06-23-2014, 01:23 PM
Once she sat, Hood slid into the booth with her, although his lack of interest likely became evident for the space between them. She was his type, he couldn't deny that; fiery, had a back bone, probably not a total air-head, but she was also racing to be three sheets to the wind. Tanked. Full on looser pissed. Drunk girls were no fun; he wasn't interested in the chase, and equally uninterested in an easy catch. Better that they decided consciously and clearly to go home with him.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, never quite turning his attention away from the room, and let out a bark of laughter as realization finally dawned on her. "Yes. Every last fucking one of them. Or they're full raging bull-dyke bikers."
He jerked his head towards a few very large women that seemed to fit in well in the bar's environment. They weren't bikers; the season was all wrong, but they were mannishly large and just as violent seeming as their male counter parts. He hoisted his stein their way and was met with, while not friendly, at least familiar, acknowledgement.
"So you aren't a hooker. Or some high-class escort. What the fuck are you doing on this side of town? You're Russian. Either you chose to come down here, or you had a right shit day."
He wasn't exactly interested, but they were sharing a booth and he wasn't going to make any of the others jealous if he didn't at least seem interested in her. He was still itching to blow some steam. He'd been sitting idle for too long.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, never quite turning his attention away from the room, and let out a bark of laughter as realization finally dawned on her. "Yes. Every last fucking one of them. Or they're full raging bull-dyke bikers."
He jerked his head towards a few very large women that seemed to fit in well in the bar's environment. They weren't bikers; the season was all wrong, but they were mannishly large and just as violent seeming as their male counter parts. He hoisted his stein their way and was met with, while not friendly, at least familiar, acknowledgement.
"So you aren't a hooker. Or some high-class escort. What the fuck are you doing on this side of town? You're Russian. Either you chose to come down here, or you had a right shit day."
He wasn't exactly interested, but they were sharing a booth and he wasn't going to make any of the others jealous if he didn't at least seem interested in her. He was still itching to blow some steam. He'd been sitting idle for too long.