(Untitled)

[themanclion]

He'd been expecting this. He hasn't been able to go home (again) because of the state of his face (almost better but not quite) and he hasn't paid any cash money for his room and food...or drinks, which total more than the first two put together. So he just sighs when he gets the note and asks,

'Will this make us even?'

No reply from Bar. He could

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[manic_vyv]

A bad smell wafts towards the bar. Followed by Vyvyan.

"Mine's a babycham."

[themanclion]

He wrinkles his nose, takes in the appearance and...appears unimpressed.

'I'm no' surprised.'

Girl.

Still. A Babycham is produced. And even opened.

[manic_vyv]

"Ta." Vyvyan takes it, and swigs it.

"What you lookin' at me with a face like a horse's arse for? Never seen a student before?"

[themanclion]

...oh God. Student.

'Nah. S'the smell. Don' you ever wash....no, of course you don'. You're a student.

Being a Student explains a lot. But doesn't excuse it, to his mind.

1982 called and said to say hullo.

[lady_bols]

He doesn't know her, really, but maybe he's learning to recognise the sound of those boots on the hardwood floor. They're really quite distinctive, as is the way she sashays across the bar, just come in from wherever it is she appears from, headed straight for him.

Her eyes narrow as she gets closer and she studies him, chewing on her lower lip.

There's a thought forming in her head.

[themanclion]

He does hear the boots though whether he automatically associates them with her is open for debate. But still, he looks over and sees her bearing down on him. A slight look of alarm forms on his face but he doesn't move, merely raises an eyebrow at her.

Last time he saw her she was spread out on his bed upstairs, snoring a bit. He thought it then and he thinks it now;

Great tits.

[lady_bols]

Something in his gaze strikes her and she feels a flush in her cheeks. Not lust, but something brighter, warmer than that. Something not unlike the sweet ache she feels when she sees Molly seated at the piano, or huddled over her books.

This is Sam's Gene, not hers, but it doesn't matter, not to look at him. He is so very dear to her heart.

She squeezes between the bar stools and stands on the brass foot rail, leaning over the bar top, crooking a finger at him.

[themanclion]

He thinks she must have something she wants to tell him. Though why she has to lean over like that, he's not sure.

Not that he's complaining, as it brings those great tits that much closer. So he just pouts a bit, looks faintly inquisitive and leans over so she can impart whatever it is she's come over to impart.