Clarice Starling - Silence of the Lambs (post-canon) - now with continuity!

[mm_merky]

Clarice has gotten a room.

She got a room and some fresh clothes-- the blouse and businesslike pencil skirt are a major improvement over Pilcher's nightshirt, though she hardly thinks she can afford it all

Comments

[eidetiker]

Will has taken to claiming a particular table in the corner for himself; it's got a good view of the bar, including the stairs up to the rooms, and a fairly easy route to the lakeside door.

He's obviously tense, scanning the room, but he relaxes slightly when he spots Clarice and gives her a nod.

[no_more_chianti]

Clarice nods back, smiling faintly. It's kind of a relief to run into a familiar face not nicknamed "the Cannibal."

As she has nothing in particular keeping her by the bar, she picks up the glass of water she'd asked for and makes her way to Will's table.

"Hey."

... She should probably tell him about her conversation with Lecter.

[eidetiker]

"Hey." He nods at one of the empty chairs. "Care to join me?"

[no_more_chianti]

Clarice smiles, taking the nearest and setting her glass down. "Thanks."

A quick glance around the bar, though nothing is different now than it was while she was standing.

"How are you?"

She means: Has anything happened?

[brandyforapples]

The woman who ends up looking back is almost certainly not any of those individuals, but she is nonetheless interesting in her own right.

Tall, dressed in a blue corduroy ladies walking suit, her short blond hair is peppered with white and gray though no 'gray' darkens her eyes. A blue velvet carpet bag sits beside her and she appears to be reading some sort of book with a number of runes on the cover.

Or she was. At the moment, she is looking at Clarice curiously.

[no_more_chianti]

When Clarice's gaze lights on someone who is looking back, she is momentarily embarrassed-- especially since, by the looks of her, she's not who she was looking for.

(A female version of Lecter from the future would be way too much, even here.)

So she smiles at the woman, polite and perhaps a little brisk ... though perhaps that's understandable.

It's been a stressful couple of weeks.

[brandyforapples]

"You look like me after a few frustrations."

Her voice is a little rough from years of hard use and other abuses, but pleasant enough. A British accent, crisp and distinct.

"The brandy here is rather good for easing the mind and loosening troublesome knots."

[no_more_chianti]

Her smile turns a little wry.

"That bad, huh?"

She runs a hand through her hair. "Thanks for the tip ... but I think I'll be more useful if I'm alert."

[his_usurper]

At the Bar is a small blonde girl - late teens, hair pulled back into a sensible French braid, clothes practical - jeans, long sleeves, walking boots. Given the empty pack in hand, it appears she is contemplating getting supplies. She could be any girl, out for a hike.

But across her back is a sword, sheatheed, yes, but still unmistakable.

[no_more_chianti]

Clarice is on the lookout for Lecter(s) in particular, and anything out of the ordinary, in general. The blonde girl is not either of these.

The sword ... is decidedly the latter.

So it's possible that Clarice's focus sharpens, momentarily locks in on her. At the very least, it's a curious thing to be carrying.

[his_usurper]

She knows when someone is looking at her. It's a creeping sensation between her shoulder blades but her movement as she turns her head is languid, socialite-in-polite-society.

The look in those deep blue eyes is cool, calculating, intelligent, and she narrows them for a moment.

Just a moment.

[no_more_chianti]

Combined with the not-so-concealed-weapon, the girl's gaze may be a little disconcerting, but Clarice doesn't let it throw her. She's jumpy, and reading the look as hostile probably wouldn't be fair.

Probably.

Clarice offers a faint smile and a faint nod-- polite-- before busying herself with her water. She herself has been by the bar for a few minutes, wondering what else she ought to ask for.

[mm_ltcdrwhitman]

Chuck's about halfway through his second beer and has the top button of his uniform khakis undone when he hears a familiar accent somewhere nearby in the bar. He turns quickly enough to catch the black-haired woman as she slides along the bar, and waves a greeting.

She sounds like she's from Virginia or West Virginia, and normally a good old Georgia boy wouldn't call that very close to home. Considering the variety of folks that seem to make it into this place, though, anywhere south of the Mason-Dix is practically right next door to him.

[no_more_chianti]

If it helps, Clarice can do the Georgia Peach drawl like a pro.

She turns to catch the wave, hair glinting with sudden auburn as the light shifts, and after a moment of surprise smiles.

What can she say? She tends to trust a man in uniform.

[mm_ltcdrwhitman]

Chuck grins in return, setting his beer bottle down on the bar.

"Sorry, don't mean to interrupt anything. Just didn't think I'd hear anyone sounding that much like home around here."

Wherever "here" is. But he's been working on that for a while now, and it can keep for a while longer. What's the hurry?

He holds out his hand. "Virginia, am I right?"

His own voice has more than a bit of West Virginia in it, but it doesn't sound native- more like the fake slow accent you have to listen to every time you fly, the one pretty much all pilots seem to affect to one degree or another. Underneath, though, is pure Georgia boy.

[OOC: Deleted and reposted out of self-respect after I found an especially egregious typo. Content unchanged.]

[no_more_chianti]

"... No problem," Clarice says, giving him a slow, measuring look of trying-to-place-his-accent. Piecing together the different notes is always the fun part. "And close enough. What about you, the same?"

Not quite, though.

"Wait, don't tell me." A small, triumphant smile. "Georgia?"

[downsidedarling]

(ooc: If you're still open for tags... *beams*)

The sharp eye is noted, and has Eights wondering what's on this pretty stranger's mind.

She's seated at the bar, a tallish brunette in scruffy blue jeans and a rumpled old T-shirt, and when Clarice happens to glance her way she offers a friendly smile.

[no_more_chianti]

People sure are friendly around here.

Not that it's a bad thing-- in her current frame of mind it's a welcome relief. Clarice smiles back.

No harm in it.

[downsidedarling]

Eight-Hour has to keep reminding herself that in Milliways people don't know her.

A little ruefully, she tucks her hair behind her ear, glances from Clarice down to her drink (fruit smoothie) and back, and speaks.

"Hey. You new?"

Not I haven't seen you around here before, because Eights' visits here are rare. And not you move like you are, because people don't like to be read that clearly.

[no_more_chianti]

"Me?" Clarice says, though there isn't anyone else. "Yeah, actually. I got here the other night."

A pause.

"Do ... people usually come back, after they're been here once?"