milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Pam comes downstairs with a purposeful stride.

She goes to the bar and orders a bottle of TruBlood.

Then she turns to head back upstairs to Eric's room, because he has the laptop, and she can go shopping, and she doesn't have to deal with any fucking assholes down here.

Yes, she's still kind of angry. What gave it away?

Talk to her and she'll tell you to fuck off, but if you prove yourself interesting enough to placate or distract her, you are a winner!

(Eric is still somewhere in the bar, so try not to piss her off any more than she is for your own sake.)

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Totally a champ at not pissing off vampires, really, Gredya is leaning against the bar and doing her reading homework. She sniffs pointedly when the bottle of TruBlood comes out and shakes her head.

Oh, yeah? Well, she's not the only one who's doing any pointed sniffing, because right now Pam thinks she smells like a fucking dog.

I beg your pardon, werewolves have a distinctly different array of pheromones from domestic dogs.

The sniffing gets a wide grin from Gredya. "Not drinking blood today?"

If it has four legs and howls, it's a dog.

She does not return the grin.

"Why, are you offering?"

You'd have to pay Pam to drink from a were or a shifter.

"I do not think you can. It is not in little bottles." She drops the grin. "That big vampire, Mister Man. He was hurt? Who did that?"

There's only a slight curl to her lip at the retort. But the rest of what she says gets a scrutinizing stare. She knows Eric?

Pam immediately gets defensive.

"We don't know what it was," she says, skipping over the part about Eric getting hurt. "Some crazy asshole monster in a suit."

Well, they met once, and Eric does make an impression.

"Monster like what?" She makes a toothy face and raises hands in mock claws, grr, argh. Like that?

Pam raises an eyebrow at the pantomime.

"More along the lines of his face cracking into pieces."

"But shaped like person? Two legs, two arms, hands and feet?" She lifts one of her own bare feet in illustration: slim and quite human-looking.

The bare foot also gets a raised eyebrow.

"...Yeah."

Seriously, what the fuck.

"Hell of a conversationalist. Doesn't pay attention to a thing you say and gets distracted by bright colors. Super-charming."

And of course, by the tone of her voice, super-charming means super-asshole.

Gredya's aesthetic leans towards unexpectedly clean medieval peasant with good teeth. Bare feet, brown tunic. She raises an eyebrow back at Pam.

"And he can hurt vampires."

Pam is wearing a designer dress from Saks Fifth Avenue and six-inch Prada heels. Her aesthetic is markedly different.

"His gun was made of silver," she says flatly.

"If he didn't have it, things wouldn't have gone the way they did."

"Hm." Gredya gives a little nod. Good to know. "Where did he go?"

She narrows her eyes a little at her, but she shrugs.

"He got put in the cells, I think. I don't really care. As long as he stays the fuck away."

"Who put him in cells?" While she's avoiding crazy asshole monsters who like fancy clothes and colors and silver guns and hurting vampires, she might as well avoid whoever it is that's strong enough to lock them up.

"Thor."

Now, this she says with the tiniest hint of pleasantness in her voice.

What? So she has a thing for big blond Vikings.

"Thor." Gredya tries the name out and frowns. She's heard it in stories before.

But that's not really a surprise here, is it. She gives a little shrug and tilts her head, looking at Pam. "...Pretty dress. Pretty shoes."

"You can't miss him," she insists with a barely-there smirk.

"And thank you."

That was unexpected. So the uncivilized and uncouth can have good taste, too.

"You might look pretty if you wore some makeup and decent clothes."

....There was some kind of backhanded compliment in there somewhere, probably.

She laughs, a quick bark. "No. I look better in fur."

Well. Shrug. Gredya taps her very colorful Yes We Can Read book. "I do this work now. I hope your...'blood'...is good."

She snorts. Funny.

Eyeing the children's book, it seems (aww, she's learning to read), she then picks up her bottle of TruBlood.

"This never is," she replies dryly, and she leaves the were to her homework.

Hey look, nobody's face was ripped off today.

She watches the vampire go, and resists the temptation to comment on the fake blood in bottles. Why would anyone even put up with that?

But hey. Nobody's face was ripped off, and that's good.

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