feminaferus:

           Arching her brow at the woman she looked her over as to took the seat next to her, something that elicited the bare rumblings of a growl along the ridges of her throat, but it was a mirthful laugh that escaped instead as she moved to answer the woman’s question. ❝World War I. World War II. Havin’ my bones grafted to adamantium. Take your pick…just don’t sit next to me.❞

            _{She remained a delicate combination of intrigued and irritated. Elsa couldn’t help but wonder if this was the way people felt when they approached her and she treated them like they weren’t worth her time. Though this was a bit different. She wasn’t really certain what to call this woman’s attitude. She regarded her skeptically. By no means did she look to be as old as she claimed she was – and in the case that it was true, why be in a war to begin with? Typically she would blatantly call someone a liar but she felt this situation called for a little more finesse. ❝I like this seat. It's particularly comfortable. How about you just let me buy your drinks for the night so no drunk off his ass idiot comes over and picks you up and we have a barely civil passive-aggressive conversation like most women?❞}