<i>We all have a face that we hide away forever...</i> -- RD Present: The Boardwalk

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Date Posted: Sun, Sep 24 2006, 10:49pm PDT
Author: Taylor
Subject: We all have a face that we hide away forever...
In reply to: Kevin "Fury" Griffin 's message, " " on Sun, Sep 24 2006, 10:29pm PDT

Having worked out here for as long as she had, she recognized people easily and could quickly distinguish a local from a passer-by or newcomer, and so had pegged him for one of the latter the moment he had found himself a stool at her bar. The other 'tender had been taken care of him though while she was busy with other patrons, but as things had quieted and her help had gone off shift - they were on a bit of a tight budget and never had more staff on then absolutley necessary - she found herself responsible for him eventually. With nothing else to do - it was definitely a slow night - she waited until noticing that he was getting low before pouring another and sliding it in front of him, lingering there on the other side of the bar directly across from him, well aware that all of his body language screamed 'go away' but not too concerned. Her soft emerald gaze was quiet and open - friendly but not prying - and her fine lips curved into her almost-always-present smile, fingers on the bar drumming along to the beat of the song that happened to be playing. Being a Sunday, she was dressed more casual than if it were a busier night - a black beater fit to her slender torso, a pleated grey and black mini to her hips, and knee-high black boots that were much more comfortable than they looked...

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He was wearing the bomber jacket along with a grey beater and a pair of just tight enough that though should be illegal jeans that looked a bit worn. Heavy combat books were on his feet, he wasn't in combat anymore but they were comfortable and what he was used to and he didn't really care about being in fashion. His eyes lifted for just a brief second when the fresh glass was slid in front of him before he tipped his head back and took the rest of the whiskey in the first glass, relishing in the smooth burn as it made it's way down his throat and into his stomach. He didn't bother saying anything to the girl standing in front of him behind the bar - nothing to say and no thanks was necessary, no one ever thanks him for doing his job, why should he thank her for doing hers? (NT) -- Fury, Sun, Sep 24 2006, 10:59pm PDT

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