milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

There is a very small witch in the bar. She has a nice new summer dress in green, and looks hungry. Shepherdessing all day will do that to a girl.

She looks around in her quiet, vaguely unsettling way, just to make sure no fairies have invaded the strange restauraunt when she wasn't looking, and wanders over to the bar.

She is, yet again, carrying the frying pan.

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Logan gives the small witch a very odd look. She has a frying pan, and that freaks him out rather more than it ought to, in this particular place.

He goes over to her, sizes her up. "Hey, kid," he says. "Do you have cooking to do, or something? Because I think Bar has that covered."

Tiffany Stares at Logan.

"This is in case of fairies," she says of the frying pan, with a perfectly straight face.

Logan stares right back, though his stare? It is not nearly as intimidating, and he soon backs down.

"Fairies. What, the little things with wings and wands that hang out in gardens and stupid children's books? I guess you could cook them, but I don't think they'd taste very good."

"No. The big things that think we're toys that scream when they take us apart." Tiffany continues to eye Logan. "You've read Stories, haven't you? They're not often very accurate."

"Right," Logan says, backing away a bit. If she's crazy, he doesn't feel any need to be around her. Especially with that very large, very cast-iron frying pan so handy. "You know, everyone I've talked to here says the same thing. Funny, that."

Tiffany wonders why Logan is backing away. She's only correcting false information.

"They hate iron," she offers, helpfully. "And I don't take chances with different dimensions. I'm Tiffany Aching."

"That's very good to know," he says. "But you know, there's no business in the bar. So if killing fairies is your business, perhaps you'd best take it outside?"

"I'm Logan Echolls, Neptune, California, Earth, 2005, and still alive. As long as you don't hit me with your frying pan, I think I should continue to be all of those things."

"I won't kill fairies unless they try to kill me, or get into the Chalk again. That's where I live. Their Queen stole my brother once, and I hit her with this."

She listens quietly to Logan's speech. "I won't hit you unless you're a fairy, or you try to steal my brother."

"Again, good to know. I think I can promise to leave your brother alone, as I'm not that fond of children," Logan says. "What's the chalk, though? Why would you live in a chalky place."

"The Chalk is farming country. It's built on the chalk that was the bodies of creatures that used to live there when it was covered by the sea. I'm named after it. My mother doesn't know it, though."

Logan's head is starting to hurt. "How is Tiffany a chalk-name? Tiffany's the name of a bubble-headed cheerleader with bleached blonde hair and too much make-up, not dead sea creatures."

"Tiffan," Tiffany says, a bit testily, "Means Land-under-Wave. The Chalk was the land under the waves. And unless you haven't noticed, I am not blonde." nor does she know what a cheerleader is.

{ooc: Need to sleep . . . slowtime okay?}

"Gotcha," Logan says. "I did notice, as I am keenly observant and so smart it hurts. Probably not a cheerleader either, though I'm not taking bets on that." Not around here, anyway.

((OOC: Slowtime is awesome. Catch you later, and I adore your Tiffany!))

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