(no subject)

[anewlanguage]

[VIDEO;]

Every now and again I see people curious to learn some hand to hand--or hell, some weapons--fighting. I'm offering to teach, assuming you're up to the task. I'll tell you now, not everyone will be.


[PRIVATE VIDEO to BARBARA and IRIS]

[Admittedly he hesitated to put Barbara on the filter but logic wins out in the end.]

So what've you two put together about the Barge's engines? Need to bounce a few ideas at you.

Comments

[filtered Cain/Babs]

[routemistress]

You've seen me clear security guards out of the way before now, 'aven't you?

[Iris, hypnotising them so they think it's their night off doesn't actually count as acting. Even though it's effective and bloodless.]

[filtered Cain/Babs]

[anewlanguage]

I have and it's a real fun trick to watch. But it's not really the same.

[filtered Cain/Babs]

[routemistress]

I'll make a point of it for you next time. You can set me challenges if you like. Remember me nephew in Lakeside?

[Her eyes are bright now.

And then suddenly she's small, and frail and old and hurting. Although a little theatrically.]

...Please sir, just a little soup first?

[filtered Cain/Babs] -> [Spam]

[anewlanguage]

[He grins crookedly at her]

I can't have you starve. On my way, right this second.

[And when the soup is ladled out (two bowls: one for Iris, one for Barbara) he drops the one off for Babs and heads in to see Iris.]

[Spam]

[routemistress]

[Up close, it's apparent she really is in bad shape; it's equally apparent that she's reached the point where being held down by pain and weakness is violently boring, and she's delighted to see him.]

Oh thank goodness. Come 'ere. I feel like summat the cat sicked up, but that soup smells good. So do you.

[Spam]

[anewlanguage]

You do love the smell of gunpowder on me.

[Teasing, as he settles on the edge of her bed and ladles out a spoonful to her.]

[Spam]

[routemistress]

I do. Gives me the 'orn. If I 'ad any 'orn left in me right now.

[Which is the absolute truth, although it's as much his own scent, close up. Gunpowder just smells really good okay.

She lets herself be fed, pliant and contented. I could get used to this, she wants to say, and then doesn't; it's a wonderful feeling to be looked after, but she knows herself better than to think she could take it except in very small doses on special occasions. So she picks on a lesser, truer thing to say instead.]

...This soup's bloody amazing. What's in it?

[Spam]

[anewlanguage]

Magic, for a start. [Grinning at her, winking, brushing her hair back.]

Garlic, chicken broth, more garlic, some whiskey and honey, a touch of lemon, some hot peppers to clear your sinuses.

[He's actually enjoying this. But, like her, its a small-dose thing: he doesn't have the temperament to be nurturing for very long.]