milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a new(ish) wench inside the bar
Tonight, that's not been seen
Before within this space, and likely
Will not be seen again too soon.

Ned Poins hath known the favour of a god
Upon a feast that suits for suchlike things
And waits to see the outcome of his trick.

Also, fieryTrigon is signed on,
As Poins has not yet found out how
The thing is turned off.-

[[OOC: Thread where Poins is changed still in progress, but I promise we will get there!]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"One who knows they turn mealy before they get to market?" he says.

"Oh, didst thou touch to see if they were mealy?" she laughs.

And oh, there we go--his blush renews itself with a vengeance. Damn this foul woman! Autor sets his jaw.

"No," he unsure if he should growl at her or not. Due to his indecision, the word sounds more like a raspy squeak. "Why would I want to do such a thing on purpose? I tripped. Surely you saw that, as you meant to catch me."

"And did I?" she smirks.

Color creeps down his neck. "Well, yes? I mean, no! Not properly!"

"Thou art confused, befuddled, and so greatly flustered, my poor friend," she says, mock-pity dripping from her silky voice.

"What manner of man upon encountering such a poxy wench would be otherwise?" he mutters.

"A poxy wench??" she says. "For sooth, thou art exceeding rude unto a stranger who thou metst this minute, by stumbling on her breasts in accidental purpose!"

Edited 2013-02-18 12:37 (UTC)

And now he's giving off the impression of flailing without actually doing so. "And you--you're taking pleasure in winding me up and then down again!"

"I wish thou wouldst come down when I would wind thee widdershins!" she declares. "But lo, methinks thou now art up all time."

Why, hello there, fearsome blush! Where have you been?

Autor's pressurized adrenaline threatens to erupt, making him jittery. He's starting to wish he'd taken a crash course in innuendo with Poins, because clearly this woman is running circles around him with her mouth.

"Why must you wind me widdershins at all?" he asks. He knows it's idiotic, but he's somewhat curious despite the blood pounding in his head at a rhythm of flee, flee, flee.

Had he said that aloud, she would fain die with laughing! Circles with her mouth around him -- oh he'd wish!

"If I do wind thee clockwise, I'd assume, thou art wound up, and ever further up," she says, instead, "so I would wind thee widdershins again to wind thee down ere thou erupt and splatter, at where thou wouldst then not go up no more?"

She giggles.

Edited 2013-02-18 12:57 (UTC)

And there! Another profane thing! Or maybe two? Gah!

Autor is going to have to whip out a quill and paper to keep track of all of them.

"So this winding is considered a mercy? Tch! I'll not have your physician's touches," he says. "I am not inclined to burst today."

"No? Art thou not?" she says, all innocently. "And here I was believing all men were!"

He tilts his head with an expression that is a cross between genuine curiosity and a flat what the devil?

The effect is very much like looking at a confused puppy.

Now she starts laughing, and she cannot stop; it fairly seems that she would almost choke.

Autor folds his arms across his chest. "Here now, why are you laughing at me? I'd call you an artless woman, but clearly you're experienced in the art of confounding a man.

"Go to! For you hath lived too long, to fill the world with vicious qualities.*"

*Henry VI

She kicks her feet into the air with mirth, and laughs and laughs.

"Hmph," he says, starting to stick his nose in the air before realizing he's still gripping his T-Minus.

"Away with you, you ruttish, knotty-pated canker-blossom, and be hanged!" he says, starting to type in his first 'test' into the device. "I've another rogue to find, and have no more time to waste on you."

She giggles wildly, wheezing as if she'd run all out of breath.

Within the folds of her wide skirts, something goes 'ping'.

Wait, what? Autor thinks. What?

He starts in on the Claire de lune again.

HD: test
HD: test

HD: test

HD: test
HD: test

Ping, ping, PING, ping, ping!

She is not laughing, now.

No, Autor thinks, stumbling back from this wolf in sheep's clothing. All vestiges of a blush are destroyed; color fled as fast as it had come. No, it can't be. It's just a coincidence.

"You stole his T-Minus?" he blurts out, trying to come up with an explanation that makes any sort of sense.

"Wouldst thou call me a thief, heaping insult upon the injury thou already hast given?" she says, wrinkling her nose.

Frowning, Autor stifles the childish impulse to poke her in the nose. "I know you're a rampallian," he says. "Why not a thief as well? Pray, tell me why you have it otherwise? What have you done with the man behind the fiery Trigon?"