charlie west, also known as 'cactus the angry elf' (littledeadly) wrote in immune_ic,
"Bullshit," Charlie retorted immediately, opening one eye to look at him. "There's enough great musicians out there that I shouldn't have to grade on a fuckin' curve. I mean, come on. There's only so many decent guns," that aren't too big or unweildy, she added silently, "but there's over a century of great fuckin' music readily available."
A lazy grin graced her face at the offer of alcohol, and she snatched the bottle away from him quickly. While it certainly wasn't her poison of choice- that'd be vodka- she wasn't one to turn down any sort of hard liquor. "Cut it with the darlin' bullshit," she told him, raising the bottle to her lips. It was a half-hearted protest, of course; she knew he had no intention of stopping and she could think of worse things to be called. After taking a long drink, she handed the bottle back to him. She needed to pace herself. Tomorrow held the arduous task of moving some of her firearms over to Liberty Island, which meant an early start that couldn't be hampered by a hangover.
"So, you hang out in biker bars often?" Charlie asked, taking another drag from her cigarette. "You don't seem like goddamn bike nut. Or do you just enjoy the view?" She teased. Her New England accent was becoming a little more pronounced as the first warmth of the bourbon hit her. It wasn't obnoxiously prominent most of the time, but she did tend to drop "r"s from the ends of words. A side effect of living in Boston for so long, she supposed. Hell, she still caught herself saying "wicked" on occasion. "You know, you ain't half bad, for a Southern boy." And that was the closest he was going to come to a compliment from her.