And the White Knight is talking backwards...
It’s one of those typical bars that one thinks of when they imagine bars in their mind- smokey and full of burly men ready to fight for even the slightest reason and promiscuous women who can’t be bothered to clean up enough to flirt their way around higher class establishments. There’s even a jukebox in the back playing some classic rock song that some of the more drunk individuals are singing off-key to.
Also in the back, there’s a contingent of men gathered around a table where a young woman with short black hair and blue eyes dressed in baggy clothes with a man’s overcoat tossed haphazardly over the back of her chair is arm wrestling a man twice her size.
And winning.
After successfully pinning her opponent’s arm, she jumps to her feet, upsetting her chair. "Who’s the bitch now?" She laughs in a rough voice, slapping the table and leering at him.
If she were a normal woman, she might have just gloated for awhile and left it at that, but she’s not a normal woman and she won’t stop staring into his eyes, drinking in his embarrassed anguish at being beat by what he believed to be "just a little girl" like a sweet wine. It’s not her preferred emotional sustenance, but it’ll do.
She's no longer inconspicuous... Not that she intended to be. The more who notice her, the more she gets to play, and Ronnie Thorne rather likes to play even her sort of games aren't exactly healthy for the poor souls she plays them with.
Also in the back, there’s a contingent of men gathered around a table where a young woman with short black hair and blue eyes dressed in baggy clothes with a man’s overcoat tossed haphazardly over the back of her chair is arm wrestling a man twice her size.
And winning.
After successfully pinning her opponent’s arm, she jumps to her feet, upsetting her chair. "Who’s the bitch now?" She laughs in a rough voice, slapping the table and leering at him.
If she were a normal woman, she might have just gloated for awhile and left it at that, but she’s not a normal woman and she won’t stop staring into his eyes, drinking in his embarrassed anguish at being beat by what he believed to be "just a little girl" like a sweet wine. It’s not her preferred emotional sustenance, but it’ll do.
She's no longer inconspicuous... Not that she intended to be. The more who notice her, the more she gets to play, and Ronnie Thorne rather likes to play even her sort of games aren't exactly healthy for the poor souls she plays them with.