Post by Booker on Jul 9, 2014 12:32:59 GMT -6
The arrogant man placed his free hand on his pistol holster, patting it lightly. "I keep myself plenty safe," Booker snorted, his temper a bit sour from her comment. He had quite the thick skull and was full of the hottest air, the very notion that someone could possibly help him set him in a stuck up mood. He couldn't see past his experiences with the Rangers to notice their worth, all he could think about was how they angered him with their snobby, authoritative snooping when they came across anyone in the desert.
Shaking off his thoughts, Booker took the last drag from his smoke, smashing it in the ash tray. The butt smoldered, a small ember still aflame on one side. His head spun lightly, his shots of whiskey trying to digest quickly. He blinked slowly, concentrating on the wooden table before him. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed his face with both hands. Booker placed one elbow on the table, propping his head up with his arm. "One more whiskey and a bottle of beer," he called toward the bartender.
When his drinks were brought to him, he slurped down the shot of whiskey in two drinks, then fiddled with the beer without much interest. He took a sip or two every now and then, turning the bottle in his hand without thought. His muscular torso was slouched over the table, his head propped up by his arm with a growing shit-eating grin across his slightly tanned face."Sorry," Booker mumbled as he stared up at Michelle from the table, his eye sight just a bit lower than her's from his slouched position. Her chest lined up perfectly in this position to his line of sight, even though she was a few stools from him. His apology for staring was sort of redundant, as he didn't really feel sorry for staring.
The alcohol in his gut tingled, made his eyelids droop ever so slightly. His opinions seemed careless, his mind empty and lazy. He felt content with himself, not worried by the simple things he had worried about just hours before. Booker took a big swig from his beer bottle, keeping his head propped and refusing to move any other way. He licked his lips as he set the beer down on a worn coaster, two thirds of the drink already gone.
"You like stories?" Booker said a bit loudly, his eyes shining and his smile never fading. "Can I tell you about the-" he hiccuped, then continued as if he hadn't, "-pack brahmin and the fortune teller?" With his sentence complete, he chuckled shortly at himself.
Shaking off his thoughts, Booker took the last drag from his smoke, smashing it in the ash tray. The butt smoldered, a small ember still aflame on one side. His head spun lightly, his shots of whiskey trying to digest quickly. He blinked slowly, concentrating on the wooden table before him. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed his face with both hands. Booker placed one elbow on the table, propping his head up with his arm. "One more whiskey and a bottle of beer," he called toward the bartender.
When his drinks were brought to him, he slurped down the shot of whiskey in two drinks, then fiddled with the beer without much interest. He took a sip or two every now and then, turning the bottle in his hand without thought. His muscular torso was slouched over the table, his head propped up by his arm with a growing shit-eating grin across his slightly tanned face."Sorry," Booker mumbled as he stared up at Michelle from the table, his eye sight just a bit lower than her's from his slouched position. Her chest lined up perfectly in this position to his line of sight, even though she was a few stools from him. His apology for staring was sort of redundant, as he didn't really feel sorry for staring.
The alcohol in his gut tingled, made his eyelids droop ever so slightly. His opinions seemed careless, his mind empty and lazy. He felt content with himself, not worried by the simple things he had worried about just hours before. Booker took a big swig from his beer bottle, keeping his head propped and refusing to move any other way. He licked his lips as he set the beer down on a worn coaster, two thirds of the drink already gone.
"You like stories?" Booker said a bit loudly, his eyes shining and his smile never fading. "Can I tell you about the-" he hiccuped, then continued as if he hadn't, "-pack brahmin and the fortune teller?" With his sentence complete, he chuckled shortly at himself.
