milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a Lawrence.

He is half-slouched on the couch with a flat surface in front of him, idly scribbling on a grid-type paper with coloured inks. He is in fact making a map.

Yes, from Memory. It will be surprisingly accurate.

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"Just...I kind of made a fool of myself, with you. I'm sorry. Can I get you anything?"

She glances down, scrapes one foot over the floor.

Lawrence furrows his brows and pats the seat next to him.

"No, of course you did not. Come and sit." Teenagers are so cute. ~~And when they're girls, there's no chance of him wanting to sleep with them!~~

She obeys, relaxing visibly when she's off her feet. She's still fairly tired.

"I just...I let things get out of hand. You should have just dropped me off at the infirmary, or something."

~~No chance. She's in relationship with another, female vampire.~~

A light smile.

"Not at all. The infirmary beds, if they are anything like the ones in Arabia, leave much to be desired."

He shakes his head. "Are you feeling a little better?"

She smiles a little. "I'll say. It's worse then rocks."

The smile is a little brighter. "Much. I'm mostly just tired, now. Been napping next to the fire."

"Well, nothing to be ashamed of when napping."

He gives her a quick mental once-over out of habit, however.

A soft laugh. "I suppose not. You been up to anything?"

The discreet lighting of a cigarette.

His own is not so discreet, once he sees she is smoking.

"Ah..." A blink. "Well, yes." But. He's not really wanting to share this with the teenage girl. The faint bite marks on his throat might reveal things. They're nearly healed, but still.

She cocks her head to one side. "COme on, tell me."

Hey, teenager. And she can deal with bites.

He cocks his head too, mirroring her.

"...recreational fencing. And target practice, though I'd not been prepared to be the target."

"Oh?" A touch of vampire protectiveness. "Who used you as the target?"

A small, short laugh.

"Only a friend of mine, you understand." He winks a moment later.

"And only rubber bullets, after all. All in good fun."

She allows that, sort of, but still scans him thoughtfully for any injury.

"Huh. What're bullets?"

Light scrapes and bruises in (we're assuming) more than one place.

One for certain in the middle of his back. "...oh, you don't know..." He pauses, and smiles.

"They are projectile weapons. They do not have guns in your time?"

"No. No...gonnes, did you say?"

She shrugs a little. "Swords, crossbows, and slings, stuff like that. I saw a gonne wound yesterday, though. It wasn't very pretty."

"No, gun wounds are not very pretty."

He draws out his Colt .45 Peacemaker from its holster, however, and hands it to her so that she may examine it. It's unloaded, don't worry.

"But guns themselves are very interesting."

She takes it awkwardly, examining it with an interested light in her eyes. Watching it, exhaling, the smoke curling into the shape of a crossbow and floating in the air next to the gun as she compares the two.

"Huh."

Well, that's an interesting trick.

"It's not completely unrelated, really. They both fire things, but guns fire bullets much faster, you see. They're smaller, too."

A pause. "I could show you, if you like."

A grin, the smoke dissapating fast.

"Sure."

He orders another box of rubber bullets from the bar and then smiles to Mal, offering her his arm so that he can help her up.

"It is best to fire these in the woods, I have found."

She smiles, accepting the help easily. "Thanks. I'd agree - it'd be far to easy to hurt someone."

"And when one gets shot in the back, it tends to have that irritating habit of causing death."

An amused chuckle before he nudges the back door open and guides her out.

A soft laugh. "For you, maybe. Not for me."

She follows him.

"Well, for me."

He sets the box of bullets down and begins to quietly load the gun, smiling to her.

"It is surprisingly easy to shoot a gun."

"Right." Leaning over his shoulder.

"How?"