fandomtownies | Town Hall, Wednesday

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tamsin

Town Hall, Wednesday

On the ugh-side, it was Singing Day again. Tamsin was not a fan.

On the fun side, it turned out Bright Eyes wasn't a fan either.

Which meant Tamsin spent the entire day wandering around the office singing obnoxiously at the top of her voice. It was possible she wasn't even actually compelled to do so.

"I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation
You're living in the past, it's a new generation
A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do

An' I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation
Oh no, not me

An' I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation
Never said I wanted to improve my station
An' I'm only doin' good when I'm havin' fun
An' I don't have to please no one!"

Bright Eyes sobbed into her paperwork.

[[ open! ]]

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Éponine was always singing to herself, so she never really noticed right away when one of these days rolled around. She was just here to deliver the mail -- which, for some reason she couldn't be bothered to discern, included three turnips and a half dozen baby potatoes today and therefore fitting it through a mail slot was a bit of a challenge.

"You're a ray of God lighting up the dust in the Vatican, and I'm a secret stairway down to a place where light has never been," she was singing half under her breath, but she paused and tilted her head in Bright Eyes's direction. "'s the matter with her?"

"She doesn't like singing," Tamsin said, with a sad, sympathetic face that somehow managed to exude anything but sadness and sympathy.

"Hmph," Éponine said, or more accurately grunted; funny how she wasn't really picking up on a whole lot of sympathy here. Or sparing much herself, for that matter.

"Her loss then, that's what I think. Who doesn't like singing?"

Probably people who had to listen to your glass-gargling frog croak, Éponine.

"Anyway, someone's sent you vegetables in the post today, and damned if I know why," she added, and held up a plastic bag that had several envelopes and brochures unceremoniously dumped in along with the potatoes and turnips.

"Give it to Bright Eyes," Tamsin suggested immediately.

She threw the sobbing girl a look.

"I usually make her deal with the stupid stuff anyway, and she looks like she could use a distraction."

Yeah, no.

Éponine glanced Bright Eyes's way again, frowning a bit like she wasn't quite sure whether she ought to be nice.

"Don't cry out loud, just keep it inside and learn to hide your feelings," she offered, which was both terribly dysfunctional advice (so about what you'd expect from her) and not at all helping. At least she put the mail and produce -- literally a mixed bag, go figure -- down lightly on the desk?

Then she laughed, once. "One moment! That isn't any song I know, and I didn't mean to make one up. 's it one of those days again, then?"

"Yeeeeep," Tamsin said.

She'd spent the morning singing something traumatising, but at least the roomie was, you know, the roomie.

"This used to be a fun house
But now it's full of evil clowns
It's time to start the countdown
I'm gonna burn it down, down, down."

Tamsin sighed. "And that."

"So long's you give me enough warning to get out of the building first, see how much it matters to me," Éponine said with a careless shrug.

"Everything's on fire and everyone's asleep
And they're burning wheels at the king's feet
You, where'd you go? Who you running from?"

She stopped and rolled her eyes. "I hadn't any intention of asking. What the hell?"

Tamsin rolled her eyes. "Ugh," she said. "Not that it's not fun torturing Bright Eyes, but I'm seriously considering declaring this day a bank holiday or something. Everyone, go home! Put your mouth somewhere it won't be singing!"

Éponine snorted. "D'you think that would work to get me out of doing the rest of my deliveries today? I've a bottle or two at home I could be drinking instead, but I've got to wait until after work or it's my job. You're the mayor, though, so if you say . . ."

"If you let me share one of the bottles, I'm going to declare this your afternoon off," Tamsin said.

Over by the desk, Bright Eyes veered up. "You can't just--"

Tamsin held up a finger. "Shut up."

Éponine considered this for a moment.

"Fair enough," she decided. "For if we don't find the next whiskey bar, I tell you we must die, I tell you we must . . . Good lord! It isn't all that serious."

"Bright Eyes! You're manning the fort!" Tamsin bellowed over her shoulder.

Then she looked back at Éponine. "Let's blow this place," she said. "We have booze and the day off. Nothing depressing about that."

Well, good thing most of the regular mail was done for the day, at least. And there was no guarantee that her conscience wouldn't eventually remember it existed, and get the better of her, and she'd just finish the rest of the deliveries in the middle of the night.

"It's handy to know important people sometimes, it is, I tell you that," Éponine said, sounding just a tiny bit smug.

"It's handy to be quote-unquote important," Tamsin said, sliding her arm through Éponine's because eh, why not. "As much as you can be in a podunk town like this one."

"What good's being the mayor if you can't take advantage of it every now and then, anyway?" Look, Éponine was just being practical here. "A shame, that's what it would be, especially since there can't be that much to look after in this tiny place."

"Paperwork, mostly," Tamsin said. "You know all the paperwork from everywhere in town gets sent here? And I have to look at it?"

"All of it? D'you have to read it?" If Éponine looked fairly revolted at the idea -- and she did -- it was because the first thing she thought of was the customs forms at the post office. And triplicate forms for a multidimensional post office were both endlessly varying and thoroughly ludicrous. "Good god, I'd be bored senseless in an hour."

"I've got to rubber stamp it," Tamsin said, pulling a face, "And I don't want to send a whole crate of dildos to the school by accident."

Beat.

"Though on the other hand..."

". . . oh good lord," Éponine said. "You've some kind of idea, don't you? Well, it's not as if we don't have trouble with mixing up deliveries as it is, I s'pose."

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Town Hall, Wednesday

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