(Untitled)

[bloody_awful]

Another day, another hangover, another Hair of the Dog that bit him... and that was one hell of a nasty dog. Demonically possessed bulldog, red eyes, frothing, and let's not even begin to think about the toxic farting

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[mycursedface]

On one hand, she can taste that ashtray. Taste and smell and the line between them is blurred with snakes. Her snakes are, for the record, remaining very, very still amongst her hair, and keeping their tongues in.

On the other, it wouldn't be polite to say anything, and even if she is a monster who has been known to eat humans, her daddy raised her to be polite.

So when the winged Gorgon walks over to the Bar to order a drink, she very, very carefully doesn't say a word.

(she's thinking it, though, and the snakes are hissing with it)

[bloody_awful]

Winged Gorgons are all right with John, as long as they don't give him shit about smoking. He glances over at her, then quickly looks back down at his drink, not wanting to make eye contact. But he nods and grunts in what may pass for a greeting.

[mycursedface]

It's one of those days; her gesture could be legimately described as a facepalm.

Her voice a little muffled,

"The curse doesn't work like that."

[bloody_awful]

John looks up at her then. "Thanks for the info," he says with a bleary smile. "My memory isn't up to snuff at the moment."

[mycursedface]

Her glasses are hooked over the front pocket of her jeans, and she pulls them on before facing him.

"My pleasure," and her tone is wry.

[bloody_awful]

John winks at her. "It could be, sweetheart." Hey, he can't help himself. Just because his head feels like a ton of shit doesn't stop him from being a bit of an arse.

[mycursedface]

He gets a darting smile, as if she can't help it. Beautiful? Very. Used to flirting, even be it automatic? Well, occasionally. Not often.

"Well, maybe it is. Correcting all the lies people have heard?"

[bloody_awful]

John affects shock and dismay. "Lies? Lies about a lovely lady like you? How dare they?"

[mycursedface]

"I know, I know. It's terrible."

[bloody_awful]

"A bloody shame, truly," John says, shaking his head. "So, what are you drinking, sweetheart?"

[mycursedface]

"Ah, just water, sadly."

[bloody_awful]

"That is sad indeed. A man can't buy a pretty lady a drink if all she drinks is water. I'm John, by the way."

[mycursedface]

"There was a storm, before. They are glorious to fly in, but...you feel it for a couple of days. And I'm Medusa."

[bloody_awful]

There's just the slightest pause before John responds, "Of course you are. Never flown, meself. But I'm sure it must be great fun. Hell on the wings, though, I bet."

[mycursedface]

"Not as bad as you might think. I just gotta spend a while fixing the feathers."

[bloody_awful]

John nods pensively. "I suppose a couple might come loose. You wouldn't happen to have a spare, would you?"