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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"Yes.

"Both to Earth and San Francisco."

She did some of her best work in San Francisco, in 1906.

The late 1960's weren't bad, either.

"But you did not stay."

It seems like a logical conclusion.

X is not sure.

"I don't stay anywhere very long," she says.

There's always another crossroads waiting.

"I did not, either."

Beat.

"Before."

"Before what?"

"Before I stopped killing people."

Beat.

"Because I was told to."

It's a simple answer. Not entirely strictly accurate, but--

Edited 2009-01-14 04:09 (UTC)

"You killed people because you were told to?

"Or you stopped because you were told to?"

"Both."

Beat.

"But now I kill when I choose. It is better."

"Oh, yes. Much better."

Verity would always rather know who ultimately had the blood on their hands.

Murderers are so much more interesting than soldiers, following orders.

X tilts her head, studying Verity.

"Sometimes people are afraid."

Beat.

"Of me."

But Verity is not. It is interesting.

"That's not my style," she says.

There are some things she's afraid of, but not many, and even then, she's not big on acting scared.

"Why are people afraid of you?"

"Okay," X says.

And then--

"I am very good at what I do."

"And that would be . . . killing people?"

"Yes," X says.

"You do not mind?"

"Well, to paraphrase a certain person I don't personally set much stock by, I'm not exactly in a position to cast stones on that particular point."

"I do not understand."

X is more familiar with Allah than God. Or Jesus. And even that is not by much.

Beat.

"You kill people, too?"

"Oh, yes.

"Or . . . maybe it would be more fair to say I help them kill themselves."

Nor does it end there.

"Euthanasia."

X frowns slightly, studying Verity.

"You do not smell like a hospital."

"Laura" really is adorable.

"Not exactly," she says.

Verity closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them again and looks at X, they glow red.

"Oh."

She doesn't flinch away, or scream, or look angry.

X is just putting things together.

"But you are not from Limbo."

It is an important distinction.

"No," says Verity, and her eyes go back to being blue.

"Not from Limbo."

(Though "Laura" would probably prefer not finding out how low Verity can go.)

"Good."

X has very strange standards.

"I do not like Belasco."

"I don't know anyone by that name," says Verity.

Though it's no sure thing that she would share "Laura's" opinion of him, if she did.

"He was a demon lord. In Limbo."

Beat.

"In my world."

This pause is longer.

"I do not think he comes here."

"Do many other demons?" she asks.

Because if her boss comes her? Verity wants to know right the hell now.