"That works a little better if you don't yell," Ray says; he's come to the bar to get a glass of his usual green stuff. "Bar can get pretty snitty sometimes if she feels like it. You new here?"
Vendetta seriously considers this for a few moments. She'd trade for beef jerky, except that she's still got that twenty dollars that Wednesday gave her.
She returns to stirring, as she thinks.
Finally an alternative occurs to her. "Do you know -Charlotte!?"
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"...But I am not -Yelling! I am demanding!" And sure enough, a tray of clams, and a small carton of grape juice, appears on the bar in front of her.
Plopping the spoon back into the bowl, she stares at the tray, puzzled, but only momentarily.
What follows is a very smug expression, for a little girl.
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"Vendetta," she answers sharply, poking at one of her shellfish, suddenly dismayed.
"Not funny! This- is NOT funny!
Seems Bar'd neglected to give her any sort of utensil, or even prepare her clams.
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Vendetta scowls at Ray again, before begrudgingly poking at her now edible clams, one more time.
"I -do not like this bar. I will bring more fiends!"
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"You've got fiends?"
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But then her eyes narrow as she peers at Ray again.
"You have...a Ghost?" She might be impressed herself.
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Then brightens, forking another clam! "You could ...trade it for a FIEND!" she suggests, conspiratorially, if loudly.
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Easily fascinated, our man Ray.
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She returns to stirring, as she thinks.
Finally an alternative occurs to her. "Do you know -Charlotte!?"
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Meanwhile, the mixture in the bowl is starting to take shape. What shape, exactly, is hard to tell.
Opening her punch, she pours about half into the bowl.
It all begins to bubble and steam slightly.
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