Despite her loud and aggravated protests to Dinah and Zinda about 'wasting her time', with the exception of the first ten minutes in the club to get oriented, Babs has spent the entire time out on the dance floor. She's currently working on her fourth dance partner, the previous three all having been wimps taken a breather
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The farm is nice and all, but she hasn't exactly ingratiated herself to anyone, still half convinced Earl is going to yank her back to her present at any moment; why give him the satisfaction of playing along? Obstinate denial only gets her so far, however, and boredom is quick to nip at her heels. Especially now. Especially when she starts thinking of Rhetta, Ham, Clay, and even I'll-save-you-if-it-kills-me-and-ruins-your-day Johnny.
So, when listening in on someone else's conversation netted her news of Metropolis, she took off. She intends to explore; to find the law and have a few words. But in the meantime, a woman's got to hydrate and recreate.
Which is why she's leaning against a table -- tight jeans, tight shirt, tight red leather jacket -- swilling beer and making flirty flirty eyes at any man who stumbles her way.
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Her eventual conclusion is preceded by another lewd chuckle.
"Not quite. But I'm sure there's a skin flick remake out there somewhere. Hopefully with less terrifying hair on the Tina Turner character."
She shudders and takes a mind cleansing gulp of beer.
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"I'm beginning to think you have a hair fetish," she jokes, studying Goldy with more attention than she'd shown otherwise. When she focuses on someone, that person knows it.
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"It's more of a healthy interest," she confesses.
"You'd have one too if you'd spent over a thousand years trying to keep yours up to fairy tale standards."
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Grace pulls on her cigarette, eyes narrowing.
"Standards, huh? Is there some sort of rulebook? Army style regulations?" She snorts. "The boys are lucky if I bother to comb mine. I think I owned a hair brush once, but gave it to Gus Gus to chew."
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Goldy sighs, a little disappointed. She thought Grace might have just been letting things lapse because of the whole apocalypse thing.
"Oh well."
"As for the standards, they are just personal preference really. I was blessed with a fantastic and quite unique head of hair as a child, as noted in my story, so it's only natural that I would try and keep it that way." She shrugs. "I think it's still pretty true to the tale to this day."
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"How come you grew up," Grace asks. "If you're immortal because of your fairy tale, how come you grew up? Goldilocks is always a kid."
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"The immortality phenomenon didn't kick in until we Fables took refuge on Earth back in the fourteen hundreds, supposedly because this is the place where our stories are popular. In our Homelands, we all aged, albeit much more slowly, and we could be killed there. Hence why we fled from the Adversary's more powerful invading forces and eventually exiled ourselves. Wherever we were at age-wise when we came to Earth, was where we ended up sticking."
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That's almost too weird to make up.
"Political refugee," Grace mumbles into her drink. "That's heavy shit."
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"Add in the fact that we had to live in fucking secret because of our special talents and longevity, and because the animal Fables can talk, of course. Then you're somewhere close to the full crappiness of the situation."
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"And I thought having a brother who's a priest was bad."
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"Ugh. That does bite."
"Let me guess, he's drove you to atheism before you got out of your teens."
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"No. But he's determined to drag me out of it."
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She gives Grace a wink, then gooses some random guy's ass as he wanders past. He turns around sharply, bewildered and hopeful all at the same time, only for the Fable to laugh, shake her head and make a shooing gesture.
"Hah! No. Never in a hundred years. Sorry, chum."
His shoulders slump and he trudges off dejectedly.
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"Very nicely done!" she laughs.
Once Grace is re-situated, the Fable slings a companionable arm round her shoulders.
"You're something else, girl. And the best thing is: you know it. That makes you pretty fucking cool in my book." She gives the other blonde a dangerous smirk. "This place isn't going to know what hit it when we're through."
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