Hooked in by that gesture, that bring it in unspoke but true, Roni processed Bastian's price for his story just late enough that her face was hidden from him when her expression died off into flat nothingness; as it always did now when she weren't having to play normal for someone. Like a mote of ash landing on asphalt, she approached him and settled into the space he'd offered her; her face downturned and tucked against his shoulder, both hands allowed fingertip pressure only as they settled one round the outside of his right arm and the other on his chest - like she had done in their younger years out of respect for how little he liked or sought out contact. This time though, story for a story...it weren't just respect of him that had her holding back. The years intervening hadn't been kindly to her in any sense, but she'd not find the words to put that shower of shit to voice without a heavy dose of liquid anaesthetic.
Which is what Bastian wanted since she'd offered so nice.
Stealing just a beat longer in the cover of his shoulder so she could put her face back to rights, Roni huffed out a fond breath and stepped back into her new-old friend's sightline. The smile she met him with took work now, but unless he was hot on reading the difference in muscle tension round a woman's lips it'd be a hard spot. Words then-
-and she gestured for him to settle wherever he pleased by the bar as she rounded it and took up her usual place behind the rough-hewn mental and plastic counter. This weren't no Up Town establishment, weren't even no Mid Town dive. It was a shaded nook carved out the side of an old shipping container with a reclaimed floor and furnishings. But it was hers. If only by squatter's rights and no one else wanting it. And it served well enough. The booze was cold and the coin was enough to keep her in more than sawdust and turned synth-milk as food. It got her by.
"S'th first part'a th'story, ain't it" Roni said, sitting a bottle of Donaghy's on the bar between them. She made no show of it despite it was one of the more expensive tipples she'd managed to acquire this turn round the market. Some Mid Towner would've missed a crate off their shipment, but they could cry her a river as far as the black eyed publican cared. Those people had more nothings than any Down Tower, never mind the amount of somethings they had. They deserved the loss so they knew what loss felt like.
Uncapping the bottle, Roni swigged a mouthful down. It burned but not too badly. There weren't no hiss out of her, no cough or wince or shudder. Then, she pushed it across to Baz invitingly.
"Picked up this place when I was abaht..." Eyes rolled up to the ceiling a second as she thought back. "Eighteen maybe. Nineteen. Couldn't do much wiv it at first bu' got me feet undah me aftah a li'le bit. Improved bits best I could wiv wha' I 'ad. 'N I've been at it since. Use it f'a bit'a coin, y'know? I's..."
Her mind clipped back somewhere nasty - somewhere with red lights and pulsing music and customers who'd wanted too much of her but who weren't allowed that. They were only to have what she'd been told to bring in and deliver to the sons of the Adult Parlour's owner. Bastian had known her in those days, which in hindsight...turned Roni's guts. They'd been so fucking young then, so mixed up in back alley shit they'd only half understood and all that to earn scratch enough to take home to their parents. She'd never clocked 'til years later that it weren't betting papers she'd been delivering - that it was Boost and Blue Glass, Deep Dive and Glitter. She'd never clocked--
Better than it had been. Better than then.
"Work f'meself, yeah?" That smile of hers that'd been on rickety scaffolding got that bit stronger round the edges. She gave the bottle of Donaghy's another poke. It was green with a spiral stem and a picture of a snake on its side. Your end of the rainbow was its tagline. Roni'd never seen a real one'a those.
"Your turn" she prompted encouragingly. "Wha's got yah in my bar, 'ero-man?"
