[Milliways: 2286]
Milliways is cheap. Milliways is warm. Milliways has people - person - that are closer to being called "friend" than anyone in Mel's entire life so far, with the exception of... well, he was more than friend
But Mel still has reasons to go to other tavs around Haddyn instead. Firstly that she's currently sleeping in a warren called Versi, a good hour's walk from the door to Milliways, but also because Milliways won't serve her alcohol, and there're never any good bar brawls. And Mel has discovered that the best way to deal, at least temporarily, with the pain of being Mel is to get drunk and fight people.
She's at a bench nursing a cup of sack; not drunk yet, but the night is young. Not that she necessarily needs to be drunk to fight, if there's reason, and there may well be: She's noticed that a guy by the bar keeps looking at her over his shoulder .
She's seen him before. A lot, actually. He comes here a lot, drinks, watches, fights if someone starts with him, rarely gets involved for the sake of it. She's no good at ages, really, so just lumps him into the category of "grown up". He's clean enough, but not rich, and in better shape than most people around here, except Mel herself. His grass green hair is pulled into a pony tail, and the mechanical fingers on his left hand tap lightly on the many rings hanging from his earlobe, every time he turns to look at her.
Annoyed by the attention when she wasn't even looking for it, Mel eventually settles just to glaring at him steadily until he comes over, looking entirely un threatening, and sits down opposite her.
"You're Mel, right?" His voice is smooth, practically friendly. Mel's suspicious at once.
"Yeah," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Who's asking?"
He smiles, extending a right hand that's missing a few nails but more or less intact. "Case Tassey. Hope you don't mind, the barman gave me your name."
The barman's jake enough, Mel thinks. No one's got anything against her. But she doesn't shake the hand. "Why?"
"Cause I asked for it," he says. "I've seen you around this last week or so, and I just wanted to say: well, I don't know what I wanted to say. I just wanted to talk to you."
"Why?"
"Because..." he hesitates. "'Cause I'm impressed, that's why. You're a rocketship fighter. One of the best I've seen. And people respect you, I've seen it. You got amazing self confidence for a gi... woman your age."
Mel leans back and smirks. "That's cause I am the best fighter around here," she says smugly.
"I don't doubt it." He nods at the cup in her hand. "You need a top up?"
But Mel still has reasons to go to other tavs around Haddyn instead. Firstly that she's currently sleeping in a warren called Versi, a good hour's walk from the door to Milliways, but also because Milliways won't serve her alcohol, and there're never any good bar brawls. And Mel has discovered that the best way to deal, at least temporarily, with the pain of being Mel is to get drunk and fight people.
She's at a bench nursing a cup of sack; not drunk yet, but the night is young. Not that she necessarily needs to be drunk to fight, if there's reason, and there may well be: She's noticed that a guy by the bar keeps looking at her over his shoulder .
She's seen him before. A lot, actually. He comes here a lot, drinks, watches, fights if someone starts with him, rarely gets involved for the sake of it. She's no good at ages, really, so just lumps him into the category of "grown up". He's clean enough, but not rich, and in better shape than most people around here, except Mel herself. His grass green hair is pulled into a pony tail, and the mechanical fingers on his left hand tap lightly on the many rings hanging from his earlobe, every time he turns to look at her.
Annoyed by the attention when she wasn't even looking for it, Mel eventually settles just to glaring at him steadily until he comes over, looking entirely un threatening, and sits down opposite her.
"You're Mel, right?" His voice is smooth, practically friendly. Mel's suspicious at once.
"Yeah," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Who's asking?"
He smiles, extending a right hand that's missing a few nails but more or less intact. "Case Tassey. Hope you don't mind, the barman gave me your name."
The barman's jake enough, Mel thinks. No one's got anything against her. But she doesn't shake the hand. "Why?"
"Cause I asked for it," he says. "I've seen you around this last week or so, and I just wanted to say: well, I don't know what I wanted to say. I just wanted to talk to you."
"Why?"
"Because..." he hesitates. "'Cause I'm impressed, that's why. You're a rocketship fighter. One of the best I've seen. And people respect you, I've seen it. You got amazing self confidence for a gi... woman your age."
Mel leans back and smirks. "That's cause I am the best fighter around here," she says smugly.
"I don't doubt it." He nods at the cup in her hand. "You need a top up?"