milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Hawkeye Pierce sits at the bar, martini carelessly dangling from one hand and microphone from the other. The microphone, it should probably be mentioned, is attached to a big old-fashioned-looking (brand new) reel-to-reel tape recorder.

"Dear Dad," he says in the general direction of the microphone. "Business has been slow lately." A glance down the bar. "It's getting so I'm considering taking up a side practice in cesspool sailboat racing."

It's a glib remark; he's not that desperate for something to do.

Yet.

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A door opens from a blustery winter night in New York City, circa January 2007, bringing with it a gust of wind that would be right at home in any film directed by Nicholas Ray and lit by John Alton. A tall, mysterious backlit figure - very tall - in a long purple trenchcoat and stylish purple fedora enters, carrying an equally mysterious briefcase, and turns to close the door behind her.

This being done, she turns and slinks her way (as only a six foot seven jade Amazon can) towards the bar, taking the next seat over from the gentleman with the tape recorder.

She pulls off her fedora with a flourish, and long green hair tumbles about her shoulders. Lit perfectly, of course.

She is green, Hawkeye. Very, very green.

Edited 2008-01-22 05:00 (UTC)

"I could put my life savings into a lifesize replica of the--"

Just then is when Hawkeye spots the impossibly tall vision swinging into a seat beside him.

"--Titanic.

"Look, Dad -- I'm going to have to call you back." Hawkeye leans over and stops the reels. He considers the woman (and she is a woman, even if she is unexpected) for a moment, and then he says,

"Uh, pardon me; you seem to have a little something on your--" He points to the corner of his mouth -- and then more at his face in general. "--Everywhere."

It's partially a line to give him an excuse to talk to her (and he's smiling at her, broad and charming), and partially that he's genuinely bewildered by the fact that she is green.

The verdant vision turns dazzling verdigris eyes towards him, returning his smile with one of her own. A playful, challenging smile.

Her teeth are not viridian, but are very, very white.

"Do I? Ah, the green. Yes, it's all over. Don't worry, it's not catching, unless I say it is."

She unties the sash of her trenchcoat, then shrugs if off her shoulders, revealing a sleek, strapless black cocktail sheathe, to match her black strappy high heels. The trenchcoat is then tossed onto the empty stool to her right.

Hawkeye's eyebrows rise just a little higher at the move (mostly at the very green, very improbable, very attractive physique), and he sets the microphone down on the bar.

"Is that typical, where you're from?" he asks, and he puts down his drink, too, to give her his full attention. "A wave of a hand and a triumph of the will and the world goes green?"

She, in turn, shifts on her seat to face him, perching her toes on the rung of her bar stool, looking at him with frank (and pleased) appraisal.

"It's very atypical where I'm from. I'm part of an elite, rarefied club of people. People that can take large amounts of gamma radiation and walk away with a smile and a need for a new wardrobe. We've got plenty of other colors of the rainbow back home, but green is special. Didn't you know? What's your name, handsome?"

Gamma radiation.

Hawkeye's heard weirder than that in Milliways.

"No, I can't say I knew," he says smoothly. "See, where I'm from, green tends to have more -- emotional connotations." This is Hawkeye being diplomatic and charming, and saying 'emotional' instead of 'negative.' "Envy, the 'green-eyed monster,' nausea... All of which, I can see, are quite unkind and patently false."

He extends a hand. "Hawkeye Pierce, fair lady; and I have the pleasure to be addressing...?"

A well groomed (and strong) green hand, discreet pale lavender polish on the nails, is extended in turn.

"Jennifer Walters, Attorney at Law. A pleasure. We've got the same vivid associations with green, of course, back home. I do my part to turn the tide in favor of embracing the emerald. For some of us, it's not easy being green, but I've always enjoyed it. One shouldn't discriminate, after all. What brings you to Milliways, Mr. Pierce?"

Jen would comment on "Hawkeye." But this isn't a Hawkeye with a quiver of purple arrows, hellbent on driving her to insanity or to repeated viewings of The Vengeance Trilogy, whichever comes first.

Hawkeye's smile isn't going anywhere, even as it takes a turn toward amused, and he shakes her hand. "I've always thought green got a bad rap. Glad to hear someone's finally taking up the cause." He picks up his drink again, giving it a light swirl, though his eyes are still on his companion (and aren't likely to go elsewhere anytime soon).

"Technically, it's Dr. Pierce, but preferably, Hawkeye, please. I came in search of a loud place to start a letter to my father, but I seem to have found myself with a good drink and beautiful company instead." 'And I'm not complaining,' says his wink. "I don't suppose I could talk you into letting me buy you a drink?"

A doctor.

The possibilities are endless. Professional tag teaming of hapless fellow patrons, consults, heated arguments over accreditation, vigorous peer reviews, and bemoaning insurance rates.

All of which is pretty much foreplay in Jen's book. And her book is sleek, black, and considered highly coveted and classified material by most intelligence agencies currently extant on her Earth.

Fortunately, she keeps it with her.

Her smile isn't going anywhere, either, in fact it widens. Fellow degreed professionals are in short supply at Milliways, in her estimation.

"I could be talked into a drink, Dr. Pierce."

She has to say it once, just to let the name roll off her tongue.

"In fact, let's call it 'already talked,' shall we? I'd love a drink. A martini, if possible. You came to Milliways to dictate a letter to your father? Do you usually prefer ambiance in the background?"

"A martini it is," says Hawkeye, very approvingly. "Oh Bar?"

The drink appears -- hope you like it dry, Jen -- with complimentary olive.

"I mostly prefer inexplicable noise in the background," he says easily. "Dad could use a mystery or two in his life. But what about, what about you," and this is where he settles his chin in his hand and earnestly looks at her, shameless and not mindful of it in the least. "What brings your lovely self to these parts?"

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