It don't mean a thing.

[aldabeyoun]

Who: Njoki, the band, and you!
What: Music, chatter, general discussion.
Where: No Fish Today
When: Misdi evening.
Notes: Music? You want music? We've got you covered.

As promised, No Fish Today, Baedal's own tavern that caters to newcomers out of time and those with an interest in Earth's recent past, is hosting their regular forties night. The bar is open. Snacks are available. (Try the pickled eggs!) There's plenty of music and even a little cleared space if you want to dance.

Comments

[whattigerscanchange]

He's near enough to hear the breath catch in Odessa's throat as her heart skips a beat. How can it not? First of all, that happens to be one of her very favourite movies. Second, she knows that voice. And for a moment, she's quite afraid to turn for confirmation of his identity.

Adam Monroe. She releases the breath she didn't realise she was holding, fixing her wide-eyed stare on him, lips parted in shock. The last time they met, as she recalls it, he said he would kill her. With one hand, she reaches up to brush the hair away from her face. It's held rather neatly in place by a clip bearing an orange flower on her right side, but sweeping aside her bangs reveals the worst of the scarring across her left eye.

With the other hand, she slowly tightens her fingers on her skirt, wadding it up in her fist anxiously, or hiking it up. With any luck he's too busy watching her movements above the bar to consider that she may have a knife strapped to her thigh, though she doesn't hold too much hope. To say Adam is something of a seasoned veteran is an understatement.

And really, what good is shanking the immortal going to do anyway? There's some kind of calm that accompanies that thought, and Odessa finds her voice. "And I had to walk into yours... It's been a long time."

[lazarusrisen]

"Longer for you than me, it seems." Is he telling the truth? There's no real way to know. Her age and the scars she bears tell the story of years and trials passed but Adam could walk through a century and come out unchanged.

He keeps his gaze on her face, though he's aware of the dip of her hands, the tensing of her arm given away by the way she holds it, the way her shoulder rolls ever so slightly as she hikes up the side of her skirt. It may be nervous fidgeting, it may be a grab for a weapon, he can't tell. He won't start anything, won't go on the offense, not here in the middle of a party, but if she does make a move he will defend himself.

"I last saw you..." He headtilts slightly, thinking. "Oh, it's been a few months, at the very least."