gunpowdergelatine | (no subject)

(no subject)

So, Milliways.

There is one couch by the fire that is particularly squashy, with precisely enough room for a loose-limbed long-legged dead lady to sprawl out along it: one foot propped on the armrest, one trailing on the floor, her head against the other arm and her spine curled into the angle it makes with the cushions. Comfy.

At present, she appears to be sleeping. She also appears to be wearing a pair of bright scarlet stockings and a tight black dress just barely long enough to prevent the bar getting a good look at her underwear. As it is, the wine-red lace at the tops of both stockings is very much visible, as are the snaps of three out of four garters.

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She's a stark contrast to the lady in black currently looking for an open armchair in which to drink her spiced wine.

Said lady in black is also giving the -- woman's? -- stocking a somewhat bemused glance. Breeches are one thing, and she can see the appeal, but that outfit is quite another.

Her eyelashes flutter; she yawns, wriggles a little (nearly causing a wardrobe malfunction in the skirt area, but not quite), and offers the bemused woman a lazy smile.

Whatever else, Kate is a lady and knows her manners. She smiles back at the . . . person . . . and nods, still bemused, but polite.

Edited 2012-08-20 05:48 (UTC)

"Hiiii."

Oh, there. She smooths down her skirt; the lace disappears, barely.

"Good morrow--"

Lord? Lady? She'll go with the clothes, for now.

"--madam."

She giggles.

"Havin' a little trouble with that one, huh?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Your pardon?"

She tucks one hand behind her head and gestures down at her body with the other.

"Nobody's ever really sure whether I'm a woman or a man in a dress."

"And which art thou?"

Well, if they're going to be blunt about it, they might as well be blunt.

Her tongue touches her lips; she grins.

"Who says I have to pick one?"

Edited 2012-08-20 14:48 (UTC)

Kate blinks. "One cannot pick; one simply is."

"In that case—" She shrugs, tucking her other hand behind her head too. "What's it look like?"

. . . Dubious Kate is dubious.

But she takes a seat opposite and replies, "Your garb proclaims you woman."

"Go with that, then."

"A very strange woman," she adds.

Strange being a word here that also means apparently open for business.

"Oh, definitely," she agrees.

"Perhaps little stranger than the others hereabouts, though," she admits, half to herself.

"Mm, you got a point there," she admits.

"Do all the -- ladies dress so, whither you come?"

"Nnnno," she says, as though she has to think about it. "Not exactly."

She raises her eyebrows.

"Say on."

"Sssome of 'em wear a lot less," she explains. "And some of 'em wear more. And some of 'em wear completely different things. Where I'm from, it's a lot like this place," she says, with a wave of her hand at the bar around them. "You get all kindsa people."

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