Mal-Moiraine.

[bad_in_latin]

[ooc: After this.]

Mal returns to the bar from the garage, head itching and in general looking extremely uncomfortable.

He's still got the pry-bar in one hand when he asks for a room key at the bar.

Comments

[blue_ajah]

She is settled at an out-of-the-way table, but not so far distant that she is unable to observe him; nor could she fail to hear his request.

Moiraine's eyebrows rise.

"Have you taken up residence here, then?"

[bad_in_latin]

Mal jumps.

"What? No, of course not."

Then why do you have a key, Reynolds?

"It's easier to get cleaned up here than at home."

[blue_ajah]

"I see."

Her glance runs over him, taking in his appearance and the pry-bar in his hand.

"You appear to have been busy, indeed."

[bad_in_latin]

"You could say so," Mal nods his head, sending slivers of an iridescent substance to the ground. His hand clenches around the pry-bar to stop himself from scratching.

In a question he never really thought he'd hear himself ask again: "Do you want to come up? I promise I'm more personable when I'm not [disgusting as hell]."