Because Patrick needs to get out more. Also, George is way cool.

[american_80s]

Patrick's taken a cab down to Babylon and is walking the rest of the way. It's frustrating, but not as embaressing as pulling upside a club in a taxi. This place better be worth it

Comments

[deadlikegeorge]

George sighs, glancing at her watch for about the tenth time in as many minutes. Behind her stands the building which bears the address written on the post-it struck to the fingertips of one hand, but she has yet to run across anyone who may possibly be her mark. She figures that's what she gets for being early; Mr. Carsno's old apartment building was only six blocks away from where she stood, so she'd simply walked to her destination. She pushes a stray lock of hair from her face and then pulls her jacket closed as a sudden chill steals over her.

"Hi. You wouldn't happen to know where The Triangle is?"

"Fucking shit!" She jumps half out of her skin as she whirls to address the man and finds he's standing almost on top of her. The post-it flutters from her fingers and settles onto the sidewalk at her feet. Cursing, she instinctively takes a few steps back and stoops to pick up the note

[american_80s]

Patrick knows he looks good, but there's something just a bit wrong with the way she's gaping. He tries to smile at her, put her at ease. He's only a bit distracted by (I can't emphasis blond enough) the hair. Call it a preference.

"Are you allright? I didn't mean to startle you."

[deadlikegeorge]

George meets his gaze again, still very much distracted by the Graveling. Another creeps from around a nearby trash bin, launches itself at the man -- Bruce, her brain supplies helpfully, his name was Bruce -- and begins crawling up the back of his pants leg. Other than Ray, this is the first time she's been this close to one, and she's never seen them actually touch a living person the way they were touching Bruce. It was... disconcerting, to say the least.

"I, uh --" she pauses, swallowing. "I'm fine. Just, you know, waiting for the bus. Are you fine?" She tries to school her expression as the second Graveling begins squabbling with the first one from its perch on Bruce's shoulders. "You're Bruce, right? We met a few weeks ago, at Callahan's? You suggested the Irish Coffee?"

[american_80s]

Unconsciously, Patrick clenches a fist. Wasn't there anyone in town that Bruce didn't know? He takes a deep breath, and tries to keep up the wide grin. The images of Bruce's death, and possibly this girl's, ran through his mind.

"I'm not Mr. Gordon. I must admit, it's uncanny how similar we look, don't you think? Though I'm not sure that an Irish Coffee is what would suit you best." He looks her over, and gives a small laugh that's supposed to be reassuring. "Don't worry, I'm not a cop."