milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The first thing that alerts Agnes that this is apparently one of those 'special' days in the bar is when she feels a draft across her stomach.

"What, this again?" she asks, looking down at the naughty schoolgirl outfit she's now wearing. Unlike the last time she was in this costume, though, she's not immediately looking for something to throw on over it. Agnes has come a long way in accepting her size, so she just shrugs, adjusts the glasses that have appeared on her face, twirls a pigtail thoughtfully, and heads over to the bar for a drink.

[car keys bait for Barty Lampion, but open to anyone, as always.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Nah, that's ah term them Aussies use when talkin' 'bout women. No offence meant," Spy replies.

"Ah'm Spy. Don't usually talk, sound, or look like this, though." Unless he wants to. "Izzit a bar thing?"

Agnes nods. "Definitely a bar thing. I think they call it Hallowe'en. Not something they have on my world, but it's generally harmless."

"Sure, as long as it's limited to here, yeah?" He takes a long sip of his wine glass and tops it with a drag from his cigarette.

"Where's home for you, then?"

"That's usually how it works. When you go back, you'll look like you always did. Or wait a couple of days here, and it'll go away, too."

She turns her head just a little to escape the smoke. It's a subtle gesture that she's perfected after years of being around Nanny Ogg's cigars.

"Home for me is the Discworld. The village of Lancre, to be precise, but I doubt you'll have heard of either. Almost no one has."

"Nah, 'fraid not. Real shame, too, if all the sheilas there are as pretty as you."

Flirting is second nature to him, we're afraid.

"You're only saying that because I'm showing enough skin to make a complete other girl," she replies with a shrug. "Any other day, you'd barely notice me. But it's sweet of you to say anyway."

"Real interestin' of you to say that, when you don't know what I usually look like either," Spy points out with a faint smile.

"Eh, looks are too easy to change to be all that important. It's other things that matter."

She snorts. "Yeah, like great hair and a fabulous personality. Trust me on this; the only people who say that good looks aren't that important are the people that already have them. Oh, I'm pretty enough," Agnes adds quickly, "and I'm finally to a place where I can see that and feel good about myself however I look. But I'm not deluded enough to think that if I had come in wearing my usual shapeless black dress, my hair unbound underneath my black witch's hat, that you'd have approached me the same way at all."

And the funny thing is, she doesn't sound bitter or upset in the least when she says this. She keeps the same light conversational tone throughout. It's not his fault, after all, and it's still nice of him to say nice things, regardless.

He shrugs easily. "Mebbe, mebbe not. Too late to know now, innit?" He grins there.

"Can ah get you something? Glass of wine?"

Edited 2009-10-31 21:24 (UTC)

"Oh, but I'm too young to have wine, mister. Mommy and Daddy will be ever so cross," she says, playing into the schoolgirl act a little. She can't maintain it, though, and starts laughing.

"Gods, yes," she continues, waving down a rat. "A Klatchian red from twelve years ago, if you please," she orders.

He smirks along with her.

"Izzat another place on your world? Any good?" His taste buds, at least, are still intact. He only drinks the high quality stuff.

"The Klatchians make the best wine on the Disc," she assures him. "And that year was particularly good for the red. The whites that year were disappointing."

The rat returns a moment later with the bottle and two glasses. Agnes opens it up and pours for them both. "It's better if you let it breathe for a minute or two."

"As true for any red," Spy agrees, finishing his current glass and handing it off to the rat.

"So, witch's hat. Izzat an occupation proper?"

Anges nods. "It is. I've been a witch for quite a few years now. Well, a practicing witch, anyway. Witching is usually something you're born with."

Hm. One of those worlds with magic, then.

"Ah'm afraid I don't know much about it. We haven't got any witches on my world, so far as ah know. What sort of things can ya do?"

"It not as glamorous as it may sound," she says quickly. "A lot of it is midwifing and taking care of people and animals like a doctor only without the cutting pieces off. There's magic, too, but a good bit of that is headology where things work because the people expect them to. Oh, and with a proper broomstick, I can fly, too, which is one of the best parts."

"That doesn't sound so bad," he says. "Sounds like you're a right useful sheila to have around, long as nobody gets it into their head that burnin' ya'd be a good idea."

She lets out a quick bark of a laugh at that. "Fortunately, the whole world runs on magic, so everyone knows better than to try burning witches. And anyway, the last time someone tried it, the witch just moved the pain away so that she stood perfectly still in the fire while the people who'd tied her up burned to death around her."

Well.

"Any chance of ya teaching tha' trick ta me? See, there's this bloke at work who likes ta play with fire more than's healthy. Be a load off my mind if it didn't work on me any more."

"I'm not so good at it yet," she admits. "You have to be a really powerful witch to pull off something like that. The trick is just making people think you're that powerful so they don't try it."

"Nah, don't think this feller's right in the head. Pyros tend to be fanatical."

No matter which team they're on.

"Ah. In that case, the best advice I can give you is don't get caught."

Witches tend to be incredibly practical about these sorts of things.

He laughs.

"Believe me, sheila, I do mah very best at that. He only ever catches me by blind luck anyway."

Spamming Pyros are hard to avoid, and you tend to stick out like a flaming man when you're the only BLU who catches on fire.

"It's surprising how effective blind luck can be sometimes."

He gives her a sharp look over his glasses.

"If ah didn't know any better, Agnes, ah'd say you were mockin' meh." He takes a puff of his smoke.