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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"Yeah, but..."

She slides the pint to the middle of the table, and rests her head in her left hand. With her right, she points to the pint, and a spark snaps from her finger. A moment later, the pint is bursting with flames.

"... I'm the crazy bitch."

'...fair point.'

He can't blame her. He wouldn't drink it either.

'So, what've you been doing with yourself since we lsat talked, Elle?'

"... it was a while ago."

She probably did a lot of things.

"Was it before the zombies?"

'There were zombies?'

Damn. If there were, he's sorry he missed them.

'Here?'

She shakes her head.

"Someone asked me to kill them."

Beat. "In his world."

'I bet you had a great time.'

He can imagine her loving that.

Yeah. She did.

But instead of acknowledging that, it's just: "They were easy."

'Easy burning?'

He thinks.

'Do they even still have blood to slow the flames down?' he muses. 'Or do they just go up like dry cardboard?'

"They're like people."

Some would think unnervingly so, but it wasn't a problem for her. "And it didn't matter what they looked like afterward."

Beat. "And they're really slow."

'Easy fight for you then. Isn't that boring?'

Shes shrugs.

"More fun than the rabbits."

'What happens if you don't kill anything for a week or so?'

He eyes her, amused.

'Does your power turn back on you and you'll explode?'

That would be a sight to see, he thinks.

"What makes you think it's always about killing?"

Her expression hasn't changed, but there is a definite chill in her voice that wasn't there before.

Ramon frowns, a touch confused.

'Isn't it?'

Elle starts giggling.

It's not a very helpful answer.

An annoying one too. The frown deepens and he just waits for her to stop.

She doesn't hurry it.

But as she finishes, Elle stands from her chair, walking toward him while dragging one hand along the surface of the table.

"You know why the rabbits aren't as fun?"

He hazards a guess, watching her hand.

'They don't scream?'

She stops.

"And they don't take very long."

His smile is slow, and broad and knowing.

'How about I buy you a proper drink?'

To her, that game has already been played.

So she only asks, "Why?"

'Because,' he says, as he stands, 'we are two people of a like mind and I don't run across that very often.'

He doesn't wait for a reply, just heads to Bar. He asks for whatever Elle usually has, and returns.

'Here you go.'

Elle doesn't order many things with much regularity, which means the Bar returns this order with, of all things, a glass of cheery-flavored crushed ice.

She looks a little amused at this, and sits down again when she takes it. But she doesn't thank him for it.

Instead, she asks, "You don't meet people like me that much?"

'No.'

He sits too and lights a cigarette.

'Mostly people who think I'm the Devil, or something similar.'

"And... that's a bad thing?"

It might be more unsettling that it's not clear whether she's serious or not.