Liana didn’t normally spend her time at bars: the noise was deafening enough on its own, without the constant thrum of vibrations that followed her around; and she generally hated the smell of whiskey that seemed to permeate the air. But sometimes prices were to be paid for friends with birthdays who wanted to go out for a quick drink at their local -- what’s the term -- watering hole?
She saw him at the bar counter first, skimming over the crowds in a moment of bored curiosity. Just another face among faces; until she realized she recognized him. A second glance confirmed her suspicions and then she was abandoning the birthday party to saunter up to the bar; not that they noticed, already two or three drinks in to their celebrations.
“Hey,” she interrupted the man as politely as she could, smiling cautiously, “you’re Eddie Brock, right? Sorry to bother you, but I’m kind of a fan. I used to watch your show. Do you, um, mind if I join you,” she indicated to the empty seat next to him, “for a little while?”
@symbiiotic :: sober encounters // closed
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