As the door swings open the bar is filled with the sound of gun fire. A man screams before being silenced by a grenade shoved into his mouth; an explosion rings out
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Her entrance has been noted by more than one, no doubt, but this one slides noiselessly into the booth across from her in an immaculate black suit and a leather briefcase.
"I had wondered when you might grace this place again," he says, sounding amused.
An odd thing happens in the span of a few seconds. Firstly, the booth where the woman sat is now empty. And secondly, at the bar sits a young man, no more than twenty-one. He wears a red shirt and a brown duster. His head is shaved--military style.
' 'Scuse me, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cold beer?'
The man takes it, giving her a nod of the head in gratitude. A shy smile is followed with: 'Not exactly. I've been here a few times. Just depends on when I can get out of that gorram war. Pardon my language, ma'am.' His cheeks flush just slightly in embarrassment.
When War speaks, she speaks barely above a whisper, but even though she sits all the across the noisy room, the voice sounds as if it's right in Alanna's ear. Is it? 'Been a busy girl, have you?'
'Idle hands are the Devil's playthings. Or, well, in this case, his son's.' Her finger slides along the rim of her wine glass, creating a low humming sound.
Ava's head snaps around at the sound of the explosion; she may wonder for a fleeting second if they're all going to die for real.
Then, when no fiery death is forthcoming, she simply watches the redhead's approach with what is half boredom and half appreciation for the red-on-red-on-red look.
"I like your dress," she says cheerfully.
[ooc: Let me know if it's too late to tag. D: Could not resist.]
War licks her lips, touches her wine glass; a man is gutted for political subversion somewhere in Russia. The room suddenly feels like the heat has been turned up.
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"I had wondered when you might grace this place again," he says, sounding amused.
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'Besides, I had to find some way to see you without Frannie around. She's always giving me that look. I think she may be in love with you.'
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"Frannie? Surely not. I think she's just - er - blind to your charms. Don't you get that look in other places?"
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'But seriously, haven't you seen the way she looks at you? It's like the way a puppy looks at its master. Or Tony Blair looks at George Bush.'
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Like bar leadership.
There's an old lady behind the bar now, silver hair falling to her shoulders and scrawling on a chalkboard.
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' 'Scuse me, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cold beer?'
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A flash of a smile before Sallie turns to one side, only requiring a bit of assistance from Bar to know where everything is.
Sallie slides a nondescript brown bottle towards the new arrival. "You new?"
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Not once during all this does the knight remember to breathe.
Yesterday, she fought a major battle; the signs of it are in the bruises, the scratches, the dark circles that haven't quite faded.
Of course War has decided to put in an appearance this evening. Of course.
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When War speaks, she speaks barely above a whisper, but even though she sits all the across the noisy room, the voice sounds as if it's right in Alanna's ear. Is it? 'Been a busy girl, have you?'
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The voice rings in Alanna's ear, making her dig the short fingernails of her right hand into the table. Her left curls around a coffee mug and lifts.
"Always. I do so hate to be idle."
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Then, when no fiery death is forthcoming, she simply watches the redhead's approach with what is half boredom and half appreciation for the red-on-red-on-red look.
"I like your dress," she says cheerfully.
[ooc: Let me know if it's too late to tag. D: Could not resist.]
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[ooc: not at all! Expect slowtime, though. RL is a bitch...much like War.]
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Ava sounds a little dreamy.
She misses the sight of blood sometimes. It strikes her as a little weird, but maybe it's an acquired taste-- like sushi.
She notices War's eyes a moment later and starts, feeling ice-cold for a second-- no, no, orange is not yellow.
Important distinction.
[ooc: not to worry! RL is bitchy to all.]
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War licks her lips, touches her wine glass; a man is gutted for political subversion somewhere in Russia. The room suddenly feels like the heat has been turned up.
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