The alley door of the Inn was shoved open allowing her to make her way inside. Decked out in her usual black from head to toe, it made the red leather jacket stand out that much more. A hand was settled against the sawed off shotgun that was holstered along her thigh, but once she was able to take inventory of the Inn and saw there were no imminent threats the hand eased away. With that she was moving towards the bar.

It was bare moments before there came the sound of a door opening again, although this time it came from the main door. The man stepping through was tall, an imposing figure. Jeans, old boots and a loose fitting shirt under a leather jacket made up the ensemble of his outfit. Dark blue eyes trailed the inside of the inn.

She passed through the break in the bar, allowing the various conversations to gently tug at her attention without eavesdropping too hard. She was taking her time behind the counter, putting together her usual bloody mary. She heard the door open, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood before she even managed to cast a glance over her shoulder. Teeth grit together silently, frozen in place. A look in the mirror behind the bar proved her assumption correct and a whispered curse dropped from her lips.

It wasn't hard for her to be picked out, of course. At least, not by him. He'd seen the shade of a little girl grow into a young woman, and that was not something he would be forgetting any time soon. Not with the history that stuck like invisible strands between them. He said nothing as he moved to the bar, coming to a stop beside a stool.

When The Huntsman's footsteps picked up again she was on the move. First, finishing her bloody mary that was so close to completion. Then she grabbed a mug and filled it with ale. She turned to meet him when he settled at the bar and the mug was set down in front of him with a hefty thunk, causing the contents to slosh up and over onto her hand some. She didn't care. Her eyes were on him. "Really' Here" Days without a peep from you and I figured I would get a little bit of peace without a shadow." The mug was released. It was obviously for him. She wiped her hand on her pants and sipped her own drink.

His eyes touched on the mug, watching as the foamy amber wave jumped bank and stained her hand. He slowly rose his eyes to her after her words. "A few days without me would not bring you peace."

Eyes narrowed. It wasn't because he was wrong, but rather because he was so dead on. It was going to take a lot more than shaking Hunter to bring her any sort of peace, if that was still an option for her. "Don't analyze my words in the middle of the bar. Please and thank you." The words were gruff and not quite fitting to be used on someone she had known more than half her life, but this seemed to be common practice between them. "When did you get into the city?"

"Two days ago," he replied, wrapping a large hand about the mug's handle and lifting it to take a slow sip. Maybe he wasn't really tasting it.

Eyes narrowed at him. "And what have you been doing in those two days to busy yourself?" She always knew the answer, it was the same thing he had been doing for years now. But Red always enjoyed giving him a chance to surprise her. He rarely took it.

There would be no surprises this evening. "Following you." Somehow it didn't sound creepy or stalkerish coming from him, when really it probably should have.

A gesture at him with her drink. "There it is. No matter what highs and lows life has to offer me, I can always count on you trailing me. It doesn't mean I've suddenly started approving of it after all this time, but at least you're consistent." Joking aside, she continued. "Did you take in any of the sights while following me" This town is....it's something."

"I've said it before and I'll continue to say it. That's horrible. What will you do when I'm dead and gone?" The serious always mixed in so easily with the light, but that was their lives. A depressing joke. "Or what happens when I finally decide I don't want you following me and I lose you for good" You need a hobby."

"You will never lose me," he said, and was no more specific as to its meaning. He took another drink and then spoke once more. "What would you suggest I try for a hobby?"

"I've never tried hard enough." She countered smoothly and moved on. Not wanting to focus on the pressing question, if she could....why didn't she" "Maybe you could try sculpting clay' You enjoy the dirt." She set her drink down and without a word reached across to tug his mug from his grasp. She moved aside, refilled it, and returned to replace it near his hand before taking up her own glass again.

Almost haphazardly accommodating, that was Red. He didn't say 'thank you', because she would have waved it off, and he knew she'd rather not have her 'helping him' pointed out, even if it was just getting him a drink. "You think I should mold tableware?"

"I believe most people start off with ashtrays and vases. Or little candy dishes. I suspect your first attempt would look like that of a child's and that pleases me." She drained the remainder of her bloody mary.

"Would it, now?" As if she were amusing. Because she was. The mug was lifted for another long drink as he still watched her.

"Have you ever sculpted clay before" If not then I figure my assumption is correct." She moved to get herself a bottle of water before returning to her spot at the bar across from him. "Have you ever had a hobby' Before. A real hobby." The question was eased in so effortlessly, they had done this dance many times before.

They didn't even need to look at their feet for the steps. It was their way. "Once. When things like hobbies mattered."

For the first time since he arrived she leaned against the bar, the air about her shifting to something only slightly more casual. "Tell me about it, Hunter. What did you do to pass the time when we once had so much?" She wouldn't point out that he had more time than her now. It wasn't part of these steps. These were slow, steady, and reminiscent of an era long lost.

He normally didn't think much on it, but he answered her all the same. "Playing music." A pause to take another pull of the ale. "My mother taught me before she died."

She was still, not lifting the bottle of water for a sip yet. Maybe worried that movement would scare him off from the somewhat open conversation. Especially when it was so rare for him to speak of his mother, even after all these years. "What instrument?"

"Cello." It didn't seem to match him- anything about him. But it was true, and she would know. He had no reason to lie, especially not to her.

She tipped her head back, looking up at the ceiling. Attempting to take a moment to hold onto that memory, the idea of it, even if it didn't belong to her. Anything from their old life was welcomed in her mind. "Grams had records she would play. You could hear the grit and scratches in them and somehow it made them that much better. The imperfections." Her volume was low, meant to stay between them just as everything else from the past was.

And likewise his own tone lowered. "They always sound better like that." His quiet agreement.

She nodded and lowered her gaze back to him. "Of course, well, you know us. We like imperfect." She took a sip of water, slowly letting go of the brief air of calm and friendly that had lingered between them. Shifting to something better known and well worn. "We like f*cked up and deranged."