You'd make a fineshrine to me. [prp Beau]

[Billy]

(( Started this post like HOW DO?? struggled through the first paragraph and thought to myself ''fuck this is going to be short'' somehow transformed into this big rambling thing. um. ok. lav u brink))
--

The bar smells disgusting.

It's smoke, sex, and alcohol. There are drunk women grinding on drunk men and people in the booth who are entirely too close. She'd never quite liked bars. Even when she'd snuck into him, her eager boyfriend at her arm -- light eyed. She'd been annoyed by the end of the night. Mick had been a notorious man, a swindler and gang leader. And she'd been his female. But before the obligation of power baring down on her halo of hair, he'd been the one to take her as she sat at the curb. A bagful of belongings clutched in her hands, and teach her how to hold her own in the world. She'd been ten the first time she successfully stolen a wallet. And she'd been fourteen the first time she'd stolen it from a drunk man.

But despite those hard learned lessons. Sometimes soft kisses followed and other times aggravated fist. She'd learned. She'd survived. She'd gotten those new pair of boots that looked too fancy in the window. And pretty soon she hadnt needed Mick to get more either.

Even if the familiar pangs in her stomach curl up like butterfly fringes and brush heartstring. It's nostalgia -- and compared to the broken heart and the memory of a little brown eyed baby smiling. It amounts to nothing. And she's confident as she strides into a small towns bar, just North of Kentucky's border. Her leather boots, creased with age, buckling bright against the floor. A grin that's perked at the sides at just the right angle. Jeans that are far too tight. And the only thing on her mind the little voice that's louder than ever that says --

You've got gas to pay. A mouth to feed. Do what you gotta'

And she was going to. Because this was real life. This wasnt home anymore. Her mother wasnt going to leave a bag of lunch on the stool. And Mick wasnt going to come home with a bag of greasy french fries, ruffle her hair, and tell her ''You think i'd let you starve Billy baby? Naw' I got ways girl, ways you aint never gonna even dream about." And she was alone. She was alone and she was a werewolf and she was a survivalist.

And if she was hungry, she'd even settle to eat one of these men. Looking at her so closely. Licking there lips thirstily. Eager to drink her in, to touch her. That feeling that she was something dangerous. A foreign beauty. It was attractive to them, drew them in like honey to bee's. But she wondered when she'd meet someone -- if she ever did -- who'd listen to that instinct deep in his gut that told him to run. She wondered if she'd chase him.

She takes a seat at a stool near the bar. Gestures for the tender to come over and orders whiskey on the rocks. Eyes darting around the bar to meet every eye that'd watched.

But remaining on a baby faced man's. And something clicks. A smile curls up the side of her lips as she takes another sip. Stands and moves gracefully over and says with flirt in her voice. "What's a man like you doin' in this kinda place?" Because despite how cheesy that might have been, he does look uncomfortable and out of place.

She wonders if he should be off attending to a pretty little lady at home as soft as a sparrow. And not at this bar being sung to by a canary.

Billy shuffles her drink to her right hand and holds out her left. "Im Billy."

[Beau]

the atmosphere of the bar is hard to shrug off. The oppressive rabble and noise weighs down on him, seeping into pore and lung. Tangible, uncomfortable, grubby hands sliding over skin, leaving blackened palm-prints. Beau clearly wasn't one for bars. Not places like these, where half of the customers end up pushed against the back alley wall or falling into cheap motel beds that creak and groan.

Sitting at the bar, stirring ice cubes in the bottom of an empty glass, he's more a fixture that anything else. Unresponsive to the other patrons, men looking for someone to listen to them whinge or women who see a youthful face and a boy not drunk enough to have emptied his wallet this early in the night. More than a fair amount of others have offered to unburden their troubles on him or show him a good time. But Beau is stationary on his stool while the rest of the bar slurs and sways, willing himself to be unnoticed because all he wants is a drink, not the company of the intoxicated.

This wasn't a social outing for the troubled-looking man. Drinking was more of a therapy than a vice for him.

His evening's plans go awry when he happens to glance upwards, catches the eye of someone he doesn't know or care to know. Blue eyes are averted promptly, back to staring at nothing.

"What's a man like you doin' in this kinda place?"

Glances up again to see the pretty stranger with a drink, apparently having took his look for an invitation. It wasn't. It's a cheap line, probably uttered more than once during the course of the night. "Drinking," he grunts in reply, rattling the ice around the glass. In reality, his glass had been emptied a while ago and he's declined another. But 'drinking' sounds better than just 'sitting'.

"Im Billy."

He shifts to face her, considers blowing her off, finding something dismissive to say. But she doesn't seem like the type to be warded off so easily. Clearly hesitates before shaking her hand, almost uncertain about the action. "Beau." The answer is curt, and he says nothing else. Maybe a lack of encouragement will send her off chasing more willing prey-- or maybe he's already been marked for slaughter and just doesn't know it.

(ooc. this is me giving you practically nothing useful because I dont know how to write)

[Billy]

Of course Billy's always had a fleeting confidence. Especially when she's not backed up by the ever present men in her life and she's out in the middle of the ocean floating all of her own. Some unspeakable horrible monster breathing down the back of the neck that would die for her and at the same time consume her.

"Drinking,"

It's a obvious reply to a obvious question. And Billy makes a silly frowning face before she clarifies. "No, I meant like ya' aint looking all that pleased as punch to be here." She jumps brown eyes around the bar. "Like everyone else."

But that man is still fairly dismissive in his tone as he practically shoves her away. And it's maybe the blonde woman's pride - and the thought of having to stay stranded in some podunk town that smelled to much like dust - that keeps her firmly rooted in her spot. And that keeps her absolutely determined to complete her mission. Even if this baby faced stranger is nothing short of some douchebag. It's the wolf rearing it's ugly head that fails to realize there are literally a dozen other men in this bar who'd be ripe for the picking too.

She stands there, swiveling her glass thoughtfully as she waits. And when the man finally gives his name, almost as queer as her own,

"Beau."

She takes his hand in hers and shakes strongly. Then invites herself into a seat adjacent to him. Taking another small sip of her drink and licking her lips free of the remain. "Real nice t' meet ya Beau." She says. Leans on her elbow and looks interested and bright eyed. "You live in this town? Is it nice here?" But really probably only cares on a very shallow level.

Is it sunny in the summer? Are the people nice? Translating into: Are people in good enough moods to not notice me stealing their wallet. Ramsacking their house. Shitting on allllll the flowers in their garden.

[Beau]

He is resolved that he might be to be left to his own devices, but the girl can't be let in on those plans because she keeps on, clarifies the original question.

"No, I meant like ya' aint looking all that pleased as punch to be here. Like everyone else."

He almost resents being compared to the rest of them, like his not being bow-legged, falling-down-drunk was a mistake on his part. But, this hadn't been his first choice, no. "Dickface at the mini-mart wouldn't let me buy any Jack. Said my ID was fake." Clearly disgruntled about it. Nice evening of getting drunk in a cheap motel room gone awry because some self-righteous shithead who couldn't deal a real ID from a fake. Instead he was here, shaking hands with a pretty girl who wouldn't shut up. She's got a strong grip, not that he should be surprised someone so forward does.

"Real nice t' meet ya Beau. You live in this town? Is it nice here?"

If this is how the night is going to go, playing question and answer with the unwavering, unfamiliar girl, he decides against declining a refill when the man comes back 'round at his behest. Beau's wave brings him over, points down at the glass. Stony-eyed bartender waits until his wallet is pulled out of his back pocket and he digs through it to pay before pouring out another measure of bourbon.

Retrieving his glass, he shrugs. "Wouldn't know, don' have the pleasure of livin' here. Seems to me to be a generally shit place t' live though." Maybe he speaks a bit too loud, but no one seems to be interested in their conversation. Besides, it's only a half-truth: Beau may not live here, but he grew up in a town no different. Turning 'round to recline back against the counter top, watching the drunkards. Could be the same people of childhood, just different faces.

Watches for a bit more before returning his attention to the blond stranger who asks too many questions. Counters the first inquiry of the interrogation with, "So, what'sa girl like you doin' here? Gotta be finer establishments in this town, I imagine." Probably not, but it kept him from having to talk anymore.

[Billy]

"Wouldn't know, don' have the pleasure of livin' here. Seems to me to be a generally shit place t' live though."

Most of the podunk towns she passes through are shit towns. The men are too lonely and prideful and the women are too thin and insecure. Billy's only ever been to a city twice and city life seemed infinitely more exciting then living in one of these cesspools. But of course whatever feelings of city life she craved were practically shat on when she'd been bitten. Shattered with a animal's need for wide open space and combined with her need of privacy it was a hell of a doozy.

"Just passin' through then? A lone wolf? I getcha, I getcha."

But now she's generally interested. She's never quite rattled anyone who traveled too. Didnt know the rules of this games or the boundaries. Could she get away with taking his wallet? Would he follow her? Was he some kind of murderer hiding in plain view. Running from the law? Billy reckoned she always had a thing for bad boys. Then again.

Who else would settle for her these days? Her bark never nastier then her bite. Literally. She scoffs silently into her drink at that, thinly amused as she sips.

"So, what'sa girl like you doin' here? Gotta be finer establishments in this town, I imagine."

She gives him a skeptical look through the corner of her eyes. Setting down her drink and moving a stray piece of hair from her face and exclaims, "I highly doubt there are any ''finer establishments' here." Brown eyes flit around the room for a moment. Then land back to her person of interest, grinning at Beau honestly. "I dont like routine, figured I'd hunker down for a night. Go get myself a nice drink and have m'self a conversation with a nice man."

There is nothing smarmy about what she says. Nothing forced or edged with deceit.

"I knew I was gonna get one a' the other and lemme tell you, these drinks taste like shit."

She grimaces to make her point, laughing something small as she moves her glass around and set's it on the table firmly and loudly. She hesitates for a moment, seeming a bit nervous before catching Beau's eye. "Y' wanna get outta here? I could get ya' some good Jackie and I figure it'll be hella lot cheaper then stickin' round with these folks."

Plus she cant pay the bills and the bartender can only keep that boner up for so long before his brain starts getting blood again. She doesnt wanna be here for that.

[Beau]

"Just passin' through then? A lone wolf? I getcha, I getcha."

A nod, not in agreement, but simply in acknowledgment that she's still talking and he's downing is drink. Considers ditching the girl, the interrogation, this hole of a bar for his room. Little to no improvement, but he could wash himself of the stares Billy attracted, from men and women alike, some envious and others downright invasive. Considers it, but still has yet to unroot himself from the stool.

"Gon get outta here in the mornin'. Maybe head out east, go see the ocean or somethin'." Those were just plans made up on the spot, something that sounded as if he had some sort of pre-decided destination because he only had the loosest idea of where he wanted to be right now and that was to be the hell outta Kentucky.

"I highly doubt there are any ''finer establishments' here. I dont like routine, figured I'd hunker down for a night. Go get myself a nice drink and have m'self a conversation with a nice man. I knew I was gonna get one a' the other and lemme tell you, these drinks taste like shit."

Can't argue with that. Most counties round here are probably dry anyway, this being one of the few places where everyone can come and blow their meager paychecks. Glancing over at her while she talks, he tries to pick up on a tell, peel away any the layer of deception he's pretty sure is there and find out what she's got in her head. He finds nothing. Relatively open, uncoloured by pretense or dishonesty. Either she was exactly what she seemed to be or she knew her way lie too well. The man wasn't sure which made her more interesting. Issues a thin smile and still tries to figure her.

"Y' wanna get outta here? I could get ya' some good Jackie and I figure it'll be hella lot cheaper then stickin' round with these folks."

He turns towards her now, baby blues narrowing slightly, still trying to see through her because that subtle change, an almost imperceptible shift towards uneasiness that pushes him towards the same. Like she's got something to hide. Beau still ain't entirely sure he wants to find out. Nonetheless, he pushes his emptied glass across the counter and stands anyway. "Hell, anything would be better than these watered-down, overpriced drinks anyhow." A part of him still warns against it, something primal that has yet to overrule the conscious mind's desire to be near the pretty girl with decent booze, but sometime following your better judgement can get downright old.

And if her boyfriend is waiting outside to kick the shit out of him and steal his money and keys, well, he can just mark this down in the 'lessons learned' column.