(Untitled)

[mycursedface]

Medusa is down in the bar today as the solution to two problems

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[dean_o_dell]

Wings. He's never seen anyone with wings. His first thought, being dead, is that the angles are looking for him. Not that he believes in angels.

And angels don't knit, or play with kittens. Do they?

"Hello."

[mycursedface]

She looks up, keeping her eyes covered by her wire-framed glasses.

"Oh. Morning!" Her voice is clear, and just a little haunting.

[dean_o_dell]

"I'm sure you get this all the time but...why do you have wings?" Cyrus rarely beats around the bush.

[mycursedface]

"Actually, I don't." It's more the snakes that worry people, but there is more than one reason why she keeps her black hair in braids - the slender black snakes blend in with them.

"But, I was born with them."

[shecalledmefred]

At a nearby booth is a blanket. A human-shaped blanket. And at the foot of the human-shaped blanket is a puppy playing with a ball. The human-shaped blanket is coughing and sneezing and trying to drink a cup of tea.

How about that?

[mycursedface]

Coughing.

Coughing means sick, weak, easy prey, and she can't help but go still as her mind calculates the risk...

It's then that her sense of smell kicks in, even through the blanket.

Cautiously,

"Paul?"

[shecalledmefred]

Weakly, " 'es?"

Not sure she heard it over the blankets.

[mycursedface]

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Musn't eat her uncle's lover. Musn't eat her uncle's lover. Mustn't eat her uncle's lover...

[scourgeofpiracy]

Norrington strolls in from the lake, on shore leave again, and nods to her politely in passing - apparently unfazed by the wings.

[mycursedface]

"Morning!"

He's dead. It always pays to be polite to the dead.

[scourgeofpiracy]

He is, indeed, very dead, and serving a goddess to boot, if not one from her pantheon.

He smiles at her for the greeting, and it's more warm than polite now. "Good morning."

[mycursedface]

"Nice out?" She asks, gesturing with her head towards the door.