latino_menace | OOM: Mary Anne again

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OOM: Mary Anne again

From here...

Ramon feels just a little light-headed as he opens the door to the house in Portugal. Probably just his body getting used to having blood again after losing a few pints. Or maybe it's just shock...but it doesn't matter, because the only thing he wants now is a drink, regardless of whether he should or not.

And one other thing. There's something he needs to see, though he'll never admit it. It can wait a few minutes anyway because he needs to get the blood off his hands first...and he's pretty sure that Mary Anne wouldn't mind a drink either.

'Still like tequila?'

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And he's never been the most observant when it comes to people.

'Sounds it.'

A fingernail taps the side of his glass. It sounds loud in the room, to his ears anyway.

'Horse?'

"Present from Namo and Gorlim. Two year old stallion, haven't named him yet."

She smiles faintly into her glass. "And I have no idea how to ride him, but never hurts to try something new, right?"

'No, it doesn't.'

He supposes not. Doesn't really bother, himself. There's that thing about old dogs and new tricks.

'Riding's good. I have use of Arithon's stallion. Don't need him really, I just bought a ranch on another world.'

Small talk, small talk. It's safe.

She's never been good at safe, but God, she's trying.

"Ranch, hm?"

She leans back against the couch, soft smile lingering. "Any special reason or just because you can?"

'I like horses.'

He looks innocent - for a given value of - for a moment, then cracks a small smile as well.

'And it's part of the front for the new business. There are other things, but that's one. Space for the kid, anyway.'

It's a nice attempt at innocent.

"Getting things started up again? You need a gun hand or a babysitter, you know where to find me."

Lady of many talents, this one.

'Gun hands are always useful.'

It's a concession, of sorts; a nod to the way he doesn't intend to blow her off again. Because to someone like him...well, saving his life levels things in his eyes. She could have just left him there. And he has to trust people who do work for him. So.

'Babysitting...' a small hesitation, '...depends on Random.'

He knows that she's not exactly his favourite person at the moment.

She knows it too.

"It's...You don't have to ask any time soon," she says, turning her attention back to her glass.

"We'll stick with guns for now. They're simpler."

There's a small, sarcastic, snort into his drink as he raises it again. It's not like he can ask anything of Random just now.

'Yeah.'

And if that's an uneasy look...well, he's just been shot. He's allowed.

'Definitely simpler, and generally more fun.'

"Generally, yeah."

She refills her drink, holding out the bottle in silent question.

"When you're pointing them at someone else."

The bottle's taken and he fills his glass to the top again, though the alcohol is making him feel a touch light-headed. Too much to expect that Mal would have replaced all the lost blood. He puts it back down within her grasp and rests his head back carefully.

It's always the better end to be on,' he agrees. Then laughs a little.

'Don't suppose you saw where I hit Sands?'

She shakes her head, smiling wryly.

"Can't say I did. He was moving, which was too much for me. Suspect Mal healed whatever it was...though I'd be happy to offer him some replacement wounds."

'You don't like him either?'

Nice to know it's not just him.

'I don't think I've met anyone that does, really.' He lights a new smoke off the end of the old one. 'Though it's strange - he's threatened before but never looked like really doing it. This sort of came out of nowhere.'

Sands had caught him completely off his guard. He doesn't like that.

She shrugs.

"I was indifferent before. Suffice to say, the scale's tipped."

A sip of tequila before she continues. "I think the only one who does is Mal. And this...he's not the most stable kid on the block." She smiles like she knows that's something, coming from her.

He acknowledges the connotation of the smile with a smirk and slight raise of his eyebrow, but doesn't outright agree. She may not be stable, but that doesn't mean she isn't reliable.

'Mal's fucked up too, even worse than normal. She hit on me the other day and has started thinking of me as 'prey'.'

His face blackens somewhat because hell no. But he does add,

'Random quite likes him, but I think he's trying to save him from himself or something. He'll be lucky.'

There's a return eyebrow arch.

"Prey? You? What the hell got into her?"

She shrugs again. "Not sure that boy wants to be saved, he keeps acting like that."

'Christ, I don't know. I don't care either, as long as she stays away from me.'

He drains half of his drink because this is annoying to think about but he hasn't the energy to be properly angry.

'I'm positive he doesn't, and I hope he never is. Asshole.'

"Wonder if it has anything to do with her deal," she muses, half into her tequila, subsequently broken off by a snicker.

"Yeah, that he is."

'What deal?'

He's only mildly curious. He's not planning on talking to her again, if he can help it. The idea of being under an obligation to her is still playing on his mind a little.

"Sold her soul to Satan."

She drains the glass. "For protection for Sands and binding him to her, so she said."

'Yeah?'

Ramon tops up his own glass, then pushes the bottle back towards her.

'She says she's in love with him. Sands, not Satan. I suppose...no, I don't know. Stupid bitch.'

He sares moodily at nothing, then shoves his feet up on te glass coffee table.

'Fuck it. Let them have her.'

Love makes you stupid sometimes, she thinks but does not say. They both know it.

She refills her glass, eyes the level of tequila in the bottle--which takes a moment as the alcohol has impared her depth perception--then sets the bottle back down.

"She seems happy enough with it. Said something about being his anyway, because of the blood drinking...Fuck it, I don't get vampire politics."

'I don't know why anyone would want to be a vampire,' he says, grumpily, his head spinning a little.

'Did you know Montparnasse when he was around? He chose to become one voluntarily. I don't get it.'

"Roadkill? Or was it something about lettuce...yeah, Gorlim mentioned him once."

She shrugs. "Don't get it either. I'd say for the living but...it's not really living, is it?"

'Yeah, that's him.'

He doesn't get Gorlim's weird nicknames either, but then, it's Gorlim. He's not that easy to understand.

'No, it's not living. Can't go out in the sun and only blood to drink? I can't think of much that's more boring than that.'

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