milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Once again, Ace has picked up her little project of cleaning and rewiring an old sonic blaster she found while exploring one day. It's badly scored and has been exposed to all sorts of weather, but she thinks she can fix it.

What she plans to do with it once she's done is anyone's guess. It's not like she can return it, unless she likes getting paid in bananas.

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On his way from the bar with a fresh cup of tea, James slows as he approaches Ace's table. He frowns at the condition of the thing she's tinkering with, and also frowns at his not knowing just what the hell that thing is.

It's vaguely gun-shaped, in the way it really isn't anything else-shaped. It is vaguely futuristic, in the way that it doesn't look very modern, or like a toy.

It is very, very badly beat up.

It also contrives to send up an arc of electricity, zapping Ace's hand neatly. She hisses sharply, glowering at the blaster.

"Damnitall."

James' frown deepens as he comes to a full stop. "Need help with that?" he asks, uncertain he could help.

"What I need," Says a very put-out Ace, "Is an instruction manual, but I think those all got blown up with the factory. I know I've disconnected the power, but the bleedin' thing keeps sendin' up sparks. I ought t'junk it just f'that." She examines her hand, then shakes it out. Only then she looks up.

"Oh. Um. James Bond, wasn't it? Hullo." Yeah, like she forgot.

A short nod. "Ace, I believe? May I ask what that is you're working on?"

"Sonic blaster. It was left behind, so I picked it up. It's kind of been my slow day project for a while now." Some people do crossword puzzles, Ace repairs military-grade weapons. It's all the same.

"Left behind where?"

"Him." Says Ace, literally. "He went forward, an' startlin'ly, his blaster didn't. Must've thought it wouldn't do him much good."

"Who is 'him'?"

"The bloke that owned the blaster." Ace replies, slowly. "Obviously not Santa Claus, it wasn't wrapped."

Right. This line of questioning’s getting him nowhere. Better to switch to another line: “Are you going to use it when you’re done fixing it?”

"Dunno. Guns aren't really m'thing, and I've a friend who'd disapprove. But y'have t'admit, it does look wicked. An' it'd be useful t'get the big, slow types t'listen up." She answers, musingly.

“Oh, yes, I’d agree,” he says, grinning slightly. “It does look—er, wicked.”

And he agrees with the part about making people listen. Of course, he can do that by just walking into a room, sometimes, but that’s because he can be a big hulk of intimidation when he wants to be.

Ace... doesn't do intimidation. Sadly. She wishes she does. Sometimes she can get close, if she growls convincingly.

She can growl very, very convincingly.

But on an ordinary day? Not so much with the intimidation.

"Yeah. S'why I picked it up. I mean, it's practically worthless, really, but since there's the odd chance I might be able t'sort it out..." She shrugs.

“And it’s always good to have a prop handy when the situation requires it,” he replies.

"Prop? Mate, if I'm takin' it, I'm usin' it." Ace retorts, a little off-balance. "I've enough t'carry without bringin' along dummies."

He grins, his whole expression saying “Atta girl!”

“Even better.”

Ace thinks that's funny as hell, if only because her more feline nature looks at unsolicited praise as a very odd thing.

Still, approval from your home country's pre-eminent creator of mass chaos isn't nothing.

"Rather. Things get uncomfortable when y'bluff gets called on a prop."

He nods. “Although you could distract them with something else if you’re inventive or strong enough.”

A punch in the face, a kick in the gut, throwing various items in the room—whatever feels right at the moment, really.

Ace, sadly, not only fails in the fine art of intimidation, she's getting bad marks in the art of 'beating other people up'. She's grand with a baseball bat, but other than that, she's out of luck.

His comment, thus, gets a very dry, sardonic one in return.

"More inventive than you, mate."

He raises an eyebrow in inquiry. Because sometimes—and often with him—you don’t need words to ask questions!

Ace just leans back in her chair and grins at him.

Sometimes you don't need words to answer questions either.

James laughs.

“Well, good luck on reviving the pseudo-prop, then.”

"Ta f'that." Ace is calling this one a win. "Take care of y'self."

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