Run, Desire, Run
WHO: Vanessa, John Constantine
Where: Some swanky bar. They like those things.
DATE: Backdated to December 5
WARNINGS: They are kind of sexy. I don't know if you can handle that. So I warn for it.
SUMMARY: John and Vanessa decided to meet over drinks. That's it. That's the plot. God, what more do you expect from me???
STATUS: Closed/Incomplete
It wasn't late yet, but it was getting there. John crushed out the rest of his cigarette butt in the ashtray at his table and sighed. He'd been a little early; placed a few bets with the bartender for later in the week before settling down at the table, and he knew that he still had a little time before the attraction of the evening actually showed up. She struck John as the type to believe in fashionably late, after all.
Really, it was no great hardship. After all, there was a talented little jazz band playing on the small stage, with a cute little redheaded bird as their lead singer. John didn't mind waiting a little while.
He knew that it was likely a bit much to assume she was stunning, but honestly, John was the type that had no problem with making a huge assumption now and again. There was something about the way that she wrote; not the handwriting. No, anyone could have nice handwriting. It was the teasing, the back and forth with everyone who spoke to her. The coy, the sly. John had never met an ugly lass who could play games like that. They simply never had the chance to learn them.
A pretty one, though? Oh, a pretty one knew her way around a conversation. John smiled as he lifted his drink to his mouth. Her attractiveness was an assumption, yes, but at least it was one that he could be comfortable with making.
The singer switched to a slow, sexy song, one John had never heard before. A slinky peachy pink dress clung to her slender curves, her red hair laying at her shoulders.
Hopefully, it was a sideshow while waiting for the main event.
Where: Some swanky bar. They like those things.
DATE: Backdated to December 5
WARNINGS: They are kind of sexy. I don't know if you can handle that. So I warn for it.
SUMMARY: John and Vanessa decided to meet over drinks. That's it. That's the plot. God, what more do you expect from me???
STATUS: Closed/Incomplete
It wasn't late yet, but it was getting there. John crushed out the rest of his cigarette butt in the ashtray at his table and sighed. He'd been a little early; placed a few bets with the bartender for later in the week before settling down at the table, and he knew that he still had a little time before the attraction of the evening actually showed up. She struck John as the type to believe in fashionably late, after all.
Really, it was no great hardship. After all, there was a talented little jazz band playing on the small stage, with a cute little redheaded bird as their lead singer. John didn't mind waiting a little while.
He knew that it was likely a bit much to assume she was stunning, but honestly, John was the type that had no problem with making a huge assumption now and again. There was something about the way that she wrote; not the handwriting. No, anyone could have nice handwriting. It was the teasing, the back and forth with everyone who spoke to her. The coy, the sly. John had never met an ugly lass who could play games like that. They simply never had the chance to learn them.
A pretty one, though? Oh, a pretty one knew her way around a conversation. John smiled as he lifted his drink to his mouth. Her attractiveness was an assumption, yes, but at least it was one that he could be comfortable with making.
The singer switched to a slow, sexy song, one John had never heard before. A slinky peachy pink dress clung to her slender curves, her red hair laying at her shoulders.
Hopefully, it was a sideshow while waiting for the main event.