milliways_bar | (no subject)

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A booth is suddenly occupied by a good-looking young man--around the age of twenty-five or so--with red hair, shaved in military fashion. He looks exceedingly comfortable in his scuffed brown boots and his dusty red tank-top and worn jeans. The young man sips absently at his beer, looking as if he is waiting for someone to arrive.

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Another good-looking man takes the seat opposite. He's tucking something away into a narrow, black briefcase, and only when the clasps have closed with a dry snap does he look up.

"My, my," he says after a pause. "This is unusual."

"Busy day at work. I didn't have time to change." He leans forward and grins, which, even in this form is dangerous, deadly, blood-thirsty. "But you still like it, don't you?"

He looks amused for a fraction of a second - blink and you've missed it - and straightens his jacket minutely.

"Of course. The hair is especially attractive."

It's short. Sparse, almost. The concept appeals to him.

"If figured you would like it." He runs a hand across his head, fingers conforming to the shape of his skull--another thing he's sure the other man enjoys seeing.

"Drink?" He holds the beer bottle out to his booth partner.

Sable looks at it with distaste.

"I brought my own, thank you." He reaches out and there's suddenly a plastic bottle in his hand. The label says something about a patented version of... water.

"I realize you like to follow the habits of the people around you from time to time, but really. Beer?"

"I'm playing the part, Raven." The word comes out of his mouth dripping with acid. "It's nice mixing things up now and then. You should try it some time." He takes a violent swig off the beer.

He gives the man a doubtful look, then takes a swig of his own - much more delicate - from the water bottle.

"I suppose it is only empty calories."

"You always see an emaciated lining. That's one of the things I always loved about you." He drags a nail across the back of Sable's hand: an intimate gesture.

He watches War's finger tracing across his hand and one eye twitches, but otherwise he doesn't move.

"Merely seeing an opportunity. There's a kid in R and D who's insisted we could take that 'light' beer thing a step further. He might be on to something."

"I'm sure someday you will be able to get around the FDA and just load your food with rat poison, then you won't even need R and D."

He's about to take another swig of beer when he shouts, "Oh! I meant to tell you: I've decided on my next endeavour." He waits, wanting to string his black-suited friend along.

"Poison? Where's the challenge in that?" he asks, but his expression is indulgent until War makes her announcement.

"I hope you don't plan to join forces with the FDA. I really don't think they're your sort of people."

A dismissive hand wave. "Hardly. No, I was thinking of creating a company that specializes in private military for hire and weapons development." Another sip of beer. "I'm thinking of calling it Pale Horse, after our dear friend."

"I'm sure he'll be flattered," Sable said, with a dry laugh.

"There are already quite a few such companies, aren't there? You'll have competition."

Not that he's worried. Red loves competition.

"Yes, I'm sure his bone cheeks will just flush red with excitement," he says sarcastically.

"Trust me, I'm counting on competition." He shifts oddly and scratches himself inappropriately. "I forgot how odd it is to have external genitalia. How do you deal with this?"

He raises one thin eyebrow at her.

"Deal with it?" He seems momentarily flustered, though it doesn't show in any more than his silence.

"I've never given it much thought. Not unless there was reason to do so."

He avoids adding a smirk, but only because his facial structure gives him a hint of a smirk most of the time anyway.

Red slouches in his booth and slides his now boot-less foot up in between Sable's legs. "And what reasons would those be?" he asks with a smirk of his own.

Sable lets out a delicate snort.

"I have the feeling," he says, "that you know exactly what I'm talking about."

He takes another sip of his water, but his eyes never leave Red's.

And Red's never leave his. That is until Red is instantly on the other side of the table, breath hot on Sable's neck. "What do you say we get out of here and play around with this body a bit?"

Sable's clean and put-together composure never breaks, but he puts the bottle down rather quickly.

"I think that's an excellent idea. Any preference as to where we go?"

"Are the fuzzy handcuffs still at your place?" He chews on Sable's neck; his earlobe.

"Right where you left them," he says, and one hand - hidden from the rest of the room - clenches hard on Red's shirt.

Red grins into Sable's throat and licks at the blood let free by his sharp teeth. "Then let's go." And with that, War drags Famine (who quickly snatches up his briefcase) out of the bar, spilling their drinks as they go.

Whoever it is, it isn't this girl. Not with her black snakes instead of black curls, not with the gold feathered wings on her back, not Medusa because she is not of his world.

She does, however, notice him. Or at least, her snakes do and they whisper to her in voices that sound like her own.

So Medusa glances at him, dark and intense eyes curious behind their glasses (which don't match her tunic or leather trousers - Bronze Age).

The young man's pale orange eyes meet her glasses and he smiles, aware of who she is. He raises his beer to her.

He isn't human; she knows that much. So he gets a smile, cautiously, and she inclines her head in acknowledgement.

wasn't there was just didn't see wasn't, go the snake but she appears to ignore them.

"Sorry," Medusa says then, "I didn't see you and you startled me, a bit."

"I tend to have that effect on people," he says nonchalantly, taking another swig from his beer. "Don't recall seeing you around here before."

And people tend to remember Medusa.

"I...have been coming for a fair few months to me, a bit less here. You have been coming longer?"

"Oh yeah. Quite some time." He eyes holds the beer out toward the seat across from him: an offering to sit.

There is a slight hesitation, but she walks across to join him.

She also snags a chair from a nearby table, turns it around and stradles it rather than sitting at the booth. Given that her wings brush the ground when she does that, it's easy to see why.

"I'm Medusa."

"I know who you are, Gorgon," he says calmly. "I have many names, but you can call me Red."

"Most people seem to." If her voice is a tad dry, well.

"A pleasure to meet you, Red."

Edited 2007-12-09 09:58 (UTC)

"It usually is," he says. "A pleasure to meet me, that is." A grin.

(ooc: My darling, I am off to bed. Slowtime?)

[ooc: always :) ]

Mildly, her voice amused,

"Oh, I am sure."

(ooc: I want to thread with you but my friends have declared it too dangerous for wee!Mitt. When wee!Mitt is not so wee, perhaps?)

(ooc: lol. Of course. Though, just FYI, War's appearances around the bar are... sporadic at best. It's hard trying to throw the world into chaos, ya know. Keeps an anthropomorphic personification busy.)

(ooc: It is totally hard out here for an anthropomorphic personification! I know War is v. sporadic, but he won't be older for ages, so. =D. I'll keep an eye out.)

ALWAYS WHEN I AM NOT AROUND THAT YOU DO THIS AUGH AUGH AUGH LOVE YOU AUGH.

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