There is avoidance and there is hiding. Rachel refuses to admit to ever doing the latter, and only ever reluctantly admits to the former. So it's less than a week of total absence from the bar before she's in it again
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"Yeah, but she's asleep right now. She gets people to work for her when she's tired." Rachel shrugs in that This-is-so-insane-I'm-not-even-going-to-try-and-justify-it way. "I'm the lucky winner tonight.
"Soda's a really bubbly sweet drink. There's, like, a zillion different kinds. You can have whatever you want, though, that's just what I put up for the specials."
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So sayeth one confused girl about to attend her first Happy Hour.
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She points at the specials board. "Want a drink?"
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She looks at the specials board. "...What's soda?"
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"Soda's a really bubbly sweet drink. There's, like, a zillion different kinds. You can have whatever you want, though, that's just what I put up for the specials."
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He wants the hell out of this bar. But first, first, he wants to slice this girl into freaking ribbons and wear them in his hair.
He waits till the rush is over and then stalks up to the bar, slow and dangerous, eyes narrowed - through the mask. Which is not coming off.
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And just a flash of red on someone's face gets her entire body rigid, adrenaline rushing through her.
She's still slicing lemons. Her hand tightens on the fruit but she forces herself not to squeeze the handle of the knife.
If he tries to say something to her, one thing, anything about what happened...
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He folds his arms and glares at her, right up at the countertop.
"You. You ever speak one word about that, you're dead."
It isn't an idle threat.
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Also? He started off the tone of this little conversation. Not her.
Rachel's eyes narrow.
"Hey, genius? I'm already dead."
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