milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Ramon has commandeered a booth for this evening. By this, it's not meant that he's just sitting in a booth. It means that every available inch of table top and booth seat that he's not actually sitting on is covered with papers, pens, a laptop, a couple of large maps and several empty coffee cups. Oh, and a big sword.

Needless to say, he's busy. But interruptions will still be welcome because it's a good kind of busy. He's happy to be working again.

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If Gorlim was in the bar, he'd tag. Because even a grouchy, prickly, completely-lacking-in-sense-of-humor Ramon is worth annoying for the sake of persistence. However, Gorlim is NOT in the bar. Gorlim is in Haven playing housewife with Ramon's midget.

Therefor his narrative is tagging just to make the point that he'd better be damn happy about it!

"That is an impressive weapon." A tall, very blonde woman remarks from her own table, where she is currently sharpening a knife. Her own sword, along with a bow and arrows, lay on her table.

"Is it as imposing in battle as it would appear?"

As Ramon is in the bar but Gorlim is not, Ramon can't be snarky and mean to him. The Narrative woes. It would also like to point out that Ramon is rarely grateful or nice about anything and especially isn't likely to be so about Gorlim getting to spend time with Random when he can't.

And so, the Narrative flips the bird on his behalf.

He glances up from where he's typing, takes in the woman with a raised eyebrow, then looks to the sword.

'Yes.'

Well, it is. Or will be. There's a nod to her own sword.

'Is that?'

She nods, still concentrating on her knife.

"It serves its purpose."

'Which is?'

Even he would admit it's a stupid question. Weapons like that aren't for decoration.

That's all right, because Gorlim rarely expects Ramon to be nice about anything, especially when he has a reason to be smug at him. So Gorlim will likely be abused by Ramon, after spending however-the-hell-long being abused by bebbeh!Martin.

Gorlim can cope because his Narrative still wins with the icon.

Biznatch.

"To kill those who resist, or who cannot be taken." She rests a hand on her bow. "This is my primary weapon."

Ramon's Narrative is determined to find a Bird!Icon and then Gorlim's Narrative will be beaten into submission with a wet kipper. Or possibly a HUGE SPEAR!

It should also be pointed out that any gloating from the Gorlim about the time spent with Random will result in counter-gloating about how Ramon gets to spent large periods of time doing things with Random that Gorlim will never be able to, no matter how much he'd like to. Therefore, he wins.

Alternatively, he'll just try and kill him. It could really go either way.

Well, he can respect that. Of course, it throws up a couple of questions, the first being,

'Resist what?' He smirks. 'You?'

The Hunter tilts her head, confused. She doesn't understand the humour in the situation.

"Yes, and my Master."

Riiight. Ramon flips a cigarette into his mouth.

'Who's your master? Am I likely to know him? You don't look human really.'

"I am not of Men." She replies. A smile soon follows. "My Master is Melkor."

He doesn't really move, but a contemplative look takes over his features and he's quiet for a long moment, just studying her. Eventually he moves to tap the ash of the end of his smoke, and he remarks blandly,

'Melkor. Yeah, I know him.' Another pause. 'And what exactly is it you do for him?'

"I was created the Hunter, and that is what I do."

She has put her knife aside and watches him carefully now.

'Hunt what though? People? Souls? Or just whatever he feels like?'

He's netral on Melkor himself. Doesn't like him exactly but has no personal specific reason to hate him. He's not good at hating on behalf of others.

"Elves. We hunt them, take them to him and then our Lord makes them into his own."

She grins again. She was very good at her job and that she enjoyed it is evident.

'...why?'

It seems the obvious next question to him.

'What does he want with them?'

"He makes them into his own. Into Yrch." He doesn't seem to be a threat, so she returns to her sharpening. "They are his army."

He's not stupid enough to take on a creature that belongs to Melkor. He's not about to piss off a deity that has less qualms about eternities of torture than he does.

'I thought he'd lived in a Void for eons. What the hell does he need an army for?' There's another smirk. 'He's planning revenge on his brothers or something?'

"It has been a very long time that I waited." She answers softly. "It has been worth it. I found him here."

'So what now? You're going back to work for him?' That doesn't sound good. But then, he's not an elf so he's not about to start worrying.

'And what are you anyway?'

She sets the second knife back on the table and draws out an arrow. The tip is tested against one of her fingers. Unsatisfied, she begins to sharpen the head.

"I am the Hunter. I served him then, I serve him now."

There seems to him to be an extrodinary number of single-minded devotees around this place, and it makes him roll his eyes.

'Sounds to me like you need to get a life. What the hell are you going to do here? Not that many elves around.'

One shoulder lifts in a shrug.

"Whatever he wishes."

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