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Jan. 30th, 2020 03:44 amShe's not working today, which is a nice sort of respite. Kat loves what she does, feels like she has a purpose for the first time since accident that first took her dancing aspirations away from her, but it's also sometimes a lot. Especially lately, it's started to seem like there's always something going on. Of course, that's not strictly a work-related thing — they're all still recovering, in their own ways, from Marcus's possession — but it's definitely a contributing factor, and she could use a breather.
She could also use a drink. Going out and getting wasted isn't really her thing, but she's pacing herself, sitting at the bar a few sips into her second drink, her cane propped up against her barstool. It's nice, just getting to sit like this, to unwind for a little while and breathe. Around here, there's no telling how long any peace will last, anyway, and she has a feeling that something else is bound to be right around the corner.
That peace tends to be even shorter-lived than she expected, though at least in a small way. This bar isn't a terrible one, not so upscale that the drinks will cost a fortune but not too seedy, but nowhere is free from drunk assholes; from a table close behind her, a couple people abruptly let out a shout, probably at the sports game playing on TV, and Kat, mid-sip, is so startled that she spills whiskey on her sweater.
"Goddamn it," she says to herself, though it's a lighthearted swear. There are worse things. Peeling off her sweater, she glances amiably over at the girl nearby and, thinking out loud, adds, "Guess there's always got to be at least one table like that, right?"
She could also use a drink. Going out and getting wasted isn't really her thing, but she's pacing herself, sitting at the bar a few sips into her second drink, her cane propped up against her barstool. It's nice, just getting to sit like this, to unwind for a little while and breathe. Around here, there's no telling how long any peace will last, anyway, and she has a feeling that something else is bound to be right around the corner.
That peace tends to be even shorter-lived than she expected, though at least in a small way. This bar isn't a terrible one, not so upscale that the drinks will cost a fortune but not too seedy, but nowhere is free from drunk assholes; from a table close behind her, a couple people abruptly let out a shout, probably at the sports game playing on TV, and Kat, mid-sip, is so startled that she spills whiskey on her sweater.
"Goddamn it," she says to herself, though it's a lighthearted swear. There are worse things. Peeling off her sweater, she glances amiably over at the girl nearby and, thinking out loud, adds, "Guess there's always got to be at least one table like that, right?"
