milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OoM: In which there is early-morning conversation and bed-hogging. Now unlocked!]

Mal's down in the bar, now, sitting on a stool and sipping a cup of coffee. She's whistling rather tunelessly under her breath as well, staring off into space.

(Completely botherable, we add)

[ooc: many, many apologies, but I must go. slowtime is wonderful, and I should be back within a couple hours.]

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Lucky for us, Sands is completely bothering.

He nudges Mal with an elbow, dropping onto the stool beside her.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

"Long time no see, stranger."

She nudges back.

“Of all the gin joints, in all the world…”

Smirking, he liberates her coffee and takes a sip.

She eyes him. "You're strange. And that's my coffee."

“It is?”

He takes a gulp, and then winces because ow. Hot.

Sulkily, “Casablanca. It’s a classic.”

"It is. Are you going to pay for it?"

Teach him to drink her coffee!

"Never heard of it."

“Now, why would I do that?”

He grins, but pushes the mug back across to her anyhow. What a kind and generous soul!

“You should watch it.”

"'cause you're secretly a kind and generous person?"

Ah, but the coffee is back. She sips it, raising her eyebrows.

"What's it about?"

“I like to think I give Mother Teresa a run for her money.”

He’s staring at the coffee like if he wishes hard enough it’ll come back.

“Boy meets girl. Girl flees Nazis. The greatest romance of all time!”

"...who's she?"

Mal takes pity on Sands, and slides it back towards him. "You're addicted. Nazis?"

“A nun. She liked to help people. I think they made her a saint or something.”

Wrapping his hands appreciatively around the mug, he glances up at her. “You don’t know the Nazis?”

"Ah. In that case, you highly resemble her."

Mal shakes her head. "Never heard of them."

“In all but appearance and personality.”

He pauses, frowning, because how on Earth do you explain Nazis?

At length, “They… uh. You know how I’m a complete bastard?”

"Oh, no, the appearance is probably identical."

Mal eyes him. "Yeah, I do."

Dryly, “Habits aren’t really my style.”

He sips on her coffee for dramatic effect, then continues. “Yeah. They were worse.”

"No? Such a pity."

...wow. "Scary."

He kindly offers her her coffee, though the look on his face makes it clear that if he doesn’t get it back there’ll be hell to pay.

“They were big on oppression of the masses. Genocide. That kind of thing.”

She takes said coffee, and raises it in a silent toast.

"Pity."

At some point, someone walks across the bar. Jeans and sneakers, a fairly shapeless jumper.

Guns on her hips, and that big brown hair of hers always been distinctive. As has that walk, a sensual glide emphasized by curved hips.

She goes to the Bar, leans against a stool and talks to the sentient bar for a moment before she, bottle of tequila in hand, walks out the back door.

Sands, most tragically, doesn’t have any coffee of his own to raise, but he nods and smiles faintly.

“And then there was a big war, lots of people died, and-”

It’s not so much that he trails off as one moment he’s talking and the next he’s not. His face has gone far paler than it has any right to, eyes fixed on the door and the person disappearing through it.

“Mal,” he says softly. “Give me your knife.”

"And?"

Except then, then he's looking at her and he's gone all quiet and so Mal bites her lip, hand going down to her waist.

Unsheathes the knife, and hands it over silently.

His hands are shaking as he takes it from her.

A murmured “don’t follow me,” and then he’s gone (http://didntseeit.livejournal.com/2606.html).

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