Re: End of the Bar: Adam and Sasha
Sasha hated busy nights. Well, that wasn't true. She hated when there were so many people around. It meant she had to work. Which, really, meant she had to smile and flirt and generally be pleasant. After all, the difference between a $2 tip and a $20 tip fell to a few well-placed grazes of fingers or fake smiles to make those lonely cops feel special for the evening. It wouldn't be the first time she'd lured cash out of men, but she normally went for much larger paydays. And she hated being the girl that guys wound up getting handsy with. The next guy that touched her was winding up with broken fingers. A night in jail would be worth it.
All the people inside along with constantly running around back and forth? It was hot in here. No, wait. Sorry, Johnny. It was burning ring of fire in here. Her hoodie had gotten tossed into the back, leaving Sasha dressed as though she were on a tropical island. Her jewelry was eclectic and large, a few pieces cheap touristy trash while some of the others could have been absurdly expensive. The heels she wore added several inches to her height, and the dip at the back of her flowy tank showed off her tattoo between her shoulder blades when wild brown curls slipped in front of her shoulders.
She wandered down the length of the bar, a swing of her hips that was absolutely genetic, only barely spurred on by the height of her heels and normally hidden away by thick jackets. One easy step and she slid into the spot next to the guy that looked upset about something while pathetically nursing that beer. With a wave of her hand, she flagged down Jude's attention to let him know that she had a ticket (for the couple that was dancing, which had been a really weird conversation) and slapped the order down on the bar to wait for him to get to it, paper and pen snuck into her back pocket.
Sasha tilted her head towards where this guy was looking, then turned her attention back to the man that clearly needed to drink more. "You look like you could use some tequila." She didn't sit down, simply leaning up against the bar and resting on her elbows, arms folded on the countertop. "What's the story?"