I reblog a lot of things. I hope you like what I reblog it's just what appears on my dash. 32/NB/Leo/INTP American, Biracial (black father, white mother) bisexual, biromantic, they/them. What other information do you need?
“Hekki grace, High Minister. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you tonight?”
Knower gives her a look that tells her she ought to behave herself in front of the Red Guard flanking her on either side. One tightens her grip on her shotgun, unsubtly reminding her that her old world customs are not to be tolerated. Still, Bartender smiles and leans forward in anticipation.
“Know your place, miscellaneous,” Knower replies, but her tone betrays her. She's tired of the act, but so long as people are watching, she must keep performing. A perpetual dance of grace as she'd said once. “Guards, wait for me outside. And close the shutter on your way out.”
“But, High Minister–” one begins to interject, but Knower is quick to silence her.
“I wasn't asking.” She glares at the two as they hurriedly shuffle out, slamming down the shutter behind them. The bar is closed, at least for now.
When they are alone, Knower speaks again. “Idiots.”
“Long day?”
“Aren't they all?”
Bartender chuckles and nods, “seems like it. Down here for an injection?”
Knower waves her hand. “Random inspection.”
“Random?” Bartender echoes.
“Well,” Knower shrugs, “randomly selected from a list of suspicious persons.”
“And that list is how long?”
“That's not for the public to know. Though let's just say it was a bit of a coin flip.”
It is by no means the first random inspection Knower has done on her, and it likely won't be the last. Bartender knows by now they're little more than glorified breaks from her day to day life.
“Well, I'm honored to be your lucky dance partner for tonight's performance. I'm sure the rest of your list wouldn't be as good at not stepping on your toes?” An obvious leading question. Plenty of people down here, most, in fact, dislike Knower. Bartender remains on for terms with her, despite it all.
“I'm not telling you the rest of the list.”
“Can't blame a girl for trying. Hey, you're not gonna make a mess in here, are you?”
“It wouldn't be a very convincing show if I left things the way I came, now would it?”
“Guess not.” Bartender opens a drawer and begins to toss the contents onto the floor on Knower's behalf. She isn't stupid enough to keep contraband upstairs and Knower never brings up the basement. “How are things upstairs?” she asks as she sets an empty drawer on the countertop before moving to dump out another. Knower is staring at the wanted poster on the wall that has long since begun to fade.
“Lately, I feel like a puppet holding my own strings,” she admits. “I'm not going to risk dropping them. You shouldn't either.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean we have enough dead friends. We don't need anymore.”
“Guess so.”
Their back and forth settles to little more than an ambient hum of existence between them. They do not look at each other as they wait for a convincing amount of time to pass before Knower has to leave. Too soon, and she wasn't thorough enough. Too long, and she could be in trouble, or worse, up to it. There was an elegance to it that Bartender could never quite pin down.
When Knower pushes herself up, Bartender speaks again. “I'll see you upstairs for the play?”
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