[ The clink of the wineglass upon the wooden bar matches with the sound of her heels catching on the stool, settling her weight. She looks up from where her fingers were playing with the zip of her purse, the folded note first catching her eye, then the drink before her. Colourful. Sweet-looking. Her complete opposite.
Studying the scrawl on the slip of paper, her expression becomes more severe for a second-- the cocktail doesn't lend itself to easy drinking. It's as though he means to soften her by this. After a sip she sets it down, relaxing her look, at least, an eyebrow quirked at the paper. Only then does she take out her NV, delicately tear out a page from the back and neatly write on the (sturdier, better quality) paper; a slicing fold, a scribbled instruction to the bartender to pass it to the gentleman who bought the drink ends her brief activity.
I don't.
As though to prove it, she makes another attempt with the glass, battling with the syrupy sweetness and the fruit slices that cluster at the surface. It doesn't taste any better the second time. ]
no subject
Studying the scrawl on the slip of paper, her expression becomes more severe for a second-- the cocktail doesn't lend itself to easy drinking. It's as though he means to soften her by this. After a sip she sets it down, relaxing her look, at least, an eyebrow quirked at the paper. Only then does she take out her NV, delicately tear out a page from the back and neatly write on the (sturdier, better quality) paper; a slicing fold, a scribbled instruction to the bartender to pass it to the gentleman who bought the drink ends her brief activity.
I don't.
As though to prove it, she makes another attempt with the glass, battling with the syrupy sweetness and the fruit slices that cluster at the surface. It doesn't taste any better the second time. ]