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[02 Apr 2008|06:02pm] |
Julie hummed to herself as she worked on cleaning the bar. Basketball was over for the weekend and there weren't many patrons in the Lighthouse that evening. The regular foursome of elderly card players had a table toward the back that she checked every so often to make sure they were well supplied with drinks and snacks, but aside from that the bar was mostly empty and she was getting a headstart on cleaning.
The door chimed and the werewolf looked up from her task to see a familiar face walk through. It had taken her a long time to work through her anger at Hannah's death and not place the blame squarely at Whistler's feet. It had been difficult, even knowing it wasn't his fault she'd still wanted to blame him but eventually she'd worked through it.
"Hey stranger, long time no see," she greeted him with a friendly smile and moved to go back behind the bar. "What are you drinking tonight?"
Whistler had intentionally missed the earlier festivities. Not that he couldn't get wrapped up in the 'Road to the Final Four' (and he was a fan of college basketball), but with so much pressing on his mind of late, he couldn't bring himself to paste on a fake smile and make small talk. He'd especially hoped that Connor wasn't working this late; while their last conversation had gone well, by now he'd probably heard about Rhiannon's forced commitment to the latest government blunder and worried that the blame would be spread around. After all, the Agent was supposed to 'know stuff' like this in advance.
Except when it involved him directly or indirectly. Then the bets were off.
He glanced up from the polish of his shoes and gave a tired smile to Julie. "Whatever you've got that's guaranteed to peel wallpaper," he replied. "And then set it on fire, would'ja?"
( Do you trust your government? )
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