milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a Gorlim--
in the bar
with a Book of -- Poetry
and an iPod

hence the peculiarly
Emily-Dickenson-esque entry
Post.

Come and say
Hello.

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She rolls her eyes.

"There are the buckles, of course."

"Well what if someone shoots the top of your foot or your heel?" he asks, smartly. "There's a tale, you know, of a great hero who was beat because someone shot him in the heel."

It was kind of a stupid story, he thought, but it made a point.

Antigone has heard it. And, it should be mentioned, her boots com to mid-calf.

"Men and battles," she says, an edge of disdain in her voice. "Why should anyone try to hurt me tonight?"

"Well in theory, you'll be wearing those longer than just one night?" he points out. The look on his face is sort of like one of those know-it-all kids who one-ups the teacher just because he can.

Only he has a sword and looks like he hawsn't brushed his hair in... uh... ever.

Her expression is carefully cool.

"They can be a weapon if I need them to be."

He doesn't see the connection, but that's all right. He finds it very amusing, and so snickers at her.

Antigone finds him stupid.

One booted foot twists idly back and forth, as if she is contemplating perhaps moving it. Perhaps very suddenly.

Gorlim may want to take a step or two backwards.

Gorlim makes a show of not moving back, snerking softly at her boot and making it clear he thinks it an obvious threat which he will not respond to.

She might scowl-- might be just about to-- but a small, strange smile takes its place.

"How is your child?"

Gorlim eyes her oddly.

"She is well."

Pause.

"How is your brother?"

:D

Antigone freezes.

And, rather rapidly, her already-pale face drains to a sick and furious white.

Quicker than she's moved in a long time, the foot that she was only considering kicking him with lashes out in the direction of Gorlim's shins.

Gorlim LEAPS, quick as an Elf, and watches the foot fly past him as casually as if he'd never moved.

"My, you're a horrible shot," he observes cheerfully.

She stumbles, a feeling of horrible, inescapable clumsiness sinking into the pit her stomach's become. Shaking with a brittle fury, she says, "You haven't any right to mention him!"

"What was that rule, no violence in the bar?" he asks inspecting his fingernails.

If she had something to throw at him, she'd be throwing it.

"I don't care!" she retorts. A bitter snort. "You're in no danger from me. A fine thing, to throw my brother in my face-- is that what they teach you, you valiant men?"

"Valient?" Gorlim asks. His eyes narrow a touch. "Oh, but you have the story wrong, dear girl. I am a traitor. I sold my King, my country, my people, for a corpse. And then I watched them die. What is valience that goes unrewarded save by a soul torn forever in two, and a curse that can never be lifted?" He waves his hand to her. "Look for heroes somewhere else. I'll never be one."

Antigone's hands clench into fists at her side.

"Clearly," she snaps.

Her expression doesn't change from its cold, brittle anger, but it seems almost to harden with resolve.

"In the future, I shall know better than to expect anything of you.

"Sir."

She spins on her heels and stalks off, boots clunking. It's hard not to be angry at them for clunking.

It's even harder not to kick a chair as she goes.

A cheerfully tipsy Coyote darts into Antigone's line of sight, halting directly in front of her, a little too close.

"Nice boots, sweet!"

She proceeds to dip Antigone and snog her enthusiastically. There is tongue.

Antigone's first reaction is to snarl.

This doesn't work well.

Her second reaction is to panic. This is marginally better, as Coyote's holding onto her too tight for her wild flailing to send her toppling over.

Antigone's third reaction, though she'll fervently deny it if pressed, is to think that Coyote's lips and tongue and hand at her back-- well, aren't so bad, and that perhaps struggling slightly less is all right.

Coyote grins at her close range and sets Antigone carefully on her steel-toed feet.

"Merry Christmas, sweet. Thank you for the gift."

And then she spins around and heads off.

Mistletoe? Coyote don't need no stinkin' mistletoe.

"What?"

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