There's a dark-haired woman in a sling stalking the taproom, and if looks could kill then the entire establishment would be deep under the cold, dark earth by now.
Gabriel has taken it upon herself to demand an explanation of Bar, in a voice like a needle of ice. Now she clutches in her unhurt hand a square of paper bearing a neatly-printed apology, an explanation that these things happened sometimes and an assurance that they tended to wear off before too long.
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As it is, though, she's trying to be relatively inconspicuous. When she notices the woman smirking, she merely flashes her a cautious half-smile.
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It's her default option these days. Better than sadistic, anyhow.
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Shilo blushes and ducks her head. Pretend to be invisible, that has to work!
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With predatory grace, she drifts closer.
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Gabriel has taken it upon herself to demand an explanation of Bar, in a voice like a needle of ice. Now she clutches in her unhurt hand a square of paper bearing a neatly-printed apology, an explanation that these things happened sometimes and an assurance that they tended to wear off before too long.
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It's the posture that catches Chainsaw's eye. There's something very familiar about-- aha.
Sauntering closer: "Fellow victim of the girly mints?"
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Shortly: "Do you know who left them there?"
Because Gabriel would very much like to cause such a person pain.
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"Nope, but whoever it is, I'd like to send 'em flowers. This is fun."
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Doll is slouched low in a booth, drinking a beer and seething.
Until she sees that smile, anyway.
"No fucking way."
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"What's your problem?"
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"Chainsaw?"
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She saunters over to lean against the booth divider behind Doll, smirking.
"And who the fuck are you?"
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