Just one of those nights
Three years back...
Maybe it’s the adrenaline overload of having a job where you’re never entirely confident that you’ll live to see the weekend. Maybe it’s the fact that I was wheeling and dealing with a clan of the nastiest warlocks in this zip code before I finished my morning coffee. Maybe it was the baby-eating Lamia who sneered at me from under her cloak when I first came down the stairs, proving that one of the foulest, evilest creatures in this room was actually me…
Whatever it is, demon bars just don’t hold the same appeal for me these days.
I’m choking on the smoke-thick air that I used to lose myself in, feeling alien and out of place, even in this haven for freaks. I don’t belong anywhere anymore, except in front of a wide-eyed jury of the innocent, lying through my practiced smile.
I claim a barstool and nod for the usual. Numbness in a glass.
Christ, this is gonna be a bad night, isn’t it? I glance around the place for Lorne, but the green guy’s nowhere to be found tonight. Frowning, I turn back to the bar, mumbling my thanks when the bartender slides me my drink. I’ll tip him well tonight simply for not asking how my day went. I loosen my tie with restless jerks, dragging my fingers through my too-neat hair before taking a slug of the T’n’T. I’d better watch myself; there might not be violence allowed in the club, but if I wander outside like this, I think I might find myself looking an awful lot like an easy mark.
Shaken out of my memories by the sound of a dish breaking in the back (Sure as hell not coming out of my meager paycheck...), it's almost a shock to find myself in this same damn place, despite the fact that almost everything else in my life has changed. I've lost more than just the tie and the courtroom sleaze. I've lost my direction, my place in this epic mess. Still not good enough to be one of the tried-and-true White Hats and I left Wolfram & Hart without looking back...
I should quit moping and count my lucky stars that Lorne's letting me earn my supper here while I lay low. Mystical tat's aside, I can't exactly roam the streets of L.A. as a free man just yet. So here I am, stuck hiding out in the place that has always reminded me so damn acutely of the fact that I don't belong anywhere at all.
Rolling my stiff shoulders, I glance to my left, almost jumping when I find that I’m being watching. By … wait for the punch line … a normal human girl. A very pretty blonde girl, who smiles shyly when I return her gaze, tucking her hair behind her ear with the kind of tentative gesture that makes me think she shouldn’t be in here.
She doesn’t have a glass in front of her, but I raise my drink to her, waiting until she meets my eyes before taking a sip.
“Not drinking tonight?” I ask her, just loud enough to be heard over the noise from the stage. There’s something intense about her eyes, something that keeps me from looking away. Makes me wish she’d move a bit closer so I could see her properly. “Or will you make my night by letting me buy you something?”
Maybe it’s the adrenaline overload of having a job where you’re never entirely confident that you’ll live to see the weekend. Maybe it’s the fact that I was wheeling and dealing with a clan of the nastiest warlocks in this zip code before I finished my morning coffee. Maybe it was the baby-eating Lamia who sneered at me from under her cloak when I first came down the stairs, proving that one of the foulest, evilest creatures in this room was actually me…
Whatever it is, demon bars just don’t hold the same appeal for me these days.
I’m choking on the smoke-thick air that I used to lose myself in, feeling alien and out of place, even in this haven for freaks. I don’t belong anywhere anymore, except in front of a wide-eyed jury of the innocent, lying through my practiced smile.
I claim a barstool and nod for the usual. Numbness in a glass.
Christ, this is gonna be a bad night, isn’t it? I glance around the place for Lorne, but the green guy’s nowhere to be found tonight. Frowning, I turn back to the bar, mumbling my thanks when the bartender slides me my drink. I’ll tip him well tonight simply for not asking how my day went. I loosen my tie with restless jerks, dragging my fingers through my too-neat hair before taking a slug of the T’n’T. I’d better watch myself; there might not be violence allowed in the club, but if I wander outside like this, I think I might find myself looking an awful lot like an easy mark.
Shaken out of my memories by the sound of a dish breaking in the back (Sure as hell not coming out of my meager paycheck...), it's almost a shock to find myself in this same damn place, despite the fact that almost everything else in my life has changed. I've lost more than just the tie and the courtroom sleaze. I've lost my direction, my place in this epic mess. Still not good enough to be one of the tried-and-true White Hats and I left Wolfram & Hart without looking back...
I should quit moping and count my lucky stars that Lorne's letting me earn my supper here while I lay low. Mystical tat's aside, I can't exactly roam the streets of L.A. as a free man just yet. So here I am, stuck hiding out in the place that has always reminded me so damn acutely of the fact that I don't belong anywhere at all.
Rolling my stiff shoulders, I glance to my left, almost jumping when I find that I’m being watching. By … wait for the punch line … a normal human girl. A very pretty blonde girl, who smiles shyly when I return her gaze, tucking her hair behind her ear with the kind of tentative gesture that makes me think she shouldn’t be in here.
She doesn’t have a glass in front of her, but I raise my drink to her, waiting until she meets my eyes before taking a sip.
“Not drinking tonight?” I ask her, just loud enough to be heard over the noise from the stage. There’s something intense about her eyes, something that keeps me from looking away. Makes me wish she’d move a bit closer so I could see her properly. “Or will you make my night by letting me buy you something?”