milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Barbarella (where'd she come from? Where'd she GO?) is seated at a large table, several small pieces of plastic and metal scattered around her glass of something sparkly.

She twirls a bit of hair around her finger as she squints at a metal cartridge. Letting go of her hair, she picks up an oily rag and begins to scrub out the inside of the cartridge.

"Honestly," she tells the space blaster parts good naturally, "you are sometimes more trouble than you're worth."

"Oh, who am I kidding? You are entirely worth it." She kisses the cartridge and moves on to the next part.

What can she say? She loves her loyal guns!

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The woman dress is as strange as her talking to her...well whatever that is. Perhaps it's a type of crossbow? But there is no bow.

Yes Bararella, there is a dark man in chainmail studying your weapon but not in a creepy way.

She is rather used to both! The trials of space adventuring.

She smiles without stopping her cleaning. "Hello there, tall, dark, and handsome."

He's a bit startled by her forward manner given the time he comes from, even going so far as to look behind him to see if she speaks to another.

"I beg pardon lady but do you speak to me?"

"Only if that isn't an insult on your planet," she teases.

The future is very forward.

"No, no insult," the man assures her with a smile. "I believe customs are perhaps different. May I ask what that is?" He gestures towards her trusty blaster to be sure his words are clear.

"Most are. I once went to a queen's court where it was considered rude to uncover your face because otherwise, she would be tempted to steal it for her own." Barbarella scrunches up her nose at that. "That was one adventure I wouldn't want to repeat."

"Oh, this?" She twirls a bit of metal around her finger. "It's one of my blasters. Well, parts of it. It needed a good cleaning."

"I can see how that could be difficult," he says not a little worriedly. He's meet some terrible Elders and this Queen sounds like one.

"'Blaster'? I am sorry, I do not know what that word means. Is it something like a crossbow?"

"I worked out, in a way." She explains, snapping together parts and moving on to the next for cleaning. "When she copied my face and ordered me killed so she was the only one with my face, I stole her. And we had a long talk about how stealing people's faces and then murdering them is rather rude while we enjoyed one her kingdom's beaches, which she had never seen before. She kept my face, though I got to keep mine."

"I don't go back to that planet," and snaps the rifle scoop to the main rifle body.

"A blaster? A laser blaster? A gun? A gun without the need for explosive use of combustion?"

There is only so much history that Barbarella would even know.

"A... a crossbow?"

Palamedes blinks a few times considering his words.

"A crossbow is like a bow and arrow but is built more like your weapon. It has greater pull but takes longer to reload. What is a laser? Combustion? Like fire yes?"

A wench, wearing even less than the wenches of Eastcheap, clean and pretty, engaged upon -- something.

Which may not be as important as picking up custom.

Ned Poins gives her a winsome smile.

Barbarella flashes a polite smile without pausing in her cleaning.

"What art thou doing there, fair maid?" Poins asks, albeit he fear she is none; but for the sake of conversation she deserves benefit of the doubt. "Polishing tableware?"

In this strange inn, weird creatures will eat and drink from odder implements.

She crinkles her nose for a moment in confusion then, "Oh, tableware! No, no, this is my gun."

She beams and slaps the magazine back together. "It needed a little affection," she teases.

"Gun??" Poins asks, agape. "That one is far too small, e'en for a culverin!"

Shit, there's a teenage boy staring at her. HIDE EVERYTHING.

...Nope, too late. Hormones are already in effect. Clumsily tripping over something in three, two -

At least it's an impressive crash.

Barbarella vaguely looks up at the crash. She cranes her neck around and looks down at the pile of teenage boy.

"You all right there?" she asked kindly.

"FINE!" he yelps out, a little too loudly.

Could he be any more of a loser? Rather than risk embarrassing himself further by doing something monumentally stupid like making eye contact with her (or any other part of her), he busies himself trying to gather up his books from his backpack.

Books which include several journals of dubious quality pertaining to life in outer space.

She leans down and picks up one of more battered journals and flips through the pages quickly (pages! how historical!).

"My word," she tells the air. "How completely inaccurate!"

Just kill him now, please.

"W-what?"

She flips to a page with pictures and shows it to her new floor friend. "You know, in all my travels, I have never met anyone that looks like this."

"Giant talking jellyfish and telepathic moles, yes. But nothing with big heads and eyes."

...

"You're from space?!"

That will never stop being old. :D He even forgets his embarrassment and hormones long enough for a grin.

"Of course. Aren't you?" she teases.

It always surprises her how many people aren't from space here.

"Uh, no. Earth."

But being from space would be awesome.

"I was from there, originally." She tips her head and smiles. "Barbarella, 5-star class Astro-Navigatrix and," all teasing again, "space adventurer."

It is the sparkle of the metal that attracts his... oh, even one as skilled as he at the art of misdirection cannot admit to that with a straight face. He will admit to anybody who asks: a woman who treats her weapons with such obvious fondness must treat her lovers equally well.

There is but one way to find out.

"The best things, my dear lady, always appear to be far more trouble than they are worth. But appearances can be deceiving."

She has a lovely bosom, that much is evident. Perhaps he will be fortunate enough to know her well enough to test it as time goes on. Or perhaps she will decline. But as they say in the beautiful city of Antiva, one never knows until one tries. Sometimes, he must try more than once.

That is quite all right with him.

Barbarella's thoughts are pretty much, oooh, pretty!

She actually pauses for a moment from cleaning her beloved blaster. "Yes, they can be," she agrees airly.

No, seriously, pretty.

Well, she has the attitude to match her lovely... weapons.

"Speaking of appearances, if I say that you are beautiful, will it offend you?" There are times when it is worthwhile to get straight to the point. This, he feels, is one of them. Without asking, he tugs out a nearby chair, resting one foot on its surface and his hands on his bare knee. The skirt of his leather armor falls around him in an attempt at modesty.

It is perhaps a half-hearted attempt, but far be it for him to blame the armor for that.

She is a little distracted for a moment, eying his armor (...yes, his armor ).

She flutters her eyes and smiles. "Not at all, as long as I can return the favor, good sir."

Pretty.

"Ah, a woman of good taste." Turning the chair around, he straddles it to rest his arms over its back. Expressive with his hands -- as befits a rogue and pickpocket -- he gestures palms-up, as if what she says is as obvious as the sun in the sky or the belt on his armor.

Or both.

"My name is Zevran. I must know yours, so that I will know who to dream of tonight." It is clear to him that she likes what she sees, and why not? Elves are pretty to look upon and that is something nobody will deny... but some are even prettier than others.

That is both his blessing and his curse. Alas. What a burden to bear.

Clementine silently approves of anyone who kisses their piece.

"Where did you get such a nice toy?"

All of hers are State-of-Nevada issued, woe.

Barbarella tips her head back and thinks.

"I think... I took it from an unconscious prince after he tried to steal my ship."

Or it was a giant space mole.

Or a giant space moth.

Or was it the guard riding the flying shark?

"No, definitely the prince. Because I had to hit a flying shark with it, and that's why there's a crack in the handle!"

Space travel is complicated!

This girl has an interesting life. Clem loves that. "You're a pilot? That's a lotta hardware for someone who just flies....and kills flying sharks."

Wow. It really IS her. See Clementine valiantly trying not to fangirl. SUPPRESS, Clementine!

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