(Untitled)

[thanoodles]

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[shadingtogray]

[ooc; lmao and I just realized Zooey Deschanel bears a passing resemblance to the actress who plays Amanda's daughter... and coincidental name similarity. :')]

[ Amanda is both lost in her thoughts and starting to be a little drunk by now, and so she doesn't notice Bonnie coming up next to her until she speaks. She blinks over at her, a little startled. Young, maybe a little less than twenty years younger than she is, brunette, big blue eyes, small and fragile. If her features were a little less defined she would look almost exactly like Zoe; as it is, the resemblance is close enough to make Amanda's breath catch a little.

And the alcohol makes her slower to react, leaving her staring for a few moments before she finally manages to control herself. Amanda swallows, pushing her hair back from her face one-handed, the other still holding onto her glass like it'd disappear if she let it go. She manages a tiny grin, a half-intoxicated attempt at good humor. ]

Think there'd be a lot of people like that in a bar. People come here for that, right? Drown their sorrows.

[ She's not really bothering to hide her feelings, on the other hand. It's not that she's upset about anything in particular. This state of mind tends to become fairly constant when she doesn't have something else to distract herself with. It's why she's here drinking. At some point the euphoria of alcohol will counteract the nagging anxieties and the feeling of unbelonging she's had ever since she ended up in this city. She doesn't know how long it's been for her, either. Time slips by without her notice. ]

[prescientific]

( ooc; lmfao dhkjs that's beautiful )

( Head tilting a little bit as Amanda replies, she takes her time to think over that reply. Partly it's because her head feels all full up with cotton, a dull ache starting to thud through, so that one very pale hand snakes into her pocket. One of many pockets, rather, part of her battered old jacket that used to be dark green, once upon a time, but was now a dull grey. She's slowly fiddling, fingers playing with the white cap on an orange bottle to silently ease out a couple of pills and keep them at her fingertips. Not taking them, not yet - not in front of this new unknown, but in contact so she can swallow them any time.

Finally, she nods. Bonnie speaks slowly; force of habit, plus that Southern drawl of hers working into every part of her, like she lives in the rhythm set by the way her words fall. ) Sure. Some've them might be hopin' to do other things, though.

( She slips onto the stool next to Amanda, keeping her gaze on the bar. Eye contact is difficult, challenging, and she's been taught not to do it, these days, even if she sometimes falls back into it by accident. ) I never said you had sorrows, though. Just that you were tense. ( And she accepts a glass of milk being slid across the bar to her - her order has remained contant the last few times she's visited. )