and from me...
you see what lectures about Bush, welfare and the increasely destabilizing social security plan do to me? they give me all this free time to write this nonesense to amuse my blog readers (all three of them, har har)...
“…So’m sitting back here, feeling immensely bored, almost to tears, as it were, and this cat comes strolling in, slicked back hair, dark sunglasses (more on those later). Dressed like he’s going outta style. He flicks downward those stream-lined frames and gives me the once over.
“Hey baby,” flashes a smile like he’s playing on my sense of coolness and good judgment,” you the one making it so hot in here?”
I cast him a look of infinite patience from my arsenal of bored/getting-that-way expressions. “You’re late.”
He checked the sunglasses in a shirt pocket and his gun on the bar. “Hey baby, don’t get me wrong. I was unavoidable detained.” His hands are up, waving in a way his therapist probably told him looked pleasant and non-combatant. His therapist obviously either wanted him killed or had a sadistic sense of humor. “I only paused to make an impression, throw off a few shadows, you know how it goes.”
I arched my eyebrow a carefully calculated angle and punched the release button under the bar. “Come on back then, messenger boy, I can’t stop you from doing that.”
He smirked and pushed through the short swinging door in the bar’s front. I caught his arm in a vice-grip, dropped my holo-guard for an instant, let him see what he was really dealing with. “But if you ever call me ’baby’ again, I’ll rearrange your face.”
He went white to the lips. I slammed the field back up and released his arm, picked up a fresh glass to finish drying. “Now go on back before Our Lord gets even more impatient with your tardiness.”
He stumbled back through the beads like a man who’d just recently come to terms with a) his own mortality and/or b) just how deep the shit was he was standing in.
The bell on the door chimed again, I looked up from polishing glasses ad smiled my fake little smile of benediction and welcome. The girl at the door grinned at me over her own pair of cheap narrow frames. “Hey baby.” She said, sauntered up to the bar, hopped a stool and turned her grin saucy. “You wanna pass me a glass, or you wanna just stand there basking in your smugness at terrifying another newbie?” I huffed at her, the safest thing to pass off for a laugh around here.
“Bar’s closed, pretty girl,” I crooned, matching sass for sass, “but if you make me an offer, I might make an exception just this once.” Our conversations always went like this. The first time we’d met, I’d said the same thing to her, and my ‘just this once’ had turned on to a bar tab that would sink small boats if it were ever written up. She flipped the glasses across the bar at me (sunglasses being the most viable and useful piece of currency in our line of work; i myself had already bought and payed for at least fifty-three pairs, all of which had ended up being transfered down the line for ammo, she knew I was due for another pair) and at my slight ‘harrumph’ added a knife from her belt, then three lighters (“a devout smoker,” she’d once said to me, “is never without a few extras” or a devout pyromaniac for that matter, which is exactly what she was.), a short chain bristling with amulets, otherworldly charms and wards, some of which, though not invoked, still caused my hair to stand up…”
and that's as far as i got, i might add more on it later, i might not, most of the time i don't start these things up agian.
“…So’m sitting back here, feeling immensely bored, almost to tears, as it were, and this cat comes strolling in, slicked back hair, dark sunglasses (more on those later). Dressed like he’s going outta style. He flicks downward those stream-lined frames and gives me the once over.
“Hey baby,” flashes a smile like he’s playing on my sense of coolness and good judgment,” you the one making it so hot in here?”
I cast him a look of infinite patience from my arsenal of bored/getting-that-way expressions. “You’re late.”
He checked the sunglasses in a shirt pocket and his gun on the bar. “Hey baby, don’t get me wrong. I was unavoidable detained.” His hands are up, waving in a way his therapist probably told him looked pleasant and non-combatant. His therapist obviously either wanted him killed or had a sadistic sense of humor. “I only paused to make an impression, throw off a few shadows, you know how it goes.”
I arched my eyebrow a carefully calculated angle and punched the release button under the bar. “Come on back then, messenger boy, I can’t stop you from doing that.”
He smirked and pushed through the short swinging door in the bar’s front. I caught his arm in a vice-grip, dropped my holo-guard for an instant, let him see what he was really dealing with. “But if you ever call me ’baby’ again, I’ll rearrange your face.”
He went white to the lips. I slammed the field back up and released his arm, picked up a fresh glass to finish drying. “Now go on back before Our Lord gets even more impatient with your tardiness.”
He stumbled back through the beads like a man who’d just recently come to terms with a) his own mortality and/or b) just how deep the shit was he was standing in.
The bell on the door chimed again, I looked up from polishing glasses ad smiled my fake little smile of benediction and welcome. The girl at the door grinned at me over her own pair of cheap narrow frames. “Hey baby.” She said, sauntered up to the bar, hopped a stool and turned her grin saucy. “You wanna pass me a glass, or you wanna just stand there basking in your smugness at terrifying another newbie?” I huffed at her, the safest thing to pass off for a laugh around here.
“Bar’s closed, pretty girl,” I crooned, matching sass for sass, “but if you make me an offer, I might make an exception just this once.” Our conversations always went like this. The first time we’d met, I’d said the same thing to her, and my ‘just this once’ had turned on to a bar tab that would sink small boats if it were ever written up. She flipped the glasses across the bar at me (sunglasses being the most viable and useful piece of currency in our line of work; i myself had already bought and payed for at least fifty-three pairs, all of which had ended up being transfered down the line for ammo, she knew I was due for another pair) and at my slight ‘harrumph’ added a knife from her belt, then three lighters (“a devout smoker,” she’d once said to me, “is never without a few extras” or a devout pyromaniac for that matter, which is exactly what she was.), a short chain bristling with amulets, otherworldly charms and wards, some of which, though not invoked, still caused my hair to stand up…”
and that's as far as i got, i might add more on it later, i might not, most of the time i don't start these things up agian.
posted by silver at 6:43 AM
1 Comments:
wtf?
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