un_fallen | (no subject)

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"We should talk," was all he'd said to Coyote in the bar, after a few aborted (and silent, aside from the stilted greetings) attempts at broaching a conversation. There wasn't a corner removed enough, though, and the idea of the rooms upstairs, well. They didn't have the most appropriate atmosphere.

"Come see my new place!" he'd said instead, with a little too much enthusiasm. So they'd strolled through the door, up the street, and into his new apartment building with Raguel in grim silence and Coyote apparently in relaxed spirits. Once inside, though, Raguel came partially back to life to play tour guide.

"Front door opens onto the living room, but I don't mind. Er. Got a new table. Black," he adds helpfully.

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"I would at least have had a properly raucous party had I planned it," she assures (?) him. There's a smile spreading across her face now, possibly because of the aforementioned break in control.

"Have you ever met Epimetheus?"

"I hope you would," he says, some of the tension - just a little bit - relaxing.

"And, uh. I don't think so."

He's spent the last few weeks wracking his memory, is what he means. And he has a very good memory. He has not.

"I believe you would like him."

They both seem more sensible than herself, at least. Not very hard, but she doesn't admit that so often. (Good sex makes her much more accepting of her partners being better than her at something.)

"Mm," he says, darkly.

"Maybe. It doesn't seem out of the question that we'd run into each other in that bar."

"Mm," Coyote echoes. "You are not exploring any outdated idea of chivalry, are you?" Once again, torn between amusement and resignation. Because it would be kind of hot to have people fighting over her. But she wouldn't want them to actually damage each other.

"What sort of chivalry? Courtly love or something?" He snorts, which effectively sums up his views on the matter.

"Duels for the heart of a fair maiden was more what I had in mind. You cannot really think I approve of courtly love."

Excuse the narration while it falls over laughing.

Okay, better now.

"No, I guess not. I can't see you going for the guy who kills the other in a fight, though, either," he adds.

"Why, do you think he wants to?"

Raguel would totally kick his ass.

...He thinks.

"Nnnno. He is not the overly aggressive type. You would both be very hard to kill, but I would not wish you injured, either."

She nudges his shin with the tips of her toes.

"Much obliged," he says, wry, but there's a smile underneath it.

"I wonder if there's a reason you go for the hard-to-kill types."

Coyote tosses her head, arranging her hair over one shoulder. "It is only that most of you play hard-to-get. Clearly, you are asking for trouble."

"I guess we must be, trying that hard to stay out of it," he says. "Reverse psychology. Just gotta hope it doesn't backfire."

"In Milliways, not asking for trouble is an almost certain way of getting it," she replies, dry. "I know this as well as any other patron. Perhaps more than a large percentage."

Not many people who go to Milliways lose bodies and still come back, after all.

"Yeah, you probably do. Not sure I'd say you never ask for it, though," he adds, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You know the ups and downs of the place better than just about anybody, though, I'll give you that."

"Of course I ask for it. Into all lives a little trouble must fall. Since this is true, I prefer to pick and choose my trouble."

The trouble she doesn't choose never ends up being much fun, after all. See: Oberon, Blodwen, skinwalkers. Yeah. Three for three.

"And thank you, dear. I do pride myself on it."

He smiles a little more openly now.

"Not a bad idea, I guess. I never seem to get the hang of that."

The smile morphs rather quickly into a small frown. Speaking of choosing your trouble.

"You can't be hurt by things that are meant specifically to harm demons, can you?"

Coyote raises an eyebrow. "Holy water only gets me wet."

Don't ask how she knows.

"But a blessed axe is still an axe."

"Yeah, I guess so," he says grimly.

"And blessed bullets are still bullets."

"Is there perhaps something I should know?"

Or, someone with blessed bullets who isn't too picky about the definition of 'demon' and has an itchy trigger finger? She knows the type.

He shrugs, waves one nonchalant hand.

"I doubt it'll be a problem. New kid in the bar, panicked and shot before he thought. Itchy trigger finger, maybe, but it was an accident."

See? Nothing to worry about.

Coyote nods along, giving Raguel a big smile with plenty of sharp, pointy teeth.

"Of course, no problem."

Lengthy pause.

"And who might have been the victim in this...'accident'?"

He sighs. There is just no arguing when she gets... toothy.

"I was," he says, "but I'm fine. One of the perks of the job."

Oh man, he should not have brought this up.

"I see."

She sees.

"And was there a particular reason we did not discuss this before an accidental wedding that was already over?"

She doesn't see.

"Because it was an accident, and everyone is fine, and I just asked because I don't want people I-- people getting hurt. Who might be hurt by them. Blessed bullets. Or any bullets. Dammit."

Flail. He could really use a cigarette, but that would be showing weakness, and weakness could be fatal at this point.

"Oh, so it is perfectly fine when you walk into danger, but not when I do the same?"

Coyote needs a cigarette too. Or possibly that drink she passed up before.