(Untitled)

[rebelw_outclaws]

Back wall.

Cigarrette.

Feet up on the table.

Russ is a little bit in the doghouse with the Wasteland's owner. (Yeah, hahaha.)

Broody broody broody. Or possibly sulky sulky sulky. Hard to tell in the low light.

Comments

[bigdamnboots]

Okay! Vanessa is determined to do her job. She managed to do it Before, even when said customers were kind of scary-looking and in the shadows and were probably werewolves, she was pretty sure he looked familiar. Well. The customers from Before weren't werewolves.

Wait, what?

"Sir, would you like to order anything? And please remove your feet from the table."

[rebelw_outclaws]

. . . Goddammit, he'd have to get a perky one.

He doesn't move for a moment, and then deliberately removes his feet from the table.

"Beer." Beat. "Please."

[bigdamnboots]

Vanessa is not perky, she is FIERCE!

"Be right with you, sir."

And breezes her fierce self off to get one.

[rebelw_outclaws]

Russ snorts, and sits back.

He briefly considers putting his feet back up on the table, but rejects the idea.

[bigdamnboots]

Vanessa returns shortly, cold beverage in hand. She is pleased to note the continued lack of feet on the table. And... jeez, he really looks like James Dean. Enough to make a girl's heart pound faster, even if he is one of those scary werewolf types.

"Will that be all, sir?"

[rebelw_outclaws]

"Yeah. Thanks."

He eyes her as he accepts the beer.

"How old are you, kid?"

[bigdamnboots]

Vanessa, for lack of a better phrase, strikes a pose. Vogue. Chest out (but not in a slutty way), hands on hips, face set in her best unfriendly expression, lips pouty and recently markered. It's... an interesting stance.

"Old enough!"

And now, the hair toss.

[rebelw_outclaws]

. . . Russ cracks up.

"Which means what, kiddo?"

[bigdamnboots]

First, the outrage. She is being made fun of! Then, the mortification. By a hot James Dean lookalike who keeps calling her variations on "kid"! And a werewolf, but still! Her cheeks are red with from a combination of both emotions.

"I'm eighteen," she says, throwing the last syllable out like a challenge, and sulks.

[rebelw_outclaws]

He grins.

"Hey, calm down. Didn't mean anything personal."

[bigdamnboots]

Even with the grin and the good looks, he's not getting off that easily.

"It's okay. I know I look too young to be serving alcohol... but it's not like anyone really cares anymore."

Okay. Maybe he is.

[rebelw_outclaws]

"Not really, no. Y'got a name?"

[bigdamnboots]

"Vanessa Reid, atcher service. I probably should know yours, but I don't."

[rebelw_outclaws]

"Russ Harris."

[bigdamnboots]

This is not much information to go on. Must make conversation somehow! Vanessa has been socially conditioned to think that almost all silences are awkward. Besides which, there's nobody who needs serving at the moment. Might as well make conversation with Mr. Russ James Harris Dean.

"Nice weather we're having," she says, and mentally slaps herself.

[rebelw_outclaws]

He snickers. "Sorry. 'S usually enough for people to go on. You new?"