milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The door opens, and a woman with long dark hair and a short black dress steps in.

Well, really, that's technically only partly true. But it's probably close enough to accurate. Workable, at any rate.

She stops and looks around. This doesn't feel like any bar she's ever been in before, and, darling, she has been in a lot of bars. Desperate people do like to drink, and a week in a bar here or there, that's like picking ripe fruit off low-hanging branches.

Well, well, well. Isn't this . . . interesting?

[OOC: If you're the sort who's good at recognizing demons, feel free. If you're not, though, chances are she's just going to come off as young human woman. Questions, etc., ping elsinorequeen.]

[tiny tag: the crossroads demon, cerberus]

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The stories she's a part of end in fire, inevitably, so she wouldn't argue that point.

"Verity," she says, with a quick and ready smile.

"My parents had this thing about Truth."

"It's beautiful, unique. It suits you." His voice, usually a undertone of low almost gravelly in texture held a purring quality to it as he spoke now.

In that she appreciates the irony, oh, yes, it suits her very, very well.

(The Truths she came to value were not the ones her sanctimonious parents had in mind. And, anyway, demons lie.)

"Thank you," she says.

"So what do you do, Nathan?"

"Uh well, I'm sort of taking some time off right now." Dead, and a Congressman who stepped down. There was no way for it to look good.

Oh, if she had a nickle for every time she'd heard something like that.

"On a break?"

Please don't let him say that he's trying to find himself.

"Something like that. Personal business," Nathan agreed.

Not exactly that at least?

"Well, I hope everything works out for you," she says, with a smile.

All eye-rolling will occur mentally.

"Thanks. Beyond the point now, but thanks anyway."

"And what is that?"

Nathan shrugged, and glanced to the wall where the door normally is. He was still focused on it as he quietly replied.

"Let's just say that not everybody that comes here is living."

She looks . . . intrigued.

"You're dead?"

He nodded, and waved his hands in a vague 'what can you do?'

"Suddenly found myself with a lot of free time."

She considers this.

Or makes a show of considering this.

"You're a lucky man, then."

He shook his head, "More like a bored man." At least when he was Bound and alive, going to other worlds for any length of time was an option. Now? It was weekend pass unless he didn't mind getting really transparent.

"Never caught where you're from. Or the when."

Bored beats the hell out of what happens to the dead men Verity tends to encounter.

"Pretty sure that's because I didn't say," she says, with a charming smile.

She shrugs.

"I get around."

It does, and he doesn't know how good he's got it right now.

In the meantime, Nathan smiled back, and wondered, "Military brat, right? Dad's a career man?" The only reason they stayed in New York was his dad was out of the service by then.

"Mostly I travel for business," she says, not really answering the question about her father's career.

"Occasionally pleasure."

Actually, most often, it's both.

She enjoys her work.

"Oh? And what do you do then?"

"I make certain . . . acquistions, for my employer. Buying, trading.

"Wheeling and dealing, you know how it goes."

"You're a broker?" He could understand that. Some of them donated to his Congressional campaign.

"That term works as well as any," she says, lightly.

(Some brokers have made contributions to her cause, too.)

(They have backed the wrong candidate.)

"I'm from New York. We got our share," Modestly speaking of course.

"And the shares for a few of the flatter states in the middle thrown in for good measure, I should think."

He chuckled at that, and replied, "Touché."

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