Hanging At The Triangle

Having taken some very good advice from a really close associate, Ella finds herself reclining almost languidly on one of the booths against the wall. One foot dangles off the side while the other is stretched out across the booth itself, putting her back against the wall and her face aimed towards the rest of the room. She sips occasionally at the lager in her mug, her eyes jumping between a series of about five pictures spread across the table. The fingers of her free hand drum lightly over one, indecisiveness furrowing her brow.

The heavy inward swing of the doors announce a new arrival, identified a moment later as a slim young woman with multicolored waist length hair. Returning several greetings from some of the old regulars scattered around the ancient tables of the old fashioned pub, she seems in a cheerful mood, despite the healing cuts and bruises adorning her right cheek. Knee-length pageboy shorts of a vivid red and green plaid are slung low on her hips, revealing a pierced navel in the gap between the waistband and the hem of her grey vest, as well as a tattoo that isn't quite so easy to see. Glancing back over one skinny shoulder, she regards the four young men who follow in after her, all dressed in a similar uncaring, lazily stylish manner. One in particular, tall and handsome, his lean frame draped with a full length coat of battered leather, moves possessively close behind her as she reaches the bar, bracing his hands either side of her and murmuring in her ear, eliciting a pleasant laugh.

At the clamor of a new group of people entering the pub, Ella's nosiness kicks into high gear. Her head jerking up, the pixie of a girl immediately swings her gaze around the pub at large. A faint smile curls one corner of her lips as she recognizes at least one person in the crew, a more profound smile pushing across her face at the gentle display. The ballet flat that had been bobbing from side to side at the end of the booth halts entirely as she cants her head to one side, one ear slightly pointed in the general direction of Molly and her merry band of friends.

'Merry' would appear indeed to be the right word, judging by the boisterous atmosphere that seems to accompany the group's arrival, their own high spirits swiftly affecting those around them. As all five settle themselves onto barstools, looking more than content in each other's company, the slight girl slaps a hand on the bartop with a broad grin. "MAC, my darling, my love! Givvus a pint, will ya? Fockin parched." Gripping the edge of her chosen seat, she swings her feet to and fro idly.. in deep red pumps not unlike those Ella wears. Casting a glance absently about the place, by force of habit more than any real interest, she brightens at the sight of her like-minded-shoe-fan, raising one hand to waggle fingertips in her direction across the crowd.

A wide grin breaks out across Ella's rather sizable mouth, displaying her fine set of white teeth. The wave is returned with one of her own, sitting up straighter and squaring her shoulders while inclining her chin with mock-imperialism. Her hand is then lifted as she does a decent imitation of the cliched 'royal' wave, cupping her hand and turning it slowly from side to side. She ends the rather intricate gesture with a wink before lowering her hand to scoop up the myriad glossy photos covering her table.
Though the barman's surly expression remains a mask of gruff indifference, a twinkle might be noted in his deep set eyes as he sets down a cold pint before the young lady. She sweeps it up in one hand and takes a long slurp from it, lowering the contents to a safe level before dropping to the floor lightly. Flashing the tall youth beside her a half-smile of apology, she then saunters with ease through the bar, wandering toward Ella, dipping a curtsey as she arrives, one ankle crossing delicately behind the other. "M'lady." Up close, the scent of cigarettes and a sultry, dark floral perfume are evident, though not overpowering. Still regarding the other girl with a mischievously arched brow, Molly raises her glass for another lengthy sip, offering a toast in midair before partaking.

Again adopting her more regal air after carefully sliding all of her glossies into their original manila envelope, Ella affects the most atrocious accent she keeps in her arsenal: the stereotypical English one. "You may rise," she enunciates slowly, even pitching her voice about a decibel higher than usual. She lifts her own mug as if it were an expensive scepter, tilting it ever so slightly in Molly's direction. Unable to keep the horrid accent for long, Ella finally breaks into a giggle, "I still need more practice at that if I'm going to irritate more than one person at a time. So how've you been? You doing okay? Did you get looked at?" she asks, a glint of concern flickering in her greyish eyes.

Grinning back, the girl plinks herself without ceremony into one of the rickety chairs on the opposite side of the table, glancing only momentarily toward the photos as Ella tucks them away again. Shaking her head as she levels her green-eyed gaze upon her newfound companion, she wrinkles her nose a little. "Can't fockin stand hospitals. Sure, it's only a couple bruised ribs anyways. I'll live." She sets down her glass gently, ignoring the ancient coasters scattered about the sticky, pockmarked tabletop. "And how are -you-, yerself, Toots? The Banshee of Ye Olde Triangle. What torments yeh?" Though her tone is teasing, apparently genuine concern tempers her expression as she studies the other woman.

A visible wince ripples across the young photographer's face as she shifts uneasily in her seat, her abashed gaze slinking to Mac before returning swiftly to the woman sitting across from her. Creeping up her neck, past the collar of her dark blue 'Frankie Says Relax' tee, is a rather vivid blush. She takes another long draught of her booze to cover most of her reddening cheeks. "I think I worry too much and watch too many scary movies and see too many celebrities acting badly," she murmurs as she lowers the mug, casually averting her eyes to peer down into the amber liquid. "But mostly, I think I shouldn't be fed after midnight. That causes all sorts of craziness in gizmos."

Molly nods sagely, one fingertip tracing patterns in the condensation that mists her pint glass. Her other hand cups her jaw, the elbow propped atop the rather wobbly table in a casual stance. "I hear yeh." she agrees, with a slight grin. Shrugging her narrow shoulders lightly, she jerks her head toward the stairs. "Least you didn' fall on yer arse though, eh? I fall down so much, it's not even funny." She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, with a glance toward her friends at the bar. "Not ta -me- anyways." Shaking aside a few strands of crimson that fall into her face, she arches a brow toward Ella, as a thought seems to strike her. "So.. did Pretty Eyes enjoy having his own Nurse Gizmo? He'd be daft not ta, but it's nice ta be nice, y'know."

The last question earns Molly a vivacious grin, the expression sweeping across Ella's face and even catching her stormy eyes on the way. "I dunno if I'm any good at that whole nursing thing, but at least he slept. I made sure of that. He doesn't get enough of that sometimes," she replies, though after that admittance, her smile loses a bit of its wattage. "Men are confusing, ya know? I.. I just don't get it sometimes and it gives me migraines thinking about," she mumbles before shaking her head and attempting to cast off the beginnings of a more dour mood. "I used to fall down a lot, too! S'why I started taking yoga in college and keep doing it today. It really teaches balance and patience. Both really good skills for the most part."

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Molly toys with the center piercing in her lower lip thoughtfully, her hands wandering across the table to collect a few coasters in each and begins, it seems, trying to build a house with them. "I've always fancied a shot at Yoga.. but I doubt I could sit still tha' long, y'know?" She frowns mildly, concentrating hard as she tries to make the base of her grand design stand, her tongue shifting to poke out the corner of her mouth in a faintly comical manner. "And aye, men are confusin'. Or at least, the ones yeh want are. The ones that -aren't- confusin', yeh deem ta be borin' and discard. Vicious cycle."

Ella swings the leg that had been resting on the seat beside her around to dangle beside her other one, allowing her to face Molly fully while speaking. She pushes her nearly empty glass to the side while crossing her arms over the weathered tabletop, leaning forward just slightly with a searching gaze ricocheting across the other woman's face. "No, no I really think they -all- are, just the ones you want are even moreso. Or maybe I'm just overanalyzing things and driving myself nuts," she pauses before a perfectly wild grin flashes over her lips, "Or crazier than usual." Slate eyes slip down to Molly's lips as her brow begins to knit together, her head tipping oddly to one side. "Did that hurt? I was really considering one of those, but I was afraid it'd chip my teeth or get infected or get torn out in all the brawls I throw myself into because I'm totally going to be a UFC champ," she intones in a rather serious voice, though she can barely keep the twitching smile off of her face.

"Piercings, good. Flattened nose and cauliflower ear, not." replies the girl, shaking back her long hair and absently toying again with the piercing, giving up on her attempt at a coaster card house for now. "Nah, it doesn' really hurt. And so long as yeh keep it clean and stop smokin' fer like three days, it won't get infected." She scoops up her pint for a hearty mouthful or three, flitting her eyes momentarily over the crowd. "My answer for people, usually, is piercings take a second. Tattoos, yeh sit fer hours." Swirling her beer thoughtfully, she looks back to Ella's charcoal gaze. "An' there's nought wrong with bein' a little bit crazy. Specially if yeh aspire to be the first Ultimate Fighting Champion in ballet pumps."

With unmatched intensity, Ella watches Molly very carefully, nodding quietly at the things she says. With the word 'tattoo' dripping from her companion's lips, Ella flips over her forearm where it lies on the table in front of her, ponderously tracing an invisible image on the skin. "Yeah, I'd thought about that one, too. But tattoos are nearly forever so it'd have to be something really meaningful, right? How many do you have? Where did you get them at? Where are they at? Are any of them in color? Did they retain their brightness for long? Where's a good place in LA that you know of?" She draws in a deep breath after her brief cavalcade of questions, only to add one more with a crinkled nose, "And NOT that place of Kat Von D's. Too fucking expensive and I don't really feel like showing my face on cable TV like that."

Molly snickers softly, calmly setting down her glass as she gathers her careful replies to each question. Leaning forward a little, she reaches one hand up over her shoulder to indicate her shoulders and back with a casual gesture. "Just two, really.. wings on me back.." she leans back at an odd angle next, tugging up the hem of her vest a little to reveal script across her hipbone. "And this. They both mean somethin' relevant ta me, anyways." Dropping her clothing back into place she, grins a bit. "Got em in New York, though. And I'm not really a fan o' full color ones.. they always look kinna messy ta me. Some of tha lads have 'em though.. they dun look like they fade too bad. Guess it depends on yer skin." She leans her shoulders forward, hunching a little over the table as she adds in a confiding tone. "And if I -ever- go near that von D woman's place, it'll be to watch while it burns to tha ground. What a waste of oxygen that woman is."

As even the faintest inkling of tattoos are shown to her, Ella has no qualms about leaning forward even moreso to get a better look. At one point, she's even leaning over the edge of the far side of the table to spy the elusive hip ink. "Oohhh, those are very cool indeed!" she exclaims appreciatively, a lopsided smile playing over her lips as she spies the top of the back tat. Sitting back in her chair, she reaches over her shoulder to point at her own back while offering her opinion, "I think I like that one best, honestly," before breaking into a burst of heartfelt laughter. "I'll tell you what," she begins to whisper conspiratorially, "if you decide to burn that heap down, let me know so I can get it on tape. I swear by all that's holy I'll blur your face."

"Sounds like a plan, Batman." agrees Molly, nodding contemplatively. "Ye'd come visit me when they slung me back in the nuthouse, though, aye?" A dark grin curves her lips as she quirks a brow, taking a slug from her beer as she awaits Ella's reply. Her fingernails, complete with chipped black nail varnish, drum an idle rhythm on the tabletop.

"Visit you??" comes Ella's astonished response, sitting up straighter as she peers at Molly from across the table. "That would be easy since I'd probably be tossed in the padded cell right next to you," she finishes with an amused half-smile. "They're sure to keep us on the same floor, even with the same meds, obviously because we both have flawless fashion sense," one leg is lifted out from under the table to display her similar footwear. "I hear the Thorazine shuffle is all the rage on all the psych floors these days. Dancing is fun, even if drool might be pooling at the corners of my mouth and my eyes might stare fixed into the distance like some zombie."

The girl laughs wholeheartedly, her nose wrinkling a little at the expression of amused delight." Ach, hell, that's me everyday before noon and a hella lot of Gaelic Coffee. Or 'cawfee' as you lot say. "Tilting her hips to one side on her chair, she retrieves a pack of obscure branded cigarettes from a back pocket, tossing the beaten and battered box onto the table's surface, along with an equally abused looking zippo. "Gizmo and Moll. Sounds like a website ta rival Ill Will Press. Yeh any good at cartoons?" Taking a cigarette for herself, she offers the box toward Ella with a questioning raise of a brow. A flick of her wrist and a snap of her thumb sparks her lighter to life and she brings the flame to the tip, inhaling deeply and exhaling from the corner of her lips a long moment later. "..maybe if we smoke ourselves almost to death, the sentence will end up bein short. Though, death by alcohol overdose seems ta be the preferable way ta go nowadays."

Ella giggles with a warm gleam in her greyish eyes as she shakes her head, gesturing idly at the pack of cigarettes. "Nah, no thanks. He," her wide eyes roll heavenwards for a moment, "smokes enough for at least five people. I just so happen to be one of those five people. I'll gladly sacrifice my right to indulge just so he can use it," she murmurs with a teasing smile. "Sorry, but the only cartoons I have pictures of are the real life ones. You know, like, Britney and Paris and Lindsay and all those Hills people," she begins to list off, counting them on her fingers.

Molly grimaces slightly as she listens to the list. "Ugh." comes her response, physically shuddering to emphasize her distaste. "If I ever make noise about goin blonde, slap me, awrite?" Plucking the smoke from her lips between a fore and middle finger, she hisses a little through her teeth habitually as she draws it into her lungs. Her opposite hand comes across, her fingertips tugging the bandage around her wrist into place as she holds the cigarette aloft by it's filter. "Dun think I could give up smokin' fer -anyone-.. no matter how pretty their eyes moight be." she adds, with a chuckle. Drawn toward the figure at the bar who had shown her such affection, her gaze wanders momentarily, though she fails to disguise the soft sigh that escapes her. "Might be something of a relief to be locked up with a bunch of psycho girlies again.. can't be worse than normal men."

Ella drags one hand through her glossy black hair, pulling the few errant strands that had strayed into her face back out of her line of sight. Catching the nuances between the two women, Ella can't help but to smile in return, lowering her voice to nearly a whisper, "I dunno. Women can be downright scary, too. But every month at least -we- have a solid reason." She nods her head once, deeming her previous sentence to be pure fact. "His eyes aren't the only pretty thing. He's one of those types that are lucky enough to shine from the inside, and brightly at that. I love sparklies of all kinds, but those kinds most of all," she pauses for just a breath, letting an altogether wicked grin crawl over her lips, "but yeah I totally agree with you At least other women understand another woman's moods and stuff."

"Do you know, women have literally gotten away wi' murder, on the grounds that having their period can render them 'legally insane'? Handy excuse, methinks.." Molly mutters, consideringly. Ashing her cigarette idly, she tilts back her glass to drain the remnants of her pint. "Can't say I've ever met anyone that sparkles fram the inside.. but then, I'm a bit of a cynic. What's tha' line from Scrubs… people are bastard coated bastards with bastard filling. It's a good philosophy. Then again, I want ta marry Dr Cox. So 'm biased." Shrugging, she sets down her empty glass and takes another drag, blowing a plume of silvery smoke toward the beams of the newly repaired ceiling.

Lifting both of her angular eyebrows, Ella shakes her head slowly from side to side, "No, I've never heard that before, but I'll be damned if I won't use that knowledge to my utmost advantage." The small girl clears her throat before lowering her voice almost to a male tone, jutting her lower lip out in an exaggerated frown, "Ella Priest, where are those shots you promised me?" As easy as that, she slips back into her normal speaking voice, even though that itself is rather unique in its own timbre and pitch, "I told you I don't have them yet, you cat fucking bastard! Eat it!" Letting out a sigh and smiling almost from ear to ear, "Yeah I could totally be down with that. I could be down with Hugh Laurie, too, but I don't know this Dr. Cox. I don't watch much TV, oddly enough."

Nodding approvingly, Molly offers Ella a warm smile, seeming quite relaxed in the other girl's company as their conversation wanders. "He's British. Hugh Laurie." she says, simply, stubbing out the last of her cigarette. "Does a bloody good yank accent, though, must say." She leans back in her chair, clasping her fingers across her abdomen and kicking her feet up onto the table's edge. "And dun yeh talk to yer employers like tha' anyway? I do. But then, I'm ill mannered and had a bad upbringing." serious nodding and a blank expression accompanies this statement, though as she raises her voice to call across to the bar, a smile tugs at her lips. "Ain't that roight, ye buncha arselickers?" Those gathered there are evidently used to such treatment, only a few responding with mumbled agreements and dismissive waves.

A peel of laughter resonates from Ella's throat as she tips her head back, slouching somewhat in her seat. "I can't talk to my employers like that…" her voice trails off a moment as she lets her head tilt to one side, her lips pursing together thoughtfully before adding, "all the time. Freelance is what it is. Make your own hours, but waste precious time groveling for a paycheck from whoever'll take your crap." She risks a glance at the crew hovering near the bar, shaking her head slowly, "I'm surprised they didn't wiggle their middle fingers at you. Maybe they just need more booze-cahol in them?"

Charlotte steps through the door of the Triangle, and her storm-blue eyes scanning the room with small pauses here and there to take in detail. The woman's shoulder-length, honey-blond hair is loose over her shoulders, and her apparel consists of simple black track pants and a fitted black teeshirt that reads "North Western Muay Thai, Rosewood Ave across the back of it. Over one shoulder, a pair of cross-trainers are tied together by the laces, and await a situation more fitting to be worn compared to the cheap plastic sandles that she wears.

"Pfft. They know better than ta waste their energy raisin' a finger." retorts Molly, her own hands pushing back her hair before resttling across her stomach. Noting the arrival of the attractive blonde, she scans the wording across her t-shirt with mild interest. "What the feck is Muay Thai, Giz?" she murmurs toward the girl she sits with, little thought seeming put into the adopted nickname. She scratches absently at the inside of her right wrist, glancing momentarily down toward the bandage wrapped about it.

Ella takes it all in stride, the new nickname as well as the new face bopping in from the outside, as she peeks over her shoulder without hesitation. "Oooo!" Ella exclaims with a touch of true awe in her voice, "It's like Jet Li sort of stuff, I think. Or maybe Van Damme?" she adds, sounding rather lost now as she turns back around to flash a befuddled expression at Molly. "Whatever it is, I know before when I first heard about it that it sounded fun and this is totally fate. Fate! Maybe all the fates in one, because I've been thinking about doing this whole self defense thing for weeks now. My sparkly upstairs says to take a vacation, so I do and so now I have the time while I wait for my new camera!" rattles the diminutive girl, her eyes brightening at the prospect and her words falling ever faster and faster from her big mouth.

Molly shifts her gaze openly back toward the blonde, nodding as her companion's extremely in depth explanation and several tangents seem to roll across her without confusion. "Sure, tha' sounds more interestin' than Yoga. No offense. I jest.. like oi said.. dun like sittin' about." Stretching her thin arms above her head with a sigh, she then lets one fall back behind her, supported at the elbow by her opposite hand. "Reckon nows a good time ta be learnin' some sort of self defense too, aye. No more attempts at flight fer me." Her feet, comfortably crossed at the ankle atop the table, waggle gently in their ballet pumps as her curiosity sparks. Her attention does divert briefly to the bar, though, a meaningful glance passed between her and the group of emo-looking young men drinking there. Within a few minutes, one thumps over with a fresh pint for her.

Charlotte moves towards the main bar without much wandering of her pale eyes now, her arms resting loosely at her sides. She glances towards Ella and Molly shortly, but her eyes turn away politely, as she hadn't been addressed. She seats herself at the long counter, resting her forearms against the bar. She tosses her spare shoes to the floor at her feet, pulling the other hand through her hair quickly.

Blinking from the newly-arrived glass to its server and back again, Ella chuckles low within her throat. "You know, I might have to be taught that trick someday," she murmurs with a meaningful nod at the beverage. "I think…" she puts both palms against the tabletop to steady herself as she rises, "I'm going to inquire about learning how not to get beat up by celebrity hired muscle," she finishes with an excited sort of spark in her eyes. There she stands for a moment, peering down at Molly with a hand extended towards her, "Wanna try it out, too?"

"I could charge for it" agrees Molly, watching the young man wander dazedly back toward the bar. Looking back to Ella and the proferred hand with a half-smile, she accepts it and swings her feet down to the floor, rising with her pint glass firmly in hand. "Sure, why not. Might go down well at the Outreach, if nuthin else."

Ella gladly wraps her fingers around Molly's hand, nearly dragging her in her haste towards the bar. "The Outreach? You go there? I don't think I've ever been there. What's it like?" she asks over her shoulder, her eyes blinking rapidly with each question posed.

Molly laughs a little under her breath, miraculously preserving her drink as Ella scrambles toward the bar. "I -work- there. As a counsellor. But we sometimes do classes and presentations and such for the kids."

Making her order in a low voice, the slender woman in casual black leans back against her stool slightly. She wets her lips, taps her fingers on the bar, and crosses her legs - all the tell tale ADD that comes instantly to anyone waiting at a bar for a drink. She pushes her hand down into her pocket to withdraw a sleek, expensive looking cellphone before flipping it open in her lamp. As Molly and Ella come closer to the side, Charlotte's eyes shift down and to the side to be able to make out obly their approaching outlines, not moving the rest of her body to see them better. She closes the cellphone without doing much of anything and lets it stay rested against her thigh, turning it in half-circles with her fingertips idly.

With wide eyes and a bright smile, Ella marches right up to the athletic woman, one hand still holding firmly onto Molly's. "Hi! Okay, I swear I'm not inebriated right now, for some reason I always have to state this first when talking to people in drinking establishments," she shakes her head as if she can't see where anyone would get that idea from, before moving on, "Anyhow!" she blurts out, "Do you go to the Muay Thai school printed on the back of your shirt? Wait, nevermind, stupid question. I mean really you would have gone there at least once to get the shirt, unless it's a loaner. But hey, you know I was thinking maybe learning a bit of self defense would come in handy.. Do you know their fees and class times or maybe a way toget in touch with the main office?" It's then that the motormouthed woman actually pauses, leaning obviously to one side and staring at Charlotte's back. "Right, okay, so maybe the shirt has that covered, too. You own a very clever shirt."

Molly can only snort with amusement, dropping her forehead to the girl's shoulder in mock despair as she laughs softly, then raising it again to level her green eyes upon the blonde, a pleasant, throaty chuckle bearing her words as she adds, "Also.. hi. This is Ella. And I'm her nurse. Someone has ta make sure she takes all her meds when she's let out, y'know." She pauses contemplatively for a moment, studying the stranger with a half-grin. "And there, something in common already! Ella owns a very clever cardigan that fastens in the back by it's sleeves.." As she speaks, she idly swings her companions hand to and fro in her own, adopting a demeanour of cheerful amicability.

Charlotte brings her eyes up to Ella as the pixie looking girl spills over with questions, a slow half-smile turning up one corner of her mouth. The woman's eyes brighten with the blur of interaction, and she pockets her cellphone politely without removing her eyes from between the two other women. "I believe you. And, yes, but I own it." Charlotte's voice comes easily in warm, deep tones as she contructs the questions and thoughts back together with the practiced coldness of someone used to dealing with multiple issues. The woman at the bar shifts a bit as she pushes her hand into the pocket of her pants, pullng out a few pieces of folded white paper. She tugs at two with her free hand and offers them towards the two, putting the remaining few back in her pocket. "You've never studied self defense?"

Ella whispers aside over her shoulder at Molly, letting her arm swing freely in the other girl's grasp, "Those jackets can be comfy, you know. Just have to trust that whoever buckled you up will unbuckle you sooner than later." Clearing her throat lightly, she turns her jovial expression back to Charlotte, nearly humming with pent-up energy. "No, I've never studied self defense before," she reaches out with her free hand to graciously accept the gift of paper. Lifting that same hand, still with the sheet of paper in it, the spry woman taps the edge of it against her temple lightly, "Unless you count listening to that whole fight or flight thing when trouble arises and just flail about wildly until you're knocked out or people back away from you for fear of getting rabies."

"Muay Thai is all about that impulse, despite the failing," Charlotte answers with a little bit more of a smile, though it doesn't appear a full smile is something that comes easily to her features. "It's just a matter of being faster, or more practiced after that." She pauses, looking between the two before extending a hand towards Ella first, and then Molly afterwards. "Charlie," she says by way of introduction now, nodding once. "I'd love to see you two at the studio for classes."

The diminutive paparazzo pipes up, "I'm Ella, like she said," she nods once over her shoulder while still easily holding on to her bright smile. "What time and date do classes start? As long as it's not around one in the afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays I can totally make it." Something occurs to her in that one moment she draws in a small breath, her head canting to one side while blinking up at Charlie. "Have you ever trained with Jet Li or Van Damme?" she asks, giving every indication with her furrowed brow and serious tone that she's not really joking at all.

Ella's companion accepts the flier, and the handshake that follows, distractedly. Scanning through the words, she nods gently to herself, before lifting her attention back toward the pair, content for now to listen.

Charlotte slips between confused and amused in a split second as Ella finishes. "Unfortunately, no. I saw Van Damme in a tournie in Vegas a handful of years ago." She leans forward lightly, lowering her voice towards Ella with a serious expression. "He'd probably near kill me in light-touch sessions." She runs a hand through her hair as a coffee is put down in front of her. "That's European Kickboxing. Actually, it's not that far removed from Muay Thai. There's a lot of high kicks and foot work for him, meanwhile I sit happily learning how to kick where ever you want, and have them off their feet before you need to use yours too much."

Ella uncurls her fingers from Molly's hand, allowing the woman with the tri-colored hair to hop behind the counter and Mac's quiet insistence. Ella flickers her gaze from Charlotte to the retreating Molly, giving her a fond wave before hopping up on the stool beside the instructor. "See, I don't even know the differences between all those different types of fighting styles. Sad to say, the most I learned was from a video game in college," she mumbles the last part, her legs kicking idly as she sits. "Where did you learn it from?"

"My Da… Well, father. If he could have taught me how to kick from in the womb, he likely would have." Charlotte shifts her eyes to Molly as she leaves and then back to Ella, taking another quick sip of her coffee. "You don't need to know all the different terms, really. I use shot commands in classes, so it's easier to get used to." She pulls one leg under her, not looking bothered by the hard stool. "You'd just need a uniform and a mouthguard. Otherwise, I don't ask much of my students."

A studious expression flits across Ella's pale face as she leans to her side, propping her elbow up on the bar. "Where should I get one of those uniforms and a mouthguard? Oohhh now that you mention it, that mouthguard thing sounds like a -really- good idea. Having my teeth kicked in does not sound thrilling in the slightest," she responds, one corner of her lips curling into a lazy half-smile. "What do you mean by 'shot commands'? I'll admit, the first time I though about it I thought you might yell out something like 'Fuzzy Navel!' and that would tell us to do a certain pose."

Charlotte chuckles softly and scans her coffee cup for answers before she takes another drink. Turning back to Ella, she smiles in a friendly fashion. "Well, the uniforms you can come down and pick up." She takes a second to motion to her clothing before she continues to indicate uniform style. "Mouthguards you can get at any sports place, or at the studio. And, well. Shot commands are just one or two quick words that give direction. You'll learn what the words mean, and what to do when I yell them. Shot commands was just made up because instructors tend to yell them, sharp and quick. Like a shotgun."

Ella begins to fold the paper that was handed to her into a small square, small enough to slip into the pocket of her white jeans. She hooks the toes of her shoes around the little bar encircling the lower part of the stool as she stares at Charlie with an interested gaze, her head bobbing in a slow nod. "I'll definitely be there to check it out. My only real fear is that while I'm in the beginner class I'll have to suffer through the stigma of being beat down by eight year olds."

Charlotte releases a light snort into her coffee as she has is half-lifted to her lips as Ella finishes. She swallows quickly to answer, "You likely won't find anyone in the classes younger than you are. I don't have the patience for children." She smiles lightly and takes another drink, afterwards motioning towards the paper with a lift of her chin. "The first few weeks are usually tough for beginners, but it won't kill you. You won't be sparring with anyone but me, or someone who I think suits you, for a while. You're either conditioned for it or not, but if not it's not a bad way to get in shape first."

A vivacious grin tugs at Ella's lips as she breathes a melodramatic sigh of relief. "That's a load off my mind. I'll give it my best shot, but I can't promise anything. Hopefully my body is a bit conditioned already, since I do keep with a regular exercise regimen of sneaking about and running after people for a few pictures. Oh, that and the yoga. That's nice and relaxing," she glances down at her shirt which says, oddly enough, 'Frankie Says Relax' in white writing on a navy blue background.

Charlotte nods twice and goes back to nursing the hot coffee again for a moment as she listens to Ella speak, seemingly quite interested. "You'll have a good headstart with Yoga and even moderate exercise. Yoga makes you limber at least. I did ballet and yoga when I was about your age." She pauses as though searching for anything to add, letting her gaze move about the room. "If it's nice, we'll be at the park near Santa Monica as much as we can. There's no match for running on sand, though, so we might go back between the three places. The studio is large enough, just not large enough for running."

Propping her head up on her raised hand, the same one linked to the elbow resting on the bar, Ella purses her lips together and peers hard at Charlie. Finally, she rolls her head back and forth on her hand, her lips pulling into a smile as if that's the most natural expression in the world for her. "First of all, I don't believe you're that much older than me. Secondly, I think it's an extremely awesome idea to take this outdoors. They say fresh air is good for the body, even though I dunno how 'fresh' the air in Los Angeles can really be considered. That's like calling Lake Erie 'fresh water'," she mumbles with a snort.

Charlotte smiles in the same crooked half-lift of the sides of her mouth, and she sets her coffee cup down on the counter for now, pulling her second leg under her with the first to sit crosslegged. "You read my mind, but unfortunately I can't ask my classes to get on a plane, fly somewhere that isn't an infested hole for trash, and fly back for dinner." She pushes one hand through her hair before resting both on her thighs, her posture still quite straight. "But, it's a good start at least. I'd like to pull a few Sundays to get a bus and get away for some long classes, but that'll take a while yet."

Ella sits upright all of a sudden, her coal black hair drifting lazily across her cheeks. "Oh! Like a field trip! I remember back in grade school going places on the bus, like the world's largest ball of twine and the biggest llama farm in the county. Ah," she reminisces fondly, "Those were the days. Sure, I'm game for that. As long as maybe I can nap on the way to wherever we'd be going? I work late nights sometimes on Saturdays. And so long as I can bring massive amounts of bug spray. Mosquitoes and horseflies are definitely not my friends."

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