milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Uh huh. For all the good it would do you."

She grins and stretches down the booth with one knee on the seat. There's a kiss at the end of it. And then she repairs to the other side of the table and places the cup and case down.

"Oh, you mean you wouldn't melt with sentimetality if I did?"

Miho laughs, and idly plays the first few notes of what is actually a fairly well-known love song, before grinning and putting the shamisen down on the seat next to her.

"Hello, you."

"Hi."

She seems quite chipper and kind of glowing... for her. Today's variety of coffee condimentation consists of creamer only.

"Um. Hot Lips and I owe you one pint of Bacio flavored gelato," she confesses as she preps the cup. The statment is remarkably guiltless, actually.

Miho simply raises one eyebrow.

"The whole pint? Indeed."

"Mmmm. Sorry."

"I'll be back in Rome soon for Will's bachelorette bash, so I'll resupply you then."

"Oh, you're so contrite," she teases. "I can see the guilt from here."

"Bull shit," she chuckles. "If I felt guilty I would have already replaced the ice cream and not even told you about it."

That gets an amused snort.

"You are such a brat, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

"There is that," she admits, without the slightest hint of embarassment.

"So, aside from eating my ice-cream with - or possibly off - Mary Anne, what have you been up to?"

Goldy doesn't even bat an eyelid at the ice cream hypothesis.

"Not much. Brothel shifts. Working with a new student."

She takes a first sip of coffee.

"You?"

"More of the same," she admits.

"As I told Mel, I'm boring."

"Terribly."

She pops the catches on the case and flips the lid over.

Miho raises and eyebrow.

"What's in the case?"

Nosy? Why, yes.

Goldy rolls her eyes and picks out a thin metal rod, threaded at one end. Next she takes out a brass jag and screws it onto the end.

"New cleaning kit?" She asks.

"Thought you had everything you need?"

"Not a new kit," she says, drawing both guns out from the small of her back. "New case."

"Right," she says, nodding.

"Gotcha."

She picks up the shamisen again, but as her fingers touch the strings, she winces and puts it down again. Instead, she rests her elbows on the table, and watches Goldy.

She starts work on the Beretta first, cleaning the bore. She doesn't look up.

"What's wrong with your fingers?"

"I haven't played in a while, and wasn't really thinking," which was the point, really. "So I played too long, and now i have blisters. I hadn't noticed until I stopped for a bit."

Goldy tsks at her.

"Silly."

"Probably."

She picks her zippo up off the table, and flips the top open and closed. The side of her thumb isn't sore, after all.

Goldy pulls the double-packed cleaning patches out and folds two new ones, threading them into the largest jag slot and pinching them at the longest distance possible. After adding a few drops of solvent to the tip of the swab, she turns her attention to the Springfield. The rod strokes in through the breech, pushing all the bore residue out through the muzzle.

"Do you know Jadis? Witch. Kinda pale. Very tall. All about the ice and cold."

"I think I've seen her around. Dreadlocks?"

She puts the zippo down, then picks it up again, flipping it between her fingers.

"Why?"

"She's my new pupil," Goldy says, switching the jag for a wire brush once the receiver, shoulder and bore are all clean of residue to her satisfaction. "She's not bad at all."