He's kind of grimy, and the wooden eyeball doesn't bear looking at, but Raz can't help a bit of kindred feeling. That grin's familiar. She's worn it herself often enough.
Money could change hands. (It may have to, for Certain Things to occur. Raz can't honestly say the thought of interacting with that much dirt on a close personal level doesn't fill her with mild dread.) But so far, indeed, it hasn't.
They certainly sound it. Ragetti wants to try one!
"Two of them, Bar?"
He pulls a diamond ring out of his pocket, and drops it casually on the bartop, grinning at Raz as it's replaced by the two drinks. Showing off? Whatever gave you that impression?
The ring gets two raised eyebrows and a slowly spreading smile. Impressive. And good prospects for profit, should he choose to become a customer.
The milkshake, on the other hand, gets a nod and a "Thanks," her smile taking on a slightly impish cast. Men are always to be relied upon for free drinks.
He's going to run out of shinies soon if he's not careful. For the moment, though, he's building up a kind of anti-tab that probably runs into the thousands.
"Nobody around here has," she says equanimously. "I'm a meliae." For some reason she feels like 'goo girl' wouldn't give the right impression. (Perhaps she has subconsciously picked up on Héctor Barbossa's tendency to compare her to jellyfish.)
He's not heard the word before, but it sounds like he should have. "That... that a water spirit or somethin'?"
He hasn't taken a drink yet. The milkshake smells gorgeous, but he knows it'll taste like bilgewater or urine or whatever similarly lovely flavour the curse has in mind today.
He hasn't smelled fresh fruit for a while, and he was wondering where it came from. The name, though, kind of gives it away, and puts a bit of giggle into his grin.
He does, however, know hot women. The Curse may have taken the enjoyment out of certain activities, but it hasn't made him blind.
Besides, she's pink! This bears investigation.
Thus: pirate. Grin. "Awright, miss?"
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He's kind of grimy, and the wooden eyeball doesn't bear looking at, but Raz can't help a bit of kindred feeling. That grin's familiar. She's worn it herself often enough.
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"Euh, want a drink?"
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Money could change hands. (It may have to, for Certain Things to occur. Raz can't honestly say the thought of interacting with that much dirt on a close personal level doesn't fill her with mild dread.) But so far, indeed, it hasn't.
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He sits on the barstool next to her. "What'll you 'ave?"
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They're always fun.
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"Two of them, Bar?"
He pulls a diamond ring out of his pocket, and drops it casually on the bartop, grinning at Raz as it's replaced by the two drinks. Showing off? Whatever gave you that impression?
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The milkshake, on the other hand, gets a nod and a "Thanks," her smile taking on a slightly impish cast. Men are always to be relied upon for free drinks.
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He's going to run out of shinies soon if he's not careful. For the moment, though, he's building up a kind of anti-tab that probably runs into the thousands.
"I ain't never seen a woman like you before."
And there's a hint of a question in that.
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He hasn't taken a drink yet. The milkshake smells gorgeous, but he knows it'll taste like bilgewater or urine or whatever similarly lovely flavour the curse has in mind today.
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"Not exactly. But close." She grins unrepentantly and adds, "I'm Raspberry. Who're you?"
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"Ragetti, atcha service."
Hey, their names kind of sound alike!
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"Nice to meet you, Ragetti."
It's a genuine sentiment.
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Likewise!
He's happy to retract the nickname, though, if she doesn't like it.
"You been 'ere a long time?" he asks curiously.
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(Most people call her Raz. The innovation is novel, and therefore intriguing.)
"Couple months, maybe," she says nonchalantly. "Nice place, ain't it?"
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