Pyth has this tendency to answer rhetorical questions as though they aren't.
"Mm, I dunno. First place I'd look is at the bar. If we were going for my Chainsaw I'd hit the Belles' clearing next, but I don't think yours uses it."
"Where's that from?" she asks, because it's a distraction from a) nervousness and b) her horrible desire to cackle hysterically at that first statement. "Or is there not a from? It sounds like there's a from."
"Original line's 'How am I suppose to pick out one poet in the thousands in jail?'" she explains absently. "David Mamet. The Poet and the Rent. I stage managed it over the summer."
"Over there," she murmurs, jerking her head. "You can do the talking; I'll shut up and try not to piss him off too bad."
The only reason she demanded to be along on this idiot mission in the first place was because she wants to get as close to the facts as humanly possible. Adiva knows her own Chainsaw better than Pyth ever could.
Pyth grins back, touches her fingers to her lips in a self-shushing gesture, and looks away.
She wishes she'd brought something to eat or drink or read or do. The knowledge that under the correct circumstances she could pick Chainsaw up and toss him into a wall won't stop popping up in her head, and she knows she's shit-terrible at hiding things.
The reason she's missing it, on the other hand, is because she's taking off her glasses, covering her right eye with her fingers, and leaning over Chainsaw's other side to ask Bar for a bowl of water and a cloth. Fucking allergies.
...Since she's already here and all, she sits. This puts her behind Chainsaw for the conversation.
Eh, not like she can see anything right now anyways.
"Okay. If I were Chainsaw, where would I hide?"
This is by way of being a largely rhetorical question.
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"Mm, I dunno. First place I'd look is at the bar. If we were going for my Chainsaw I'd hit the Belles' clearing next, but I don't think yours uses it."
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They're standing at the base of the stairs, surveying the bar proper. Both have at this point acquired new glasses.
Adiva sticks her hands in her pockets, fidgeting.
"How'm I supposed to pick out one psychopath in the thousands in Milliways?" she mutters under her breath, with the air of quoting something.
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Pyth grins.
"Okay, back to the psychopaths." Idly, she singsongs under her breath, "Goin' on a Chainsaw hunt..."
Then she blinks, shakes her head, and cuts herself off.
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They were looking for someone?
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Pyth spots him first, or thinks she does.
"Over there," she murmurs, jerking her head. "You can do the talking; I'll shut up and try not to piss him off too bad."
The only reason she demanded to be along on this idiot mission in the first place was because she wants to get as close to the facts as humanly possible. Adiva knows her own Chainsaw better than Pyth ever could.
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Anyway.
Adiva nods, blows out a breath. "Just -- yeah, no, actually, what you said."
Running a hand through her hair again, she heads towards the torturer.
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"Well, well," he says, amused, just before Adiva can speak. "If it isn't short-stuff."
Swiveling on his barstool, he smirks at her, and then grins.
"And the girlfriend! Hello, ladies."
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She wishes she'd brought something to eat or drink or read or do. The knowledge that under the correct circumstances she could pick Chainsaw up and toss him into a wall won't stop popping up in her head, and she knows she's shit-terrible at hiding things.
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"Come on up."
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"Charming as ever."
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The reason she's missing it, on the other hand, is because she's taking off her glasses, covering her right eye with her fingers, and leaning over Chainsaw's other side to ask Bar for a bowl of water and a cloth. Fucking allergies.
...Since she's already here and all, she sits. This puts her behind Chainsaw for the conversation.
Eh, not like she can see anything right now anyways.
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