(Untitled)

[headed4hell]

"Deeeeeessssperado. Why don't you come to your senses?"

The Eagles song, by way of Clint Black, Johnny Cash and now Grace Hanadarko, bounces off cinderblock walls and swirls down the dim, nondescript stairwell, husky and full-bodied like a fancy stout.

"You've been out ridin' fences, for so long now. Oh, you're a hard one...Boots scuff the

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[vojvode]

The light fixture here looks like it came out of a turn-of-the-century hotel, brass and crystal both grimy with age. It flickers, dims and than grows bright again, too bright for a moment before fading back.

When she looks back, she sees him sitting on the stairs. He's leaning back on his elbows, white shirt sleeves rolled up. He sports suspenders above black trousers, long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles.

It's a genteel look for him, but he's always had to adapt quickly to his surroundings. He is his own brand of time traveller, one might say. His boots are spotless. His long hair is slicked back and his eyes are hidden by dark blue glasses. Some things need not change.

"I have seen stranger things here -- than a floor between floors."

[headed4hell]

Awareness strikes Grace before her eyes -- uncovered and sharp, once the brightness fades -- land on the stranger. The tingling sensation of being watched travels across her shoulders and down her spine, rousting alcohol dulled senses and awakening a readiness drilled into her very bones. Weapons are mentally cataloged,

(Glock: check

Knife: check

Cigarette: waiting to be smoked)

and the man studied, all in the space of seconds.

"Yeah. I've seen some damn strange stuff." Cocking her hip and head to the left, she blows a smoke ring in his direction. "You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

[vojvode]

He leans forward with the expected gesture to light her cigarette, save the flame dances on the tip of his finger.

"In a single day, I met both an angel and the devil himself. Alas, I have met -- no God."

He gives a little shrug as if to say 'typical no show.'

[headed4hell]

"Got it, thanks." Grace's eyes remain glued to that finger as she continues, "I hear he's a busy guy. God."

She looks up with an irreverent grin, focusing on those glasses like she expects to discern what's underneath through will alone. Typical no show is right, her expressions answers. He's like the guy who makes plans with everyone and only shows up to one party.

"All work, no play."