A Field of Scattered Muses

Her expression grew mildly unimpressed.  "'Gullible' would mean that if you told me it was gunshots I would believe you, no questions asked.  'Gullible' is not what it means when I just can't differentiate the sounds because I don't hear them that often in a bakery."  She feigned a thoughtful expression.  "Though I guess by your logic, I can now declare you an ass because of this singular interaction, so it all works out."

"Sort of, mostly just live in a bad neighborhood." 

"'Sort of' still isn't a no.  More exciting than a bakery?"

Kitty shrugged. “I’ve heard enough gunshots lately anyway.” 

"That was a firecracker, more pop than bang, and it was fairly short." Kitty said easily. 

"Other people or just people in general," she asked, raising an eyebrow in question. "I know the world’s pretty fucked up, but you’re going to miss out on the good ones if you’re always hidden, yeah?" Glancing at her predicament, she slipped off her thigh high stocking, no regard for who might see and walked towards the tree. "Yeah, that might be good," she turned towards him, her eyes surveying, "And your shoes, so I don’t scratch my feet."

Sofia was taken aback by the stranger’s response and felt instantly guilty. “Sir, I was only kidding. Honestly, I know it’s my fault,” she explained, holding her hands up in surrender. Pointing a thumb towards the tree, she motioned, “I’ll just try and climb up.” Her heels clacked on the hard cement and she hoped her skirt wouldn’t rip on the way up, but didn’t expect the stranger to stick around much longer.

The purse hung from where Sofia had thrown it in frustration, and swung in the breeze against the branch several feet in the air. “I’m not sure,” she hummed, resting her hands against her hips and staring up. Dropping her chin, she turned towards the stranger. “What about you? You’re involved now, so how are you planning to be my hero?”

Mal quirked one eyebrow at her, sardonic expression hopefully masking the way his shoulders tensed nervously.  She was just being playful; she didn't know.  "What am I supposed to do?" he shot back.  "I'm a bartender.  My training involves mixing cocktails, sometimes in overly elaborate manners, and dumping drunk people off the bar top.  They don't teach tree climbing to bartenders."

"It’s not as though I did it on purpose."

"Never the less, it took some spectacular talent.  What are you planning to do next?"