When Fi left Michael's place at 5am, she'd been intent on going home to sleep in her own bed. She still smelled vaguely of accelerant, her hair was singed, and her nerves were well and truly fried. Michael's little melt down didn't help clear matters up.
It occurred to her that life in a war zone was far easier to deal with. Get up. Get moving
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Comments 86
There's a straight bourbon already waiting for him on the counter. Pardon him for partaking in it before he checks out the current clientele.
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There is nothing quite as delectable as a man in a well-tailored suit, she thinks.
This is clearly the universe rubbing her nose in it.
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His eyes immediately come to rest on a blurry figure nearby, possibly female, who appears to be gazing at him unabashedly. It's at this point that Indy remembers to remove his reading glasses.
"Ah. That's better," he chuckles.
A crooked smile takes shape.
"Hello, stranger."
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"Hey you. You look nice," she drawls. "Nothing like a man who knows how to wear a suit."
Still a flirt, if you considered circling sharks flirtatious.
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"What was the name of that guy, again?"
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She gives him a look. "'That guy.' Sam, you're going to have to be a little bit more specific than that."
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She takes another sip of her drink and studies his face.
"Why?"
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Luckily, by the time he approaches and notices her less-than-kempt state, he finds some words.
They are: "What happened to you?"
Reaaaaaal smooth.
"... I mean. Uh. Hi."
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Could this day get any brighter?
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Cue the awkward silence!
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She looks back down at her hands and pushes the melted cellphone at him across the bar.
"House fire."
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