Re: Bar: Cat/Matt
Cat liked the busy nights. They went fast, and they went loud, and they reminded her of home, of the gaming hall there. Oh, it was a very different environment, and there weren't any crime organizations making quiet plans in the backroom. But she liked the bustle of it, and she liked how alive it was. She was standing there, thinking about the holidays, about giving Jude and Sasha the day off, but of staying open herself. After all, she had no family to speak of, not besides Sasha, and they'd never been the turkey-carving type. Eddie would invite them, she suspected, but she could still open the bar on Christmas, give people a place to drink, a place to not be alone.
She was lost in those thoughts, and then she saw him.
He was tapping his fingers to the bar, hand gloved, and it was like a spark of shock, of recognition. She'd seen him before, this man who wore gloves indoors. Oh, her memory was terrible. She played it off, and she pretended, but her entire time with the Russians? Those years playing double agent? They were all clouded in nothing, and she couldn't ignore the sensation of clouds parting just a little.
Casual, nearly painted-on jeans and boots, she walked over to the man with the messy hair. She wasn't behind the bar, and she was sway and grace, and she moved like she owned the place. Because, well, she did own the place. "Everything alright?"