Sitting at the Bar, getting a progress report on her mother-in-law from the rats, is Inara Serra and a pot of tea. She looks as poised as ever, with her dark hair swept up out of her face, and her fingernails clinking elegantly against the china of her cup
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- adjective
1. not easily understood; mysterious; unfathomable
2. the expression clapped onto Richard Castle's face as he steps through the door to Milliways
Hey, he's earned that look -- their latest case had involved dominatrices, dessert toppings, and several speculative theories on just what his partner does with her handcuffs when she's not on duty. It's been a busy week for him.
If Bar's serving, he's drinking. 'Little hesitant about asking for anything with a twist, though.
Down the curve of the bar, a woman is chatting with a couple of small house-cats. No, wait a second, those are rats. Castle lays his palm on the counter and asks, under his breath,
"Make that a double, please."
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Kind of like...if Mal had been born and bred Coreward instead of on a farm and space. The idea of Mal being...so...respectable makes Inara uneasy. She likes her husband the way he is.
"You look like you've had a rough day." She starts, politely.
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"Rough? Nah. Unusual, maybe, but that's starting to become stock and trade."
One of the rats stands up on its haunches and gives the air in Castle's direction a discriminating sniff.
"Friends of yours?"
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"My mother-in-law is co-Barman. I'm checking up on her through them. So she doesn't find out." The last part is directed at the rats, her eyebrows raised threateningly. They snicker at her.
Rolling her eyes, she smiles back at Castle. "Unusual is the norm here, so I suppose this isn't the place to come to escape it." She offers a hand to shake, bracelets jingling around her wrist. "I'm Inara Serra, by the way."
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