⟪ ever since stephen strange’s request for aid, melisandre had spent a startling number of hours working at red wings. it was a quick way to earn the coin necessary to trade the dingy lack of privacy the safehouse provided them with for an equally dingy one-room apartment, and she is not discontent, not in the way she would expect to be. it is not something she much voiced, of course, and it is not something she would indulge much as a thought all by herself, but the truth is: this is not the worst part of her life. ⟫

⟪ in some ways, melisandre is a solitary creature. she enjoys non-activities such as staring into bright lights, she likes the graveyard shift, the one that ends at sunrise, she only ever wears red. in a word, she can seem… odd. but she makes efforts, in her way.

right now, she stirs a drink, a new concoction to be served to the patrons at the bar. ⟫

This has all the markings of an exercise in trust.


⟪ pick your poison: either you're a coworker and she agreed to be the first victim of your alcoholic creativity, or you are a simple regular and she is the one who got creative – what she said right there is only a little ominous. ⟫



⟪ melisandre cocks her head. whether it is because you are dancing atop a table or offering a karaoke version of a song more haunting than even ‘the bear and the maiden fair’, or simply struggle to get your order out –– she must have noted that you have had a drink of five too many. ⟫

It is not in my nature to preach denial.

⟪ it is, however, somewhere in the rules of the bar. ⟫

But I believe you must be denied just about now.

⟪ ooc: feel free to come up with your own scenario. red wings is a super convenient way of running into her. ⟫