milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Ramon is in the bar and is not in a good mood at all. No particular reason, he just gets like that sometimes. Company could either make it worse, or better, depending on who you are and what you have to say. Either way, he'd like to talk to someone because being pissed off on your own is never as much fun.

[OOC: Irish firebomb!tag: Fiona Glenanne]

[OOC: 2:30am and I have to hit the hay. Am around for slowtimes...well, until forever, practically. Catch y'all tomorrow!]

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"Because it was only in fun. And you enjoyed it, too."

And because she enjoys a chase, even if she can't let herself get caught.

"Tell me you didn't."

'Oh, I did.'

He enjoys a chase too. But usually only if he gets what he wants in the end.

'But the fact that it was all for nothing sort of takes the shine off.'

She furrows her brow as she takes another sip of her beer.

"Who says it was for nothing?"

She's sitting here now, isn't she?

'What do you want then?'

He sounds kind of resigned. Whatever it is, he's sure it won't be what he wants.

She slits her eyes again, considering this question.

"What do I want?"

To go dancing with a dangerous man in a fantastic suit. To get into trouble and get out again by the skin of her teeth. To -- finish the rest of that thought would be a really bad idea, she realises.

"I want -- to share a beer with you. And find out what's got you so riled."

He eyes her silently. Was she really stringing him along? A little, she said. He can live with a little. But what does that make the rest of it?

'Tell me about this man of yours.'

He drinks more of the beer. See? He can do sharing.

She blinks. Does he mean Michael? Or Indy? Are either of them her 'man'?

A little laugh bubbles up in her throat.

"What do you want to know?"

Ramon shrugs a shoulder.

'Anything you want to tell me. I've heard of him around here - actually, I think I did meet him once.'

He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it.

'Can't have made much of an impression.'

He means Indy. He's never heard of Michael, she never told him.

Well, in that case. "He's not my man, not by any stretch of the imagination."

Her gaze follows his hands as they go through the motions, an almost hungry look in her eye.

"He knows how to wear a suit," she starts. That doesn't come off as certain as she would like. "And he has a way about him." That, that is an unequivocal truth. Her eyes flash with a memory, and she smirks.

He watches her watching, hears the uncertainty in her voice, and suddenly feels a whole lot better about life in general.

'But you don't think he'd like it if he knew you were talking to me.'

He throws the line from their previous conversation back at her.

'Sounds like he's got you if you're not his girl but still do what he wants. Or what you think he would want.'

Indy must have quite something about him.

"I don't think he cares who I talk to," she vamps. "But he's a white hat. And you're -- not."

And yeah, Indy's got her attention. Which is really quite an accomplishment for a woman as fickle as Fiona.

'A white hat?'

He looks slightly confused. Hasn't heard that one before but he can get the jist.

'Well, if he doesn't care then there nothing to stop you coming out with me one night, is there?'

Fiona gives him a long look, sipping her beer. Nothing but her own, carefully honed sense of self-preservation.

"We're talking, señor. Don't get ahead of yourself."

He grins, winningly.

'You know you want to. And hey, I can keep my hands to myself.'

He raises them in a gesture of surrender, as if to prove what he says.

There's a glimmer of a smile at that and she licks her lips, looking down at the table.

When she looks back up, there's a fire in her eyes. "So tell me about you."

He sees the look and loves it. He knew he wasn't wrong about her.

'What do you want to know? I'm an open book; just ask.'

She slits her eyes, pondering. "Wife? Kids?"

'No wife. She died about fifteen years ago. Seven kids, four of them are dead and I don't see the other three.'

He ponders that one for a moment, then amends;

'Well, I'm seeing the youngest this summer. But apart from that, I don't see them.'

For the record, he is wearing a wedding ring. He never takes it off but it's nothing to do with his wife.

He is cold, she observes, her eyes carefully impassive. Four of his children dead and not even the inkling of crocodile tears.

"Lovers?"

This man is a storm of appetites. She can already guess the answer.

He chuckles lewdly.

'Yes, of course.'

He can't think she'd expect any other response, especially as he's already hit on her more than once.

And yes, he is cold. But also honest, emotionally.

"Of course." She hums slightly, watching his eyes. "You know, I've met a few god types passing through here, but you're the closest I've come to meeting the Devil himself."

Well, now she's just flattering him. He laughs and looks surprised.

'How do you come to that conclusion?'

He's honestly curious.

Maybe it's the straight razor gaze. Maybe it's the power dynamic that's been shifting beneath her feet like so much quick sand ever since she sat down. Maybe it's the way his cologne is having exactly the right effect on her. Who knows?

"Just a hunch. But in my line of work, you learn to trust your gut."

He smiles slowly and leans forward, eyes shining with amusement. And perhaps something else.

'The Devil is renowned for being great in bed, you know. You should try me out, see if the resemblance continues.'

He's kidding. Unless she says yes, obviously.

"He's also the Prince of Lies," she drawls, grinning broadly, shifting her weight forward as well. "But I hear he's got a billy goat's stamina."