ironmonger | (no subject)

(no subject)

He does have to go back home eventually.

But can you blame him for lingering over breakfast at the Bar so he can bask a little while longer?

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"The dead one? Can't imagine why," he grumps.

Obadiah laughs.

"I was more willing not to try to kill him, for a start," he says. "His had already tried a couple of times before he did everyone a favor by falling into the Hellmouth."

"Ugh. Nasty way to go."

Obadiah's expression is perfectly bland.

"Makes you grateful for a nice simple car accident, doesn't it?"

"It was great," he says sweetly. "Why don't you try it next time? We can skip putting the love of your life in the passenger seat, because you're a lonely old man with a heart of solid granite."

Obadiah sips his coffee. It gives him a couple extra seconds to remind himself of several things.

"Yes, has Maria made her way here yet? Oh, don't despair, Milliways does like to pick its timing," he smiles.

Howard slides off his barstool, leaving behind one remaining bite of pancake, the remains of his fruit bowl, and an untouched glass of milk.

"I'm done here," he says flatly, turning away.

"It was nice catching up," Obadiah tells him. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

And if it's slightly flat as rejoinders go, he doesn't care, because the important thing is that he's clearly won this round. Because that's what it can be now, finally, now that he can be himself with Howard: a fight where he doesn't have to check himself and pull his punches. Howard no longer has any power over whether or not Obadiah gets what he wants.

And Howard heads back upstairs to get thoroughly drunk.

God. What the hell is he doing?

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