(Untitled)
When Gene comes in tonight, he looks cheerful enough. As usual, he heads straight for the bar and orders a pint with a whiskey chaser. He's a bit thrown when he gets a napkin instead.
'...you what?'
Another napkin, which says much the same thing.
'Not on your bloody life, luv.'
Yet another, with the same polite request and, just maybe, a mention of the ( Read more... )
She was seated at the bar not long before Gene took up his position.
Her tone is very matter-of-fact.
"Kick people out."
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He's not used to being told such things, obviously.
'I've go' the bar for a shift, I c'n do what I bloody well like.'
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X is very good at remaining calm.
"You are not Mike. Or Sallie. Or Belar."
Beat.
"And you are not on Security."
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'No, I'm no' any of those people, whoever they bloody are. An' I definitely know I'm no' on Security 'cos if I was, it wouldn' be such a bloody shambles.'
A bit more corrupt and definitely more hands-on, perhaps. But not lax, the way it appears to be to him.
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She tilts her head a little, studying Gene.
"I do not think you have been here very often."
Why is that, you ask?
"I am on Security, too."
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He hasn't quite got his head around the idea of there being gods here, so hasn't thought about it. And he's looking her up and down as he speaks, frowning.
'Why're all the Security members 'ere birds? Or blokes with birds 'air? Where're all the men?'
Real men, he means. Teja doesn't count as a real man because of the hair, though he'll admit the axe was impressive.
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She looks him up and down in turn, eyes narrowing faintly.
"There are men on Security. Like Raph."
Who cannot at all be said to have girly hair.
"You do not like -- birds?"
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He files that bit of information in his considerable mental stores, the ones he generally doesn't demonstrate that he has.
'Raph. Bloody 'ell, an Eytie?'
Whatever next? He rolls his eyes.
'Got nothin' against 'em when they're doin' what they're supposed t'do. Typin' an' makin' tea, tha' sort o'thing. But there's one 'ere who's the deputy, fer Chris'sakes. An' no offence luv, bu' you don' exactly look like you'd stand much chance against any big bastard tha' decided t'get out of hand.'
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It was the 'luv' that brought that on. X likes her name.
"And I am very good at what I do."
She certainly doesn't look upset about being doubted.
"They do not see me coming."
And even when they do -- well.
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He sighs and rolls his eyes again. Doesn't anyone have a normal name around here?
'Gene 'unt. I'm a copper, luv, an' I'm tellin' you that it don' matter 'ow good you think you are, when a lardy, pissed-up, six foot six brick shit'ouse comes at you with a broken bottle, I don' reckon you'd stand much chance.'
Perhaps no one would. But he's just trying to make his point.
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"You are worried?"
She doesn't quite sound surprised.
"I do not think you have to be."
This is the point at which X holds up one hand.
snikt
This may, in part, be why she is not afraid of a broken bottle.
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'Ohhhh it's you.'
He does not look abashed at being proved wrong with that simple gesture.
'I've 'eard abou' you.
An' no, I'm not worried 'cos I'm not on Security so your welfare, or any of the others, ain't my responsibility. I just don' like the way things're don' aroun' here.'
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X looks curious about that as she sheathes her claws.
There is a little bit of blood on her knuckles. She ignores it.
"Why do you not like it?"
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He pours himself a drink and drinks it. Bar didn't say anything about him having to pay tonight, so he's not going to be leaving here standing up.
'Murderers - blokes tha' admit t'bein' murderers - can walk aroun' free an' drink with normal people. An' no one stops 'em. It's no' right.'
It goes against everything he knows and believes in. He can't begin to express how wrong it is, to him.
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X puts a little bit of emphasis on that last word.
"Outside is not relevant."
She offers a shrug, one-shouldered and quick.
"It cannot be."
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Seriously.
'Why isn' it relevant? If a bloke can shoot someone in cold blood out there,' he jabs a finger at the door, 'why d'you think he ain't gonna do it in here. An' it's not like they wear a sign 'round their neck tellin' wha' they are. You just let normal folk talk to 'em, like its safe.'
And it obviously isn't. He can't see why other people can't see this.
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