurid pictures in the book, because those Time-Life books are like that, but perfectly distractable.

Mmm, the Cell Block Tango.

Mike sauntered in some time in the afternoon. Like he'd been meaning to for about a week. Things got so busy sometimes. "Hey," he greeted Éponine with a little nod and a smile. "I think you're supposed to have a package here for a Michael Lane?"

A smallish care package from Brooke. Sometimes it was a good idea to vaguely complain about Fandom and mansion troubles.

Éponine certainly didn't mind the distraction. The current ghost story in her book was, in her opinion, a little bit ridiculous anyhow, and besides, she had eyes.

"Well, now, I don't know about that, but why don't I have a look and find out for you, hmm, monsieur?" she asked, hopping up out of her seat to dart into the mailroom, from which a slightly distant "Aha!" could then be heard (shortly followed by what sounded like a very tiny elephant trumpeting).

"You thought right," she said as she emerged with a package in hand and held it out to him. "It's nice when people are expecting their packages. I don't like it much when the post is an unpleasant surprise and then they start shouting at us for trying to give them something they don't want, as if it's our fault."

"Whoa, people do that?"

Actually, he knew they did. He'd lived around enough assholes in his time to know they existed. He reached to take his package and nodded solemnly.

"Well, you can rest assured this one is totally one hundred percent well-received. I have a vague idea about what's in it, and I know it's all good."

"Oh, of course they do; people will get upset about the silliest things," remarked Éponine, who was personally of the opinion that people should just sell those unwanted packages for more than they were worth and save everyone the trouble. "And seeing as you were expecting this one, I should hope it's something good. Anyhow, I hope you'll enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will," Mike replied, nodding again, but this time with a wide, easy smile. "I'm Mike, by the way. But uh, maybe you already got that."

Well, the package said Michael. But still.

"Éponine," she answered with a curtsy that might not have been awkward if she'd ever been properly taught how to do it, and an eager smile of her own because the novelty of being treated nicely had yet to wear off. "I did read your name on the parcel, of course, but I didn't want to presume, and oh, you're the one who works at Caritas on Fridays, aren't you? I remember. I don't listen to the radio often but I've heard you mentioned once or twice."

"That's me, yeah," Mike confirmed with a little chuckle. He didn't care that that curtsy had been awkward. It was still sweet. Not something he'd seen a lot. "Caritas on Fridays, a lot of construction work the rest of the week, house renovations and random other stuff on the weekends and whenever I have time. That's me."

"Yes, that's right," Éponine said. "I talk to people, you know, when I'm out making deliveries --" sometimes whether they wanted her to or not -- "and you build furniture besides, don't you? I'd heard a thing or two, and so's it happens I've a shortage of that myself."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Really? What kind? I'm sure I could whip something up."

And yeah, he was pleased that she'd heard things. He may have given up on his dreams of the furniture thing ever being his livelihood, but that didn't mean he didn't love it all the same.

"More bookshelves, for one," she said promptly, "but let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we, since they won't do me much good if I fall out of bed and knock myself unconscious."

That was supposed to be a logical segue.

". . . that's what I need, d'you see, a decent bedframe."

Mike huffed out a laugh. "Oh, that is crucial. Back when I moved and got my stuff sent in after me, I missed my bed more than anything else. A good bed's just that crucial. I can definitely fix you up with one. Bookshelves, too. But a bed's always the priority."

"It does make quite the difference," agreed Éponine with a small smile. (Having one, for example, as opposed to not having one at all, but no need to elaborate on that.) "And I'd much rather not have to haul pieces of furniture back here on a boat anyhow."

To say nothing of dealing with the cryptic IKEA assembly instructions. She'd probably be far too amused by the cartoons.

Mike immediately made a face at the slightest mention of IKEA. Ugh, flatpack furniture. No, thank you. "I think this just became a question of pride," he joked at his own reaction. "Also, hauling stuff around the island is a pain in the ass anyway 'cause of all the stairs, but the boat thing is just extra annoying."

"Why make it even more difficult? That would just be stupid," Éponine agreed. "But if you're willing to, and of course I'll pay, I think it works out much more nicely for everyone."

"My rates are reasonable, too," Mike promised. There was pride in getting quality done at an affordable price. "So, it's definitely a deal."

"And a pleasure doing business with you, or at least I'm sure it will be." Éponine grinned at him. "Aren't you just the proper gentleman?"

No, flattery wasn't really a necessary part of a business deal, but she hadn't unlearned the habit yet.

With how half-compulsive Mike's flirting was by this stage in his life, that was just fine.

He smirked and tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Just doin my part for the community, miss."

And you know, Éponine was just going to enjoy every second of that.

"The community's lucky to have you around, then, monsieur," she replied. Appreciatively. On more than one level because, again, eyes.

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Fandom Post Office, August 6 (Tuesday)

Mod Your Post Office [8/6]

Talk to Éponine [8/6]

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