Who: Ma'man Brigitte and OPEN What: She's new in the city and she wants a drink Where: Some bar When: Thursday night Warnings: Brigitte has a potty mouth and an eye for the menfolk, consider yourself forewarned
The dead below, in the bowels of the house, were quiet; she had done her job well (bondieu, she’d had enough practice by now to know her way around a corpse). And that was the problem; quiet. It was just so… well, quiet. Enough to drive a woman insane.
So she’d ventured out, and not been disappointed.
Checking ‘life’ off the list, that left two things she craved – love and alcohol. The second seemed like the safer bet, and so Brigitte had let herself be swept up in the city and swept into a bar somewhere. She didn’t know where, exactly, and didn’t much care; there was a bottle of rum behind the bar, and people aplenty propped up against it, or supping in the shady nooks, or posturing and preening in between, and that was all she needed… well, a cigar would have been nice, but times had changed; they always did.
To a casual observer there was little to remark upon; a comely enough redhead – pale skinned, with the faint tinge of a flush from laughing raucously on her cheeks – in a black dress, purple beads draped around her neck, stray ringlets peeking from beneath a sequinned purple bandana which strived to tame her mane of crimson curls, sunglasses balanced on the end of her nose and brilliant blue eyes peering over them – to an immortal she no doubt stood out like a sore thumb, but to most of the clientele she was simply a young woman having a good time. A more concentrated gaze might notice the relish with which she knocked back her drink, crowing with laughter when the barman suggested she might wish to take her refill some way other than neat, or the sway of her hips as she danced a step or two, out of time with the backing music and without any of the self-conscious posturing of other patrons more wary of embarrassing themselves in public, while a careful ear might discern the faintest of Irish inflections in her voice, or the spattering of Cajun idioms in her conversation.