there ain't no sweet man

[unweaving]

[ Aranea steps through the entirely unremarkable door and breathes a sigh of relief. She's done good work today; she deserves a night off.

This joint's one of the nicer ones, better booze and clientele who are generally high enough up the food chain that they don't end up trying to prove themselves in stupid fights and knifings. It's a good chance to unwind after a tricky job, even with the air full of cigar smoke and the music loud.

She heads straight for the bar and orders a sazerac (the gin has the distinct tang of bathtub but the rye's better) and turns to lean against the bar as she waits for her drink, toying idly with the rope of pearls around her neck and people-watching. ]

Comments

DON'T THINK - FEEL!

[unweaving]

[ She may not be a regular, but she's here often enough that his voice is immediately recognizable -- that accent, smooth and rich as bourbon. She's busy enough smiling back at him not to bother turning around when her drink arrives, reaching behind herself to snag it instead. ]

Oh, I've earned it. What about you? On the clock?

ty Chie, my spirit animal

[newrecipe]

No doubt you have.

[He has to appreciate a woman who has no trouble making herself feel at home in a place like this, looking after herself rather than batting her eyes until someone else buys her a drink. No doubt she'll have plenty of offers before the night is up, but he rather likes how self-possessed and independent she's shown herself to be each time she's come in.]

Off, at the moment, though it can be difficult to allow myself to wander away-- never know what might happen once I turn my back.

[unweaving]

Now that's a shame.

[ She takes a considered sip of her drink, eyes flicking over him above the rim of her glass. Cute, maybe a little stuffy. That's intriguing all on its own, when he's working in a place like this. She's taken enough jobs involving interrupting a supplier run (or, more often, making sure a run isn't interrupted) to know how dirty it gets sometimes. Interesting enough to make her push off the bar and settle on a stool. ]

Worried the place'll fall apart without you?

[newrecipe]

Not so much a worry as a well-justified fear.

[He smiles wryly; he's been given plenty of reasons to hesitate in the past, though he wills himself to relax as he lifts his own glass to his lips. He raises a brow as she makes herself comfortable, and he adjusts his own weight against the bar so that he's angled towards her.]

You'd be surprised how quickly a place can go to pieces without someone to keep the staff in line.

[unweaving]

Bet I wouldn't.

[ It's actually not just braggadocio -- there's a reason her dress is slit so high on her thigh, and it's nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with the pearl-handled derringer in her garter. ]

So you're the guy keeping everything under control. As much as I like this bar, that just makes me want to see you out of it even more.

[newrecipe]

[He lets out a brief but thoughtful hm, his smile quirking just a bit higher on one side.]

No, I suppose you wouldn't.

[She is, after all, a woman who can take care of herself-- he'd gathered that much the first time he saw her here.]

Wondering how I might be out of my element?

[unweaving]

[ Really, she's wondering how he might be out of control. That's not what she says, but it's probably right there in her smile. ]

Probably not as entertaining as people would think. I'm guessing you cope by making it your element.

[newrecipe]

[He looks only mildly surprised by that observation, but the shake of his head as he goes to take another sip of his drink is indication enough, perhaps, that she's right.]

I won't deny, there's something to that. [The latter bit, anyway.] I adapt.