milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Shadwell is lurking by the bar, trying to get some service in this heathen place.

He's really craving a nice cup of tea, but he'll settle for anything that doesn't feature the blood of virgins.

[OOC: If anyone would like to explain the "magical bar" concept for him, go right ahead-- but please can it only be the first person to tag? Love you all.]

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"I do not have a Devil's Mark," Faith says, sheathing her knife. "I just don't want some crazy old man poking my tits with a needle."

"An' how would ye be knowin' where to find the Mark, if ye haven't got one?" he demands cunningly.

"I assumed that's where you were going with it, since you seem to have an unhealthy fascination with my breasts."

"Brazen hussy," he mutters under his breath, then adds in a more audible tone, "The Mark can be anywhere, as well ye kennit."

Faith rolls her eyes.

"What makes you think I have anything to do with the devil, anyway? Do you just hate coffee that much, or were you dropped on your head repeatedly in the recent past?"

"That draught," he says, very patiently given the circumstances and the fact that he is Shadwell, "came out o' the air. Conjured it, you did. Saw ye do it."

Faith blinks.

And then bursts out laughing.

He growls.

"Aye, laugh while ye can," he says darkly. "Laugh while ye can."

"I didn't conjure it," Faith explains, shaking her head. "Bar did."

Beat.

"She doesn't have nipples, and I don't recommend poking her. You'll only make the head barman angry."

He glances at the bar warily.

Not very witchy, bars-- though they are admittedly highly flammable.

"Bar's enchanted to be magic," Faith explains. "Anybody can get food or drink from her that way. I'm not a witch."

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