[Fourth Wall!]

[markofthewise]

(ooc: Catch all for my characters. Put the character you want to tag in the subject line please!)

	Sokka is still not exactly in the greatest mood. As a result, he's trying to just ignore the fuss and stick to the smithy. When he's not there, he can be found at home or maybe ducking into the wood.
	Logan is going to just ignore everything forever and be in the Battle Dome. Of course, the usual rules don't apply. Which means his Danger Room sessions are bound to be interrupted. Later, if he gets a chance, he'll try to find a seat in Good Spirits.
	Ganondorf has no use for these fools! Except maybe someone can be useful. Which means he does go into town and can be found in the plaza, watching intently as people come and go. Unfortunately he's starting to think they're all useless.

Comments

[whitby]

...Was only a piddly little white lie. Cream, possibly. I won't go no darker than beige. Beige is my final offer.

[markofthewise]

Well, if we're going to haggle... [Sokka reached under his counter and pulled out the smallest of small utility knives.] Final offer.

[whitby]

[ ...beautiful.

whitby leans on the counter and sizes up the blade. it's alright. it'd do. and the likely strategy that she should now take the knife and hold up the blacksmith for all he's worth does occur to her.

she touches its handle. abandoned is the letter opener, left askew on the counter's edge. ]

A wasp can sting as good as a snake, one supposes.

[markofthewise]

[Another satisfied customer. Sort of. Fortunately he has a whole drawer full of those things.]

It also comes with a bottle opener. That should come in handy.

[whitby]

[ out flicks a file, followed by the bottle opener itself. the slayer-pirate bides her time. ]

Are you -- [ her voice dips into a conspiratorial whisper ] -- suggesting I might be the sort of girl to open bottles to begin with?

[markofthewise]

[Er. For the first time in the conversation, Sokka is suddenly on the losing side.]

Er. Did I imply that? I didn't imply that. It's just a neat feature, that's all.

[whitby]

You said it was handy.

[ she opened one of the knives; she tests its edge against her thumb. ] In fact, your exact words were that it should come in handy. Suggesting, scandelously, that I might like to keep a bottle at hand. Tsk tsk. That's twice you've been rude, now.

[ never you mind that she lied. ]

[markofthewise]

Well maybe you'd like to work in a bar. I know a lot of good women who work in bars. Well, a bar. There's nothing scandalous about them.

[In fact, he feels that maybe he ought to be offended on their behalf. Yes, he can totally turn this around now.]

[whitby]

[ how disappointing! her ruse breaks just long enough for her to register her displeasure. ]

...You clearly haven't been going to the right bars, mate.

[markofthewise]

There's only one to go to.

[whitby]

[ she straightens from the counter -- blade still unfolded. ]

More's the pity for you, I suppose. Tell me. Do you drink there often?

[markofthewise]

I've been known to drink now and then.

[More often lately. But that's neither here nor there.]

[whitby]

[ a fork in the road. a decision to be made. ask the lad to stick'em up or ask him to stick 'round?

she plants one palm on the counter, testing her weight against it. idle and casual. for if she chooses the former, she'll have to vault it. ]

Meet me. Tonight. For a bottle or two. For I'm ashamed I've told you another beige'un and I don't mind a drop of whiskey when the sun goes down. Won't you have a drink with me tonight?

[ she depends on him being disarmed by her forwardness. ]

[markofthewise]

[Disarmed he is. This is in fact the first time he's ever really been invited to the bar in this way. For a moment, he looks a little lost. Er.]

Well uh. Maybe? I mean, I was going to be there anyway, so...

[But he's never touched whiskey. Hoo boy.]

[whitby]

[ with a crooked smile, she snaps the knife shut. her way is clear: take the blacksmith out for an evening on the lash, get him roaring drunk, then cajole him into handing over as many swords as a piratess could ever dream of owning. look at him! already flabbergasted. ]

Perfect. I'm looking forward to it. It's not every day you get to sip with a maker of such fine martial goods.

[markofthewise]

[He should probably be suspicious. But he's not expecting much of, well, anything. She seems harmless enough, anyway.]

It's a pretty common occurrence for most people here.

[whitby]

And their fortunes grow: where craftmasters work for favours and spread their company so generously. [ flattery and fluttered eyes.

demure enough, she backs away from his counter. ] I'll be quite sore if you stand me up, blacksmith. [ she doesn't ask his name; she doesn't need his name; she prefers not to put a name to her victims' faces. ]

When the sun sets, don't make me go looking for you.

[markofthewise]

[It's a pity, because he's less inclined to go without names. But he's being taken in by it. Really, it's not so much that he has an interest in her. It comes down to the fact that she's managed to appeal to the part of him that feels bad for treating her poorly.]

Uh. Yeah. Don't worry about that. I'll be there. [A pause.] What's your name?

[whitby]

Robin.

[ the captain -- after buttoning her coat and treating its tails as a dress's bulk as she curtsied. there's no need to give her true surname. ] Robin MacHeath.

[markofthewise]

[A surname that would be meaningless to him. However, the curtsie was unexpected. So he does a traditional half bow, with his fist places against an open palm.]

Sokka.

[whitby]

[ sokka. sounds a little bit like 'sucker'. her smile is wide. ]

Adieu, Sokka-me-lad. Bring your hollow leg, eh? For tonight, we celebrate.

[ but she doesn't linger 'round to decide upon what they were indeed celebrating. instead, she slips out the front door. after all, she has preparations to look to! hair to brush! cheeks to scrub! for she is going to woo the swords right off the blacksmith's racks. ]

[markofthewise]

[He has absolutely no idea what a hollow leg is. He also, eventually, forgets about their meeting entirely. With so many other wacky happenstances, this is easily among the least strange.

But then he ends up at the smithy anyway, with a fruity drink as he talks with the pretty blonde barmaid about how Luceti is really, really weird.]

[whitby]

[ come sunset, she catches site of her prey -- how friendly he is with that barmaid! that's worth at least a needle or two. ]

...Should I be jealous?

[ sweet and sour all at once, she slid into a stool next to the blacksmith. her hair is now in one thick braid that hung over one shoulder; her face fresh and clean and -- ah, yes -- her eyes are lined with a light application of kohl. her clothing is no different: frock coat and fitted trousers. frothing linen and lace at the collar and sleeves.

whitby is bold enough to lean forward and try to steal a sip of his...rather laughable a drink. ]

[markofthewise]

[With his barmaid gone, Sokka's attention is no longer occupied. He looks a little startled to see Robin again. Her change in appearance doesn't go unnoticed either.]

Oh-- Robin! No, not jealous. That's just a friend. Not- not that you should be jealous. We're just here for drinks, right?

[whitby]

Drinks. [ she repeats the word -- ever smiling. ] Drinks leads to discussion. Discussion leads to more drinking. Drinking leads to dancing. Dancing...

[ a beat. ] What on God's green Earth are you drinking? That couldn't get a vicar pissed.