Kate comes downstairs and approaches the Bar, looking tired and a little worn. Her hair is pleated, her typical cowboy hat left upstairs
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She's staring into her glass as the recitation begins, and her expression seems to break; like ice too-warm in spring, splintering to reveal a smile underneath. She doesn't look up just yet, letting him reach the end of the stanza first.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son."
She looks at him with a mix of amusement and pride, shaking her head.
"Victorious, triumphant, an' completely nonsensical," she chuckles. "Appropriate indeed."
She knocks back what's left in her glass, and smiles tightly. She won't move into an embrace - not tonight - but she certainly won't refuse one if he's feeling brave.
"Hello, Master Albus. I'm pleased t'see you, too. You've been brushin' up on your poetry."
"One won't hurt me." Given the beer and the Romulan ale he had earlier in the week, he's probably done more drinking of late than he did in the last six months.
She doesn't look away from her bourbon as the amber liquid quietly transfers from bottle to glass, but her mouth does pull into a wide, sarcastic grin.
"I reckon one could, for any reason he'd deem proper. Or improper, as the case may be."
Glass delightfully full, she finally turns to grin at him head on, with those gunmetal eyes flashing.
"I take it the reason behind the celebration - with or without hullabaloo - is that you've been coming to Milliways three years, now, as time is reckoned in the bar?"
It never ceases to surprise her when someone makes an offer like Clementine just did. It would be thought of as no less than bold in Kate's world, where the preferred method of satisfying one's curiosity is by coy gossip - at least until you are familiar enough with the subject to ask outright. There's no shortage of bold women in Milliways; a fact which hardly seems to bother Kate.
"Nobody wants t'sit an' listen to a maudlin stranger go on 'bout their woes," she says, wasting no time in filling the clean glass Miss Bar provides. "'Least, not until they've got a few glasses of good bourbon on their belly."
She slides the full glass over to Clementine, sinking her smirk in bourbon before stretching out her hand.
Kate gestures in the direction of the tabs board, and sure enough her debt has just climbed a fair bit. She chuckles; it's less a trick of the Bar, and more an indication of just how well She's come to know her over the last three years.
Kate uncorks the bottle and nods at Dixie, quick but polite.
Dixie hadn't even noticed the tabs board before. "Well! Now how do you suppose she learned how to turn a sum?" Dixie still doesn't know how Bar can just understand everything that she does understand.
Then she grins from ear to ear. "The company's pleasant and the food beats anything I'll get on the stage line," she grins. "And it's a wonderful place to hide when I've lost my purse."
"The Miss has her fair share'a secrets," Kate explains, filling two glasses and offering one to Dixie. "I reckon there's a great many things she knows how t'do. But it's her mystery that keeps me comin' back. Ain't that right?"
She pats the Bar. Her voice may ooze sarcasm, but for how much she hates the surprises and curiosities, she has a good deal of affection for this place. And the Miss, too.
"Now, tell me. When was the last time y'lost your purse?"
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Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe ..."
What's that? That would be the sound of a boy delivering on his promise of reciting a poem he'd memorized for her.
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She's staring into her glass as the recitation begins, and her expression seems to break; like ice too-warm in spring, splintering to reveal a smile underneath. She doesn't look up just yet, letting him reach the end of the stanza first.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son."
She looks at him with a mix of amusement and pride, shaking her head.
"Carol. What a delightful choice."
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Albus grins.
"I thought so," he says. "It's - um. Sort of got a victorious, triumphant tone to it. So I figured it was fitting.
"Hello, Miss Barlow. I'm really glad to see you."
And he kind of wants to hug her.
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She knocks back what's left in her glass, and smiles tightly. She won't move into an embrace - not tonight - but she certainly won't refuse one if he's feeling brave.
"Hello, Master Albus. I'm pleased t'see you, too. You've been brushin' up on your poetry."
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The bottle is promptly opened, while the cupcake sits untouched.
"Anniversary. It's actually rather understated for Miss Bar's usual fare. Would y'like a drink?"
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"Three years...seems like longer."
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"Havin' t'deal with a hellfire like me for three years will age you, Jim."
She hands him the tumbler, smiling crookedly.
"At least, that's what my daddy would've said."
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"I reckon one could, for any reason he'd deem proper. Or improper, as the case may be."
Glass delightfully full, she finally turns to grin at him head on, with those gunmetal eyes flashing.
"Or one could join me for a drink instead."
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"I take it the reason behind the celebration - with or without hullabaloo - is that you've been coming to Milliways three years, now, as time is reckoned in the bar?"
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She winks - it's halfhearted, but as playful as you please.
"That's Miss Bar's reasonin', all right. Three years; seems like an awful long time an' not long enough, all at once. Y'know what I mean?"
She gets another glass and pours a measure of bourbon for Yrael.
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The booze, as always, is more appealing.
"Happy occasion?" she asks.
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Kate laughs. It's sharp and sudden and scornful, something of a surprise coming from the pretty little cowgirl.
"That ..."
She drags a finger through the sweat left by her glass, thinking.
"... is a complicated question."
Clementine gets eyed carefully, her smile hanging crooked from the corner of her mouth. Her head tics toward the bottle.
"Pour y'one?"
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Clementine knows bitterness, and she has the curiosity, to probe Kate further. "If you've got the time, I've got the ear."
But she's never going to turn down a free glass. "Yes, please."
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"Nobody wants t'sit an' listen to a maudlin stranger go on 'bout their woes," she says, wasting no time in filling the clean glass Miss Bar provides. "'Least, not until they've got a few glasses of good bourbon on their belly."
She slides the full glass over to Clementine, sinking her smirk in bourbon before stretching out her hand.
"Kate Barlow."
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Kate gestures in the direction of the tabs board, and sure enough her debt has just climbed a fair bit. She chuckles; it's less a trick of the Bar, and more an indication of just how well She's come to know her over the last three years.
Kate uncorks the bottle and nods at Dixie, quick but polite.
"You still kickin' 'round here?" she teases.
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Then she grins from ear to ear. "The company's pleasant and the food beats anything I'll get on the stage line," she grins. "And it's a wonderful place to hide when I've lost my purse."
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She pats the Bar. Her voice may ooze sarcasm, but for how much she hates the surprises and curiosities, she has a good deal of affection for this place. And the Miss, too.
"Now, tell me. When was the last time y'lost your purse?"
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