milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

"It's fucking freezing out there."

The temperature from wherever it is the girl steps in from had apparantly not stopped her from wearing a short black dress with a hem above the line of her gray wolf-coat. Nor has it persuaded her to wear a hat or anything thicker than black satin gloves, which she now removes.

High black heels clipping sharply on the bar floor, she hurries over to the bar, blowing urgently on her hands.

"How about a hot buttered rum, babe?"

Suuplied with her drink she swivells on her stool to regard the bar.

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A floating human skull takes interest in the newly arrived Red.

Interest made plain by the way he floats over to her and says, "Nice coat."

Oh, and the way he checks her out. That too.

Her head tilts to the side as she regards the skull with mild interest.

"Thank you," she replies, red lips twitching into half a smile. "You're a fan of fur?"

The skull clicks his teeth together. "A fan of most things worn by pretty women."

The smile spreads further as she kicks out one stocking clad leg idly.

"The model can help, certainly."

The skull's response is to eye Red's leg and give a pleased, appreciative chuckle.

"Oh yeah."

After a moment, he looks back at the coat. "How'd you wind up with it?"

"I made it," is the reply, as she lifts her drink to her mouth, eyes not leaving the skull, betraying slight amusement at the novelty.

"You kill the beastie yourself, chit?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," she replies, with not a small amount of pride.

"First ever kill as well. Clean shot in the head."

The skull nods, having suspected as much. The concept of a warrior woman certainly isn't foreign to him.

He clicks his jaws a few times - mimicking applause. "Impressive. You do that for a living now?"

"I do," Red confirms confidentally. "Both the shooting and the fashion.

"Red Riding Hood. I would offer my hand, but that might be considered tasteless."

The skull dips himself in a bow. "Morte. I've scragged a few beasts and monsters in my day, too.

"And the hand thing isn't that tasteless," he adds quickly, hopefully.

"But did you turn them into tasteful and elegant evening wear?" Red counters, smoothing the collar of her coat down primly.

Catching the hopefulness in his tone, she smiles silkly and raises a delicate hand, now stripped of its glove and meticulously manicured.

"Can't say I did - never learned how to sew."

Morte can't deny his D&D roots for too long.

"I'm more a looter of bodies. It's barmy how many monsters have some coins or magic scrolls on 'em."

With a quick click of his teeth, the skull nuzzles his cheekbone up against her hand.

With a gentle chuckle, Red taps her fingers lightly along the bone familiarly.

"Really? Can't say I've ever noticed."

"Mmmm," is the skull's reply.

He does form words after a moment. It takes a lot to keep Morte from talking.

"Well, what kind of monsters does your world have? Mine's got..." he realizes how much he'd have to explain if he continues, so he just says, "too many to count."

"Wolves?" Red suggests, her lower lip curled under as she smiles at Morte's reaction.

"Bears, sometimes."

"Hmm. My world has demon-horses that shoot spikes and floating eyeballs that shoot incapacitating magic beams."

Pause. "I've heard from various sources that petting the top of my head's supposed to be very relaxing...."

"Have you now?" Red withdraws her hand slightly, one eyebrow raised indignantly.

"Demon horses, huh? Do they still go down with a bullet between their eyes?"

Morte makes a surprised, disappointed noise when Red pulls her hand away.

The skull tries out the unfamiliar word: "Bullet?" He lifts himself upward and tilts to the side in a shrug. "All I know is that arrows and spells work plenty fine.

"And teeth," he adds, clicking his jaw and throwing his head back, trying to strike a heroic pose.

Because women love scratching the skulls of bashers that bring down demon horses, right?

It would appear so, for with a wicked grin Red reaches to run a hand over the top of his cranium.

"Bullet," she repeats. "Small pellets of lead propelled at high bone-piercing speed. Much more efficient than arrows."

Morte clicks his teeth a few times and wiggles happily.

"Pellets of lead?" he repeats, not quite buying it. Until he realizes, "Oh! Magic. Right."

"No," Red replies, her brow furrowing deeply.

"Explosives."

Reaching under her coat, she pulls out a silver pistol from a shoulder holster.

Morte looks between Red and her pistol.

It'd be a questioning look, if Morte could form facial expressions.

Since he can't, he expresses his confusion with a "Ohhhh-kay, then...."

He floats closer to the gun. "That's an explosive?"

"It contains explosives," she explains, releasing a bullt from the chamber into the palm of a small white hand.

"Pulling the trigger propels the bullet out at speedsmuch faster than a bow can mange. And you don't need to have those large arm muscles."

Morte bobs around, looking at the bullet.

"But it's...small," he notes.

"Yes it is," she replies with a triumphant smile as she drops it back into the chamber.

"All the better for piercing when hurtling at high speed towards something as brittle as bones."

Morte jerks away at the mention of piercing through bones.

"Good for you." He eyes the gun.

With a knowing smile, Red twirls the gun on its trigger around one finger and returns it to its home under her coat.

"Useful in life and death situations."

"Weapons tend to be, yeah," Morte agrees. "Can everyone on your world work those?"

"Not as well as me."

Her hands are now both folded over one knee that is in turn crossed over the other, as she glows in self-satisfaction.

Morte's about to say something, but as he's still unnerved at the 'bone' comment ~~and since his mun has to leave~~, he quickly looks around the bar.

"Oh, why, look, it's someone I know. Think I'll go say hi. Nice jawin' with ya, Red."

He's not very convincing. At least he bobs apologetically to Red before floating off. (It also lets him check out her legs. Again.)

It's with an easy smile and a friendly wave that Red sees him off, stretching one leg out as she uncrosses her legs, carefully modest.

""Nice to meet you, Morte," she replies before turning back to her drink.

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