"3 Shots of Whiskey" Ellen/Eliot for Telaryn
Title: "3 Shots of Whiskey"
Author: Lerah99
Rating: G
Word Count: 427
Prompt: Eliot/Ellen fic. Any rating, just GIMME! from telaryn
Fandom: Supernatural & Leverage
Pairing(s): Gen Eliot & Ellen fic
Summary: He isn't the first half scared kid to walk into her bar.
He isn’t the first half scared kid to enter her bar.
He squares his shoulders and walks with the slightest hitch on the right side. Cracked ribs and desperately trying to look like he can still hold his own in a fight.
The hunters glance at him and go back to their business. Cocky teenagers die fast on the road, too convinced they are immortal to take the proper precautions and too angry to care.
Ellen wipes out a shot glass and pours the kid a shot of cheap whiskey. If nothing else it should take some of the sting out of those ribs. He slides a five out of his pocket and across the bar before downing the shot. Up close she can see bruises on his neck and jaw. There are lumps under his long sleeved shirt that are most likely bandages. Each of his knuckles are scabbed over. From the coloring of the bruises, she’d guess he got his ass kicked well and good about 3 days ago.
His shoulders slump slightly and Ellen can see the pain and exhaustion weighing down on him. God, he’s nineteen if he’s a day and already his eyes are flat and hard like a dog expecting to fight for every scrap. These are the same eyes she sees every day in the hunters that pass through. The eyes of men and women who understand death on a visceral and personal level.
Yet, there is something about the tilt of his chin and the arrogant twist of his lips that makes his youth obvious. She pours another shot and offers the kind of gruff indifference that won’t send the kid running.
“There are some rooms round back and a shower if you need it. Twenty dollars a night, solid core door with a couple strong locks and about 10 minutes of hot water if no one beats you to it.”
The kid looks at her, straight and unflinching. Assessing her angles and trying to figure out if she’s running some sort of game on him. She lets him look.
Finally he nods. “Thanks.” He slides a twenty across the bar and downs the second shot.
She pulls a key off the peg board under the bar and hands it over. “If you need anything just ask for Ellen. One of the sad bastards will know where to find me.”
“Eliot. And if anyone comes asking for me, shoot them.” he says as takes the key from her hand.
She just nods and pours him another shot.
Author: Lerah99
Rating: G
Word Count: 427
Prompt: Eliot/Ellen fic. Any rating, just GIMME! from telaryn
Fandom: Supernatural & Leverage
Pairing(s): Gen Eliot & Ellen fic
Summary: He isn't the first half scared kid to walk into her bar.
He isn’t the first half scared kid to enter her bar.
He squares his shoulders and walks with the slightest hitch on the right side. Cracked ribs and desperately trying to look like he can still hold his own in a fight.
The hunters glance at him and go back to their business. Cocky teenagers die fast on the road, too convinced they are immortal to take the proper precautions and too angry to care.
Ellen wipes out a shot glass and pours the kid a shot of cheap whiskey. If nothing else it should take some of the sting out of those ribs. He slides a five out of his pocket and across the bar before downing the shot. Up close she can see bruises on his neck and jaw. There are lumps under his long sleeved shirt that are most likely bandages. Each of his knuckles are scabbed over. From the coloring of the bruises, she’d guess he got his ass kicked well and good about 3 days ago.
His shoulders slump slightly and Ellen can see the pain and exhaustion weighing down on him. God, he’s nineteen if he’s a day and already his eyes are flat and hard like a dog expecting to fight for every scrap. These are the same eyes she sees every day in the hunters that pass through. The eyes of men and women who understand death on a visceral and personal level.
Yet, there is something about the tilt of his chin and the arrogant twist of his lips that makes his youth obvious. She pours another shot and offers the kind of gruff indifference that won’t send the kid running.
“There are some rooms round back and a shower if you need it. Twenty dollars a night, solid core door with a couple strong locks and about 10 minutes of hot water if no one beats you to it.”
The kid looks at her, straight and unflinching. Assessing her angles and trying to figure out if she’s running some sort of game on him. She lets him look.
Finally he nods. “Thanks.” He slides a twenty across the bar and downs the second shot.
She pulls a key off the peg board under the bar and hands it over. “If you need anything just ask for Ellen. One of the sad bastards will know where to find me.”
“Eliot. And if anyone comes asking for me, shoot them.” he says as takes the key from her hand.
She just nods and pours him another shot.