Lana Lang (
manorsuperman) wrote in
warmwitchsblood2011-10-15 01:17 am
Entry tags:
the foggy goggle } { let me get mine, you get yours
[Lana was in between towns. It seemed like she always was these days. She couldn't keep to Kansas anymore, not since there was a brand new apocalypse that seemed to be brewing. Buffy had already tried to talk her into coming back into the fold, but that wasn't for her. She was her own Slayer. She was going to do this her way.
Her way lead her here to this bar, seeking some downtime. She needed people, people to share a drink, a game, maybe a bed with. Lucky for her, she found a broad-shouldered, plaid wearing, no doubt very tall man sitting across the bar.
Hello, handsome.
She watches him with a grin and a spark in her eye, hoping to eventually catch his attention.]
Her way lead her here to this bar, seeking some downtime. She needed people, people to share a drink, a game, maybe a bed with. Lucky for her, she found a broad-shouldered, plaid wearing, no doubt very tall man sitting across the bar.
Hello, handsome.
She watches him with a grin and a spark in her eye, hoping to eventually catch his attention.]

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Or it might have had to do with the fact that she found his scotch and set it on fire. Whatever.
It didn't really make a difference. He just wound up in a bar drinking anyway. He missed his brother. Every day, it was like this gaping hole, and no matter how many demons he pulled, they weren't going to fill it. And he knew that.
Picking up the glass of scotch in his hand, he turns to scan the room, as per usual, and as he does, his eyes land on the pretty girl across the bar. He flashes her a smile back, before raising his glass to her. Who knows if she's even looking at him, but he'll do it anyway]
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Hi.
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Hi.
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So tell me, what's a fella like you doing here all by himself?
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Decided I need to get out of the house for a while. This seemed to be as good a place as any.
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I'm not too fond of the pack mentality myself. Though it does get kinda lonely every now and then.
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Yeah, every once in a while.
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[it's a genuine question, not a sleazy one]
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Don't really keep track.
Guess it depends.
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[a beat with a subtle hint of a smirk]
Sometimes my hormones.
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Nothing about the guy?
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I have a type. [her tone implies she's looking at it]
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Good to know.
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expressing that, however, is always tricky]
What about you?
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Depends.
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