(Untitled)

[white_flowers]

An interesting week it has been, to be sure-- both good and bad, insofar as she is concerned

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[creator_raven]

It is caution that likely serves her well, most times.

And perhaps this time, too, as Raven's boots thump loudly on the floorboards as she drops from the rafters.

Maybe it's deliberate.

[white_flowers]

Not an unwise thing at all, it is, and never more so than now.

Blodwen turns to face Raven, smiling gently.

"Hello, pretty bird."

[creator_raven]

Raven smiles back with only the faintest hint of teeth.

"Blodwen. You are, I think, looking well."

Pleasantries are so convenient, really.

[white_flowers]

They are indeed.

"As are you, cariad," she tells her. "A preference for that form it is, then?"

[not_one_drop]

[ooc: Plotlocked?]

[white_flowers]

[ooc: not locked at all!]

[doc_venkman]

Venkman grinnned as he caught sight of her. Luckily she couldn't see him from his angle. He had a nice view from behind of her, and that cloak was dead giveaway.

"Papa's got a brand new bag, bitch," he snickered darkly.

A quick prayer said, and then he's lobbing the balloons with good mood slime like they were fastballs.

SPLAT! SPLAT!

[white_flowers]

One balloon hits her in the shoulder, exploding with slightly pink, nearly opaque psychoreactive slime all over the outside of her cloak.

But she turns at the first blow, and the second one hits her full in the chest. She gasps as it explodes, and reaches for a napkin, wiping it clear of her face -- and then her ice-bright gaze meets Venkman's.

"My goodness, dear," she says, laughing, "such a mischief you are!"

Blodwen is smiling.

[doc_venkman]

Peter tensed at that. Smiling's good... but she's acted nice before. The laughing too.

"Uh, yeah, that's me. Mr. Barrel of Laughs 24-7," he smirked slightly, still eyeing some. Hoping she's powering down somehow.

[white_flowers]

"Why, you remind me of playful boys I once knew," she says. The light soft voice is lilting and gentle, and even her eyes seem slightly warmer than usual.

"Come and sit with me, dear? Such a mess you have made, the least you can do is keep me company for a time."

[not_broomboy]

Sitting not far from her is a boy with a broom. Perhaps it's a man with a broom, but it's hard to tell. He's barely anything, let alone man or boy. It's easier to tell when Trism's around. He can define himself by Trism, with Trism, for Trism.

But he has a broom.

It's a different broom than the one he'd walked in with so many months ago. It might look the same to someone who hadn't looked at the first closely, and even someone who had, but it's a different broom entirely. Or as entirely different as he could have made it, considering.

That being said, he also has tea. And a sandwich.

[white_flowers]

She watches him with some interest for a time, smiling warmly.

"Hello, dear."

[not_broomboy]

"I'm not buying anything," he answers almost immediately. The only person who had called him 'dear' at any point were old merchantwoman who'd thought that they could cajol him into a purchase. His voice isn't exactly impolite, but neither is he making any effort to be civil.

[white_flowers]

"Why, and I am not selling anything," she replies, the light soft voice musical and amused. "No business there is to be in the bar, now is it?"

[doc_lecter]

Hannibal from over at another table offers Blodwen a slight smile and a seated bow.

[white_flowers]

She smiles warmly back at him.

"Hello, dear -- Dr. Lecter, isn't it?"

[doc_lecter]

His smile widens slightly. "It is, madame Blodwen. You have been faring well, I trust?"

[white_flowers]

"Goodness me, well enough, I do suppose-- and so much company I have had."

She seems very amused by this, for some reason.

"And how are you, dear?"