milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Take one couch. Add blonde, sprawled artfully across. Decorate with book over face--specifically, over her eyes; those with finer attention to detail might notice the yellow-green remnants of a bruise along her cheek and jaw.

To garnish, place half-empty (or half-full) glass of water on the floor next to the couch, in easy reach.

Approach at your leisure.

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And someone whistles, long and soft, at the sight of the bruise.

She thumbs the book up off her face and smiles slightly.

"See something you like?"

"Yet to decide if it's the subject or the details," Mordred drawls in his soft, rough and beautiful voice.

"Would so hate to rush you to a decision," she replies.

"Take your time and let me know when you figure it out."

She lowers the book back into place, her smile now a little more smug.

He looks down at her, idly smoking for a moment.

"Always did like blondes. But, the bruise, lady?"

"Sprited discussion with a friend's boyfriend."

The book slips back a little as she talks; you can almost see half-lidded blue eyes.

"All's well."

"If you say so. Too lazy to arrest anyone today, anyway."

"You on security, I take it?"

Despite her own incarceration, she doesn't know that many people on staff.

"That I am. Mordred Ambrosius, at your service only in the loosest possible sense."

He bows, just as mocking as his voice.

"Mary Anne Bell, pleasued to meet you," she replies, tone not wholly sarcastic.

He grins at that, and drapes himself across an armchair.

"So, where, when, dead alive?"

"Vietnam, 1970, and somehow still alive."

She sits up, swinging her legs to the floor and letting the book fall to her lap.

"And yourself?"

"Britain, early twenty-first century, ghost."

Ten on him being that Mordred.

"Huh. How's that working out for you, then?"

"It's a bitch, but so is more forms of existence."

"True enough."

She stretches and manages not to wince.

"Care for a drink to bitchy forms of existence?"

"Would love to."

She waves a waitrat over to place the order.

"Bloody Mary for me, and for the gentleman...?"

"Vodka, thanks."

The rat hurries off.

She's quiet for a moment, then asks, "So is it true you have to get arrested in order to work for security?"

"What?" He laughs.

"No. I haven't been arrested yet. More because I haven't been caught, I guess. But never seen the inside of a cell yet."

"Ah, the rumors are untrue."

She sighs.

"Pity, it'd make a hell of a sales pitch."

Mordred grins.

"Yeah, it would."

"Of course, given this place, you'd have a sign-up line that could circle the building twice."

"True, true, even given all the pockets of warped time."

Well, there's something she hadn't taken into consideration.

"Maybe it'll help them forget how long they've been standing there?"

"Or...they could not bother? It's a lowly position, the old Secruity one."

"Sounds more impressive than it is?"

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