The smile she gets in return isn't quite Ben's normal smile, either. He's amused that she likes his hair -- he'll have to let Ben know about it when they get back to normal.
He might be looking better, but Ben had put himself through some abuse that is going to take a bit longer to fade away. And Yesfir...well, according to her sense of time, she hasn't been away that long, but she's still missed him.
Which means that she walks up to him (feet purposefully loud in her boots), walks her fingers across his shoulder and says, "Well, you look like shit."
And then ducks her head down and kisses him, lightly, because she's missed him, damnit.
Liz is crossing the bar when she recognizes that face; she hangs a detour to lean on the back of the chair across the table from Ben Wade's. She's wearing black from head to toe; T-shirt, skinny jeans, combat boots, belt, and the holster at her hip. The only flash of color is the gold chain at her throat, the pendant tucked away out of sight under her collar.
"Ben Wade. Haven't seen you in months," she says. "You trying to get out of our bet?" There's a hint of a wry, bemused smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.
It's been a long time since Sunshine has seen Ben Wade. Despite her thoughts nagging her that she should leave the bar and return home, when she sees him she fetches a couple of the cinnamon rolls on the cooling racks in the kitchen, fresh from the oven, huge and fluffy and still moist with the melted cinnamon-sugar and the heat of baking. Once they're set on a plate together, homemade icing is drizzled across them.
She even remembers a napkin, before she brings them out to him.
"I was thinking I might have to come looking for you, it's been so long," she says, smiling lopsidedly as she sets the plate of cinnamon rolls on the bar in front of him. "How've you been?"
Her red hair is still up in a sunflower-spotted blue handkerchief, her sun-blue t-shirt and red jeans protected by her flour-and-cinnamon-dusted apron.
From the placement of the plate, they're for him. Despite the recent addition of a few sandwiches, the look of one short a few sandwiches is hard for a professional feeder-of-people to miss.
And she's not above feeding people up just because she's fond of them.
"It's been a lot longer for me," she says, dry. Stupid bar and it's time differences, right? "Been keeping out of trouble?"
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"Mm, Ben, you smell lovely."
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The smile she gets in return isn't quite Ben's normal smile, either. He's amused that she likes his hair -- he'll have to let Ben know about it when they get back to normal.
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"So tell me how you're doing. Its been too long."
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He's being coy, oh-yes-he-is.
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Which means that she walks up to him (feet purposefully loud in her boots), walks her fingers across his shoulder and says, "Well, you look like shit."
And then ducks her head down and kisses him, lightly, because she's missed him, damnit.
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"Uh."
Shit.
Thiiiiiiis may pose a problem.
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Waiting for an explanation, Ben.
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Please let it be Fira.
Please let it be Fira.
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"Ben Wade. Haven't seen you in months," she says. "You trying to get out of our bet?" There's a hint of a wry, bemused smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.
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Dan Ben's face turns towards the woman -- she's an awful good looking one at that -- and it's a vaguely confused expression that greets her.
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"You, me, the shooting range out back, sparkly pink dress high stakes."
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Really.
He's not.
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She even remembers a napkin, before she brings them out to him.
"I was thinking I might have to come looking for you, it's been so long," she says, smiling lopsidedly as she sets the plate of cinnamon rolls on the bar in front of him. "How've you been?"
Her red hair is still up in a sunflower-spotted blue handkerchief, her sun-blue t-shirt and red jeans protected by her flour-and-cinnamon-dusted apron.
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"It's been an interestin' forty-eight hours, that's for sure."
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And she's not above feeding people up just because she's fond of them.
"It's been a lot longer for me," she says, dry. Stupid bar and it's time differences, right? "Been keeping out of trouble?"
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Since he doesn't want to go on giving her the wrong impression, after all. It's only the polite thing to do.
(Which is something that Ben Wade would not do.)
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