Heather Lisinski (irradiated_ants) wrote in ridgewayresort, @ 2010-04-24 00:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | eliot spencer, heather lisinski |
desperate need for a drink
Who: Heather, Eliot, and anyone else needing a drink after watching their own shows.
What: Not wanting to drink alone you have to reach out and touch someone right?
When: Midnight
Where: The Ice Room
Rating: PG-13 just in case for language
Status: Complete
She didn't care that she looked like a waterlogged dog. She didn't care that she left puddles leading from the front door to the bar, she didn't care that there wasn't anyone in side. Dressed in just a simple pale blue tee shirt, a pair of jeans and some hightop bright red converses. She knew she didn't match, but that was just something else she didn't care about. Her hair was pulled back into a messy, wet ponytail, her bangs hanging down in her face in a sloppy manner.
Heather was five foot nothing, big bright blue eyes, and dark brown hair. She screamed girl-next-door. The kind you played football with, the one that wasn't afraid to knock you on your ass with a tackle. The sort of girl that would come help you fix your clunker when you were sixteen and it had stopped running. The sort that would go to the strip club with you if no one else would go, not the awkward kind that sat in the back of the booth she would waved dollars right at your side. The kind of girl that understood guys better than she did her own sex. And if you looked like shit, she wasn't afraid to tell you so to your face.
She was soaked to the bone, having walked rather slowly to the club. Turning back almost four times, just to turn right back around and head a little farther up the hill. It wasn't a horrible idea. Eliot seemed nice enough. He wouldn't drag things out of her she didn't want to talk about. And it was just one drink. As far as she knew she was already in that 'friend' slot. The nice girl was never more than that.
She was leaning over the counter top looking at all the labels on the back. Did this call for something stronger than a PBR? Or would that do? He did say just one. The club was pretty quiet behind her. Maybe music should have been on her agenda first? Clubs were never really her thing, she preferred a nice darkly lit bar over a sparkling club anyday.
If she were back home she would have been elbow deep in an engine instead of exorcising the need for booze. Repairing Charlotte had always been something that soothed her, working with her hands was like meditation to a Buddhist. Now she wasn't even authorized to work on a damned golf cart.