09-30-2013, 02:56 PM
Claire sighed. Both men at the bar were older, quite a bit older than she. And one of them, a stocky blonde who looked more a 'surfer dude' than a home-grown russian was watching here with quite a bit of fascination. That meant it was time to turn on the charm. If she were going to get a job as a server, she had to show off that she was good with patrons. She flashed him a smile and started to go over.
His friend's tumbling out of his seat stopped her. Her jaw dropped in shock and she looked around a few times. Should she go help? Or stay out of the way? Or better yet, leave altogether?!
The guy's friend waved her over. She was not expecting that. And for his attitude, she flashed the inattentive barman a daggering glare. In the US, it was illegal to let a man become dangerously intoxicated in an establishment. It opened the business up to lawsuits, a problem the Novak women were all too familiar. Perhaps it was different in the CCD? So many things were legal here.
She hefted her purse as the guy's friend checked him out. From her vantage, it looked like he'd smacked him on the face. Or maybe he was just trying to get him to snap out of it. She started to kneel.
Then the guy literally FREAKED OUT.
Claire gaped at his shuffling paranoia. She reached out a hand to soothe him, yet he scrambled away nonetheless, uttering apologies about who knew what kind of nonsense.
She exchanged a look with his friend and took a step back herself. If this was the kind of place that attracted skitzos and freaks at this time of day, she wasn't sure she was too interested in putting in an application anymore. Then again, in this part of the city a girl couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting some crazy S.O.B.
The fear in his eyes was real. The poor guy was obviously insane. Or soooo drunk that he was ... hallucinating? Her heart went out to him, and she thought through the contents of her bag. She had nothing on her capable of inducing peace of mind. Even if she did, she wasn't sure she could carry out the spell without practicing first. Like on a gerbil or something.
It was hard to tell whether the mumble of his speech was slurred with alcohol or was only incoherent to her ears. She hadn't heard a real Texan accent thick as his since ... never. Except on TV. Like that one guy her grannie used to go on and on about. Always talking crazy about revivals and moral codes and the 'End Times'. What was his name again? Gran nearly fainted when she heard what her fave preacher man did in his spare time.
She talked to the guy, "Look I don't think anyone wants to hurt you. Let's get you some water or something."
She turned to his friend, lowering her voice. "How much has he had?"
Edited by Claire, Sep 30 2013, 03:41 PM.
His friend's tumbling out of his seat stopped her. Her jaw dropped in shock and she looked around a few times. Should she go help? Or stay out of the way? Or better yet, leave altogether?!
The guy's friend waved her over. She was not expecting that. And for his attitude, she flashed the inattentive barman a daggering glare. In the US, it was illegal to let a man become dangerously intoxicated in an establishment. It opened the business up to lawsuits, a problem the Novak women were all too familiar. Perhaps it was different in the CCD? So many things were legal here.
She hefted her purse as the guy's friend checked him out. From her vantage, it looked like he'd smacked him on the face. Or maybe he was just trying to get him to snap out of it. She started to kneel.
Then the guy literally FREAKED OUT.
Claire gaped at his shuffling paranoia. She reached out a hand to soothe him, yet he scrambled away nonetheless, uttering apologies about who knew what kind of nonsense.
She exchanged a look with his friend and took a step back herself. If this was the kind of place that attracted skitzos and freaks at this time of day, she wasn't sure she was too interested in putting in an application anymore. Then again, in this part of the city a girl couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting some crazy S.O.B.
The fear in his eyes was real. The poor guy was obviously insane. Or soooo drunk that he was ... hallucinating? Her heart went out to him, and she thought through the contents of her bag. She had nothing on her capable of inducing peace of mind. Even if she did, she wasn't sure she could carry out the spell without practicing first. Like on a gerbil or something.
It was hard to tell whether the mumble of his speech was slurred with alcohol or was only incoherent to her ears. She hadn't heard a real Texan accent thick as his since ... never. Except on TV. Like that one guy her grannie used to go on and on about. Always talking crazy about revivals and moral codes and the 'End Times'. What was his name again? Gran nearly fainted when she heard what her fave preacher man did in his spare time.
She talked to the guy, "Look I don't think anyone wants to hurt you. Let's get you some water or something."
She turned to his friend, lowering her voice. "How much has he had?"
Edited by Claire, Sep 30 2013, 03:41 PM.