It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight
Really, the Wraith has come to talk to Weaver - but with the dark-haired women absent at the moment, Wessex orders a drink (as she does, every now and then) and as she waits, leans back on the bar, elbows on the edge. Cool, calm, collected - a manic pixie cut and hard edges in some leather and too-thin pants - perhaps too much bravado in a woman of her age, but the one thing that is universal is the loss of ability to give a fuck as you get older.
Wessex has zero fucks to give right now.
Once she has a drink, someone seems to catch her attention, and she crosses to the table of two. There’s a brief exchange, a joke and one of the others seems to point at her glass and crack a joke. She laughs along, takes a sip, and then manages to disentangle herself a few minutes later. Perhaps a little less amiable, but not ready to head back out into the cold yet. She’s about to settle herself into the table closest to the door when the ‘new’ guy gives her pause. Unable to recall if she’s seen him before (sometimes people look the same under all those furs), Wessex slides her way across the buzzing floor to him.
With half-narrowed eyes, the blonde asks, “You… new?”
Wessex has zero fucks to give right now.
Once she has a drink, someone seems to catch her attention, and she crosses to the table of two. There’s a brief exchange, a joke and one of the others seems to point at her glass and crack a joke. She laughs along, takes a sip, and then manages to disentangle herself a few minutes later. Perhaps a little less amiable, but not ready to head back out into the cold yet. She’s about to settle herself into the table closest to the door when the ‘new’ guy gives her pause. Unable to recall if she’s seen him before (sometimes people look the same under all those furs), Wessex slides her way across the buzzing floor to him.
With half-narrowed eyes, the blonde asks, “You… new?”
