capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

Current Music: ANDREW BELLE ❝the ladder❞

Entry tags:

† !—dropped characters—! †

(no subject)

WHO:

notquiteidol.
WHERE: The Pound & Pence pub.
WHEN: Saturday night.
WARNINGS: Foul-mouthed psychics and stuff.
SUMMARY: Going for a drink.
FORMAT: Quicklog.

[ She was the messy-haired woman at the bar in the heavy work boots, dirty knees showing from under her skirt. Already nursing a pint of frothy beer. The people in the background were a pleasant hum of busy noise, but nobody approached her.

Maybe it was the leather jacket. There was something tough about a woman in a leather jacket. Or maybe it was the word printed bold and white across the back.

FreakAngels. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

What're we drinking?

[ She glances his way, recognizes him, and doesn't say hello herself either. Nice English folks. Instead, she glances at her glass, maybe vaguely annoyed that she has to try and remember what it's in it. Ah. ]

London Porter. [ A pause, then K.K. eyes him a second. With mild dryness: ] Are you really a vampire, then? You don't look like much of one. Except for the coat maybe.

Look like enough of one now?

[ She seems surprised for a half-second -- eyes widening, tension in the shoulders just a bit -- but she's K.K., and she's crazy, so it doesn't seem to actually scare her all that much. At length, she lets her posture relax, and she answers a touch wryly: ]

Nice teeth. All the better to bite you with, I suppose.

I'm the one that usually does the biting, yeah.

[ It's hard to be afraid of much once you've helped bring around the apocalypse. And found out you're practically immortal. Not that she wasn't reckless and a little short on sanity to begin with. The woman flies a homemade flying motorcycle, after all.

She swallows a mouthful of London Porter before responding, mildly: ]

But you can still appreciate a cold pint. I think I can appreciate that kind of vampire. [ A pause. ] How long you been alive then?

Longer than you've been alive, I bet.

Probably. I'm only twenty-three. Betting I'll be alive a lot fucking longer though. You know me and the others can survive having our bloody brains blown out?

[ She says this conversationally. Maybe it's the company. Maybe she's just always like that. ]

Don't know if I really want to be alive forever though. Seems like a right bleeding pain in the arse.

I've met demons like that. Blow their head right off and it just grows back.

Just got to look at living a bit differently then. Watch how it changes instead of thinking about why it stays the same. You either get used to it or you wind up finding a way to kill yourself.

[ She laughs. She has a loud, abrupt, and rather unladylike laugh that shows her teeth. ]

Wouldn't work. I only get stronger every time I die. It opens up the package more. I can already blow things up with my mind. Takes about as much effort as scratching my bum. Built a flying motorcycle from junk parts just thinking about it.

[ An exhale. ] But I'm shite at everything but being a freak. That's the bloody irony, isn't it?

You're a right interesting woman, aren't you?

About how human does that make you?

I think the proper phrase is "utterly mad," but "interesting" is the nice way of putting it, yeah, I suppose so.

[ She absently tilts her mug back and forth, watching the liquid inside sway. ]

My mum and dad were normal. It was something about the time I was born, the tilt of the planets or some stupid shite like that. I didn't ask for the package, and I certainly wasn't bloody bitten or anything. [ K.K. glances up, pointedly. Her eyes are a startling violet, and there's something endless about her stare. ] I think I'm human. But I don't know many immortal humans with the power to end the world either.

Hope you never have to use those powers.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only