The Ink Spot, Friday, August 2, 2024

[fears_no_one]

The flags of Vanuatu and the Maldives were on the checkout counter, tucked carefully next to the small shelf of books that Flint had read and disliked enough to possibly consider parting with. He was currently in his normal spot by the window, seated in his comfortable chair and reading Les Trois Mousquetaires. His French was only passable but the story was compelling enough to get him to keep going, aided by a small French-English dictionary nearby.

The pirate shopkeeper was very interruptible.

Comments

[napking]

"Hey, quick question," Gray said as he leaned in the door of the Ink Spot. (Gray. No.) "Are you a eunuch?" (I'm so sorry about him.)

[fears_no_one]

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Flint asked, boggling.

[napking]

"I was cursed by God before I was born," Gray told him, because unlike Flint, apparently, he believed in answering questions. "So are you? The crazy vampire told me to ask." Gray, there was a word in that last sentence that should have told you this was a bad idea.

[fears_no_one]

Flint kept staring at him with his very best "are you absolutely fucking kidding me" look before slowly offering, "No. And don't take advice from crazy vampires."

[napking]

"I dunno," Gray said. "It seemed like pretty solid advice to me. I mean, you wouldn't even let me steal your drink." How much more clearly flirtatious could he have been, Flint?

[fears_no_one]

"That's because it was mine," Flint said, explaining it like he was talking to a particular slow child. Or Silver. "Even if it was disgusting."

[napking]

"Did you ever actually try it?" Gray asked dubiously. "You have to try stuff to know whether or not you like it, you know."

[fears_no_one]

"I tried it," Flint said. "It was not to my tastes."

[napking]

"What is to your taste?" Gray asked. "Is it twinks?"

[fears_no_one]

"What's a twinks?" Flint asked.

He was thinking "a different kind of drink." Poor Flint.

[napking]

Gray wordlessly gestured to himself, standing there in a light blue tank top, skinny jeans, and pink Converse. Behold: a twink.

[fears_no_one]

"It's about clothing?"

Oh, Flint.

[mustbeawitch]

Lydia, oblivious to the antics of any Nephilim twinks and, let's be honest, many other things, breezed into the shop with a cheery, "Good afternoon, Captain Flint!"

[fears_no_one]

"Miss Bennet," Flint replied with a tiny smile, standing up. "How good to see you again."

[mustbeawitch]

"I was just on my way to the post office and thought I would pop by to see how you were doing," Lydia explained. "Has the twenty-first century presented you with any fresh new difficulties?"

Besides Gray.

[fears_no_one]

He would not be bringing that up in conversation, no. He was a pirate, but he had standards.

"Oh, a plethora," he said with a tiny smile, "but I overcome with only minimal complaining."

[mustbeawitch]

"That's very good of you," Lydia said. "I must confess to being quite the whinger, myself, but it is true that no one is going to come along and do things for us, so I try to keep most of it inside my own head."

[fears_no_one]

Flint chuckled. "What have you been whinging about the most this week?"

[mustbeawitch]

Arden telling her she'd missed Earth Tourism because of something that upset her in meditation class, when apparently she'd simply blown it off to have Squishies, which Lydia was most fervently hoping was not some sort of euphemism, with Mr. Kestis.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Lydia was fine.

"Oh, this and that," she said brightly. "On Wednesday Dean Skywalker made us wear these things called 'track suits' made out of the most appalling fabric you've ever felt in your life, so mostly those. But I hit a few of the targets in the skeet shooting, so I was rather proud of that!"

[fears_no_one]

"You can shoot?" Flint said, looking very pleased to hear that. "That's a very handy skill to possess."