Liz is crossing the bar when she recognizes that face; she hangs a detour to lean on the back of the chair across the table from Ben Wade's. She's wearing black from head to toe; T-shirt, skinny jeans, combat boots, belt, and the holster at her hip. The only flash of color is the gold chain at her throat, the pendant tucked away out of sight under her collar.
"Ben Wade. Haven't seen you in months," she says. "You trying to get out of our bet?" There's a hint of a wry, bemused smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.
"I was the best shot in my regiment," Dan protests.
Ben probably didn't mention any military service to Liz, amid the telling of his outlaw career. Dan just can't help protest it. This is a man's honor at sake, here.
Even if it is Ben Wade's, and not his.
(It needs all the help it can get, as far as Dan is concerned.)
"In your regiment." Her eyebrows are furrowed as she studies him, half bemused and half -- well, a little suspicious. "You're really going all out on this cover story, aren't you?"
"Ben Wade. Haven't seen you in months," she says. "You trying to get out of our bet?" There's a hint of a wry, bemused smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.
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Dan Ben's face turns towards the woman -- she's an awful good looking one at that -- and it's a vaguely confused expression that greets her.
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"You, me, the shooting range out back, sparkly pink dress high stakes."
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Really.
He's not.
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Liz raises her eyebrows.
Yeah, says her face. O-kay.
To complete the effect, she rolls her eyes.
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Seriously!
"For some Fool's holiday. Bar swapped us."
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Ben probably didn't mention any military service to Liz, amid the telling of his outlaw career. Dan just can't help protest it. This is a man's honor at sake, here.
Even if it is Ben Wade's, and not his.
(It needs all the help it can get, as far as Dan is concerned.)
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