(Untitled)

[fighting_mad]

The first time that Plourr walks in the door, she finds herself wearing a long, antique gold gown, with a low, square neckline, intricate embroidery, and utterly useless flowy sleeves. There is a crown on her head, above tightly-gathered red hair

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[eiattu_pride]

When Rial walks in, he, like Plourr, double-takes dramatically. The difference being that he carefully inspects his new clothing, takes a moment to dodge into the bathrooms and examine himself in the mirror, then wanders back out into the bar with a distinctly smug look on his face.

And why not? He's looking pretty dashing in natty blue trousers and knee-high tan leather boots, his shirt of a sturdy cloth and belted nicely just above the waist. Crossing his chest is a bandolier holding some sort of ammunition, and there's an elegant sword with a flashy handle sheathed at his waist. The tan leather jacket that covers all this is warm and waterproofed although slightly singed at the edges, and the pockets are deep. Completing the outfit is a black bowler hat tipped forwards at a cheeky angle.

Oh, and the mustache. That's right - the facial hair is back, and judging by the smirk on his face, he's pretty pleased.

He slides onto a barstool next to Plourr, and raises an eyebrow. "What's a girl like you doing in a bar like this?"

[fighting_mad]

Plourr doesn't so much as look at him, but with a rasp of metal on leather, Rial's mustache will find itself staring down the barrel of an unfamiliar ray gun.

"Shooting that damn facial hair off her husband's face," she says, matter-of-factly. "A bourbon, Bar, and make it a double."

[eiattu_pride]

Rial blinks, staring in a slightly cross-eyed manner at the barrel of the gun. Slowly and carefully, he raises both hands in the air.

Pauses.

Slowly and carefully uses his fingers to tweak the edges of the mustache upwards.

"We surrender."

[fighting_mad]

"Tell that thing to keep its hands where I can see them," says Plourr, as her drink materializes.

[eiattu_pride]

"Be careful," Rial warns from under the mustache. "It's holding me hostage against my will. I think it's hiding weapons somewhere, too."

Beat.

"Maybe you should search it."

[fighting_mad]

"Sweetheart, you're sorely mistaken if you think I'm touching that thing, unless it's with the business end of a lightsaber."

Plourr lifts the gun away in one smooth move, holstering it again. She finally glances at him; her lip curls in renewed disgust (though it uncurls, just a little, as she gives him a once-over. The rest of the outfit isn't so bad. If completely ridiculous). "It's filthy. A foul pit of disease and trapped food."

(That would be the sarcastic useage of 'sweetheart.')

"--Hells, did Bar really give you a sword?"

[eiattu_pride]

"No, no!" Rial makes a very credible D: face at Plourr, stroking the mustache fondly. "It's respectable, and manly without being obnoxious. It says my owner has class and wealth and status. It's very in."

He preens a little when she notices the sword, though. "She did. Isn't it astral?" He draws it smoothly, admiring the blade. "I haven't really held one of these for years."

[fighting_mad]

She shoots him a flat look.

"I can't believe she handed you a sharp object."

Beat.

"She must have wanted you to shave with it.

"That -- thing isn't respectable, or manly, or anything but disgusting. If it's still on your face when we go home, you're sleeping on the couch." Plourr considers. "No, in the guest quarters two floors down." Almost without pausing: "Where's the baby?"

[eiattu_pride]

"Bar loves my mustache," Rial points out. "She gave it to me. And the sword, clearly, is for beating my wife with when she threatens to make me sleep in the guest quarters instead of my own bed. The baby is with her grandparents, learning how to look stoic and dignified."

He smooths the front of his jacket idly, returning the sword to the sheath, and glances approvingly up and down Plourr's outfit. "I notice she gave you a weapon, anyway. What is that, some sort of blaster?"

[fighting_mad]

Plourr shoots him a very unimpressed look at the 'beating my wife' comment. She also punches him, hard, in the shoulder. "If anyone does any beating in this household, Pernon, we both know damned well it's going to be me, and if Ianna's with your parents, she's learning how to be scathingly polite and passive-aggressive, not stoic and dignified."

(This is all truth.)

"I would hope you noticed that I had a weapon, considering that I had it pointed in your face, and yes, I think it's some kind of blaster."

[eiattu_pride]

"Ow!" Rial rubs his shoulder and half-glares at her, although he really has to admit that she's right in everything. "And I don't think she can be scathingly polite and passive-aggressive until she can form full sentences, you realize."

Which, despite how smart he thinks she is, isn't exactly happening yet.

"You had it pointed at my mustache, dear. There's a difference. Can I see it?"

[fighting_mad]

"The mustache is not a living entity," she says. "Besides the parasites that are probably living in it. If I point a blaster at your hideous facial fur, I'm pointing it at your face."

She looks at him.

"If I give it to you, are you going to shoot anything, darling?"

[eiattu_pride]

"Hey, you're the one that told it to keep its hands where you could see them." Ohhh, snap.

"But no, I'm not." He holds out a hand. "I just want to see, I promise. Looks awfully archaic. Do you suppose it still works?"

[fighting_mad]

She scoffs, turning away to pick up her bourbon. "I'm not giving it to you if you're not going to shoot anything."

(There may be a hint of a smile, on the side of her mouth that is turned away from him.)

[eiattu_pride]

...oh, well then.

Rial rolls his eyes, and reaches over as though to tap Plourr on the shoulder. He pauses before doing so, though, and retracts his hand, quietly asking Bar for a piece of paper and a pen.

A moment later a note is slid over to Plourr. Once opened and unfolded, it reads:

The Lord Pernon requests the pleasure of the Lady Estillo in joining him for an evening's light target practice.

Location: the grounds of Milliway's Bar
Time: precisely whenever, preferably soon

Please RVSP no later then a minute from now.

[fighting_mad]

Plourr shoots Rial and his fountain pen a curious look while he is engrossed in writing his note, through she's looking disinterested again by the time he passes it her way.

She reads the note.

She breaks into a sudden smile, the mischievous sort that transforms her face from sulky to stunning, and she leans over and plants a solid, smacking kiss on his cheek. "How's that for an RSVP?" she says, and she claps him on the shoulder, getting up.