(no subject)
Damn, it's getting harder and harder these days to make friends. Maybe it's just because I don't really care to try anymore? Eh. Oh well.
One rarely drinks in the daytime, although, perhaps, the daytime is a better time to drink. Better lighting on the road home, not that Scott ever rides the roads when inebriated. A single glass of beer, a walk, then back to work. But one must take leisure sometimes, if always on alert to cut leisure short and attend to some crisis somewhere. Thus, Scott is at a table, with now half a glass of beer, writing equations on a napkin. Ah, leisure.
One is not supposed to drink in the daytime, especially with classes starting up again soon, but Nevaeh has been drinking earlier and earlier lately. Not the safest behavior, but atleast now she's choosing safer bars. Stringing in through the door, Nev walks right up to the bar, ordering herself a Mudslide before flopping back against the bar to check out the customers. Red eyes narrow behind dark glasses as she cranes her neck to try and see what cutie-McHottie in the sunglasses is writing.
Trig. Including little triangular diagrams, with the off explanatory swoosh. Scott either does not notice the notice, or isn't much bothered. Nothing secret or particularly tactical here. Just diagrams. Scott punctuates the writing, rarely, with another beer sip.
Nevaeh pays for her drink and begins to make her way in Scott's direction, nose wrinkling somewhat when she sees what's on the paper. Well that's just no fun at all. "Most people come to a bar to get away from work. Seems like you're carryin' it with ya darlin'." Nevaeh offers with a smile, southern twang drawing out her words sweetly. "I love the shade. Been looking for a new pair myself. Mind if I ask where you got 'em? Can't say I've ever seen a pair like that before." She's jealous.
"It's not precisely work," Scott explains before looking up, pen pulling off the napkin. Oh. Hello, woman he doesn't know. (There are many of these.) "The glasses are custom made. I'm sure you could acquire a similar pair. Red lenses shouldn't be impossible to find."
"Which would probably explain why you're doin' it on a napkin rather than on actual paper." Nevaeh figures out all by herself, gesturing questioningly towards the chair. She's the chummy sort. Well, that and she feels cheesy drinking by herself. "You know what company made 'em? They'd look positively sinful in deep purple."
Scott gives Nevaeh a restrained nod to the gesture. Very well. "I'm afraid I don't have much of a memory for companies. But, honestly, I am sure that red lenses are not that difficult to make. Many companies could."
Nevaeh pulls out the seat and sinks into it, setting her drink on a coaster as she ponders that. "You're probably right. Expensive though I bet. Worth it though. Better than boring 'ole black." She taps her own glasses before shooting out the same hand in his direction. "Nevaeh."
"I prefer red, yes," Scott agrees, and accepts the hand in a firm, brisk handshake. "Scott. Pleased to meet you."
"Suits your complexion." Nevaeh agrees, hand pulling back to slide a finger around the rim of her glass. "So you always come here to do your trig work? Or thought you'd kill two birds with one stone?" Get drunk and do homework.
"I'm glad you think so," Scott says to the first, and lets his hand rest on the table. "I do trig when I'm trying to relax. It's the same to me as an artist would napkin doodle when his hands are unoccupied. As long as it's not intended for anything, it's leisure."
Nevaeh's expression resembles that of a dog listening to a high pitched noise. "That's leisure? Sugah' you need to get out more." She shakes her head, a brief laugh parting her lips. "But then again, it's guys like you who enjoy this kind of stuff that keeps technology on it's toes." She shrugs and leans back, taking the glass with her for a long sip. "So you're trying to relax?"
"Because I enjoy different things than you do?" Scott asks, eyebrows raising. "I don't have a technology bent. Mechanical, yes, math, yes. This is to me what some Suess like poem would be to a technical writer. That's all. Yes. Trying to relax."
Nevaeh laughs despite his tone and arched brows. "Sorry Scott, not used to people actually enjoyin' that kinda stuff. But it takes all kinds right?" A dark furrow of brows before the expression fades back into something like friendliness. "Can't have technology without mechanics." Stated in her defense before another sip is taken. "So what's a guy like you trying to relax from? Mechanic?" Nah, too clean to be a mechanic.
"I'm a teacher," Scott states simply, with a lift of the glass and a sidelong sip at it, his eyes alert behind the glasses. Watching, of course. "Plenty to relax from."
Not much to watch beyond the faint nervous twitch of a finger wrapping around a strand of hair every now and again. "A teacher? Oh wow. Good for you. That's what I'm going to school for. Theater education. S'it hard?" brow arch over glasses. Her eyes, like his can't be seen through the glasses hiding them.
"Depends on the day, the class, and the subject matter. Sometimes you could sleep through your own lecture. Sometimes it's hard. About like any other job." Scott raises one shoulder, takes another sip.
Wow, it's just like pulling teeth. But that doesn't mean Nevaeh will stop trying to get the guy to talk. Why not, it's better than sitting by herself and having nobody to talk to. "Rewarding though right?" She asks quietly.
"Of course. Wouldn't be in it if it wasn't." Scott sets the beer down. No, talkative, he is not.
Nevaeh can do little but nod at that, eyes rolling faintly. "Of course." And to save herself from having to try and find a new topic she brings her drink back to her lips.
Scott, sensing a pause with some relief, turns his attention to the napkin scribble, running a finger along a line. The stiff set of his shoulders is mildly uncomfortable.
Nevaeh's eyes shift down to the napkin as she sighs and pushes her seat back, smile plastered on her face. "Well, thanks for letting me sit with ya darlin'. Hate drinkin' alone. I'll let you get back to your work." She has the distinct impression it'd be easier to try and chip through an iceberg with a toothpick than to get this guy into a conversation.
"Sure. Anytime," Scott says, raising his attention enough to give her a belated (or pre-emptive?) little wave, small, almost apologetic smile.
A quick, friendly salute before Nev throws back the rest of her drink before gliding back towards the bar and settling on a stool there. Maybe the bartender will have a funny story for her? Either way she leaves Scott to his work.
One rarely drinks in the daytime, although, perhaps, the daytime is a better time to drink. Better lighting on the road home, not that Scott ever rides the roads when inebriated. A single glass of beer, a walk, then back to work. But one must take leisure sometimes, if always on alert to cut leisure short and attend to some crisis somewhere. Thus, Scott is at a table, with now half a glass of beer, writing equations on a napkin. Ah, leisure.
One is not supposed to drink in the daytime, especially with classes starting up again soon, but Nevaeh has been drinking earlier and earlier lately. Not the safest behavior, but atleast now she's choosing safer bars. Stringing in through the door, Nev walks right up to the bar, ordering herself a Mudslide before flopping back against the bar to check out the customers. Red eyes narrow behind dark glasses as she cranes her neck to try and see what cutie-McHottie in the sunglasses is writing.
Trig. Including little triangular diagrams, with the off explanatory swoosh. Scott either does not notice the notice, or isn't much bothered. Nothing secret or particularly tactical here. Just diagrams. Scott punctuates the writing, rarely, with another beer sip.
Nevaeh pays for her drink and begins to make her way in Scott's direction, nose wrinkling somewhat when she sees what's on the paper. Well that's just no fun at all. "Most people come to a bar to get away from work. Seems like you're carryin' it with ya darlin'." Nevaeh offers with a smile, southern twang drawing out her words sweetly. "I love the shade. Been looking for a new pair myself. Mind if I ask where you got 'em? Can't say I've ever seen a pair like that before." She's jealous.
"It's not precisely work," Scott explains before looking up, pen pulling off the napkin. Oh. Hello, woman he doesn't know. (There are many of these.) "The glasses are custom made. I'm sure you could acquire a similar pair. Red lenses shouldn't be impossible to find."
"Which would probably explain why you're doin' it on a napkin rather than on actual paper." Nevaeh figures out all by herself, gesturing questioningly towards the chair. She's the chummy sort. Well, that and she feels cheesy drinking by herself. "You know what company made 'em? They'd look positively sinful in deep purple."
Scott gives Nevaeh a restrained nod to the gesture. Very well. "I'm afraid I don't have much of a memory for companies. But, honestly, I am sure that red lenses are not that difficult to make. Many companies could."
Nevaeh pulls out the seat and sinks into it, setting her drink on a coaster as she ponders that. "You're probably right. Expensive though I bet. Worth it though. Better than boring 'ole black." She taps her own glasses before shooting out the same hand in his direction. "Nevaeh."
"I prefer red, yes," Scott agrees, and accepts the hand in a firm, brisk handshake. "Scott. Pleased to meet you."
"Suits your complexion." Nevaeh agrees, hand pulling back to slide a finger around the rim of her glass. "So you always come here to do your trig work? Or thought you'd kill two birds with one stone?" Get drunk and do homework.
"I'm glad you think so," Scott says to the first, and lets his hand rest on the table. "I do trig when I'm trying to relax. It's the same to me as an artist would napkin doodle when his hands are unoccupied. As long as it's not intended for anything, it's leisure."
Nevaeh's expression resembles that of a dog listening to a high pitched noise. "That's leisure? Sugah' you need to get out more." She shakes her head, a brief laugh parting her lips. "But then again, it's guys like you who enjoy this kind of stuff that keeps technology on it's toes." She shrugs and leans back, taking the glass with her for a long sip. "So you're trying to relax?"
"Because I enjoy different things than you do?" Scott asks, eyebrows raising. "I don't have a technology bent. Mechanical, yes, math, yes. This is to me what some Suess like poem would be to a technical writer. That's all. Yes. Trying to relax."
Nevaeh laughs despite his tone and arched brows. "Sorry Scott, not used to people actually enjoyin' that kinda stuff. But it takes all kinds right?" A dark furrow of brows before the expression fades back into something like friendliness. "Can't have technology without mechanics." Stated in her defense before another sip is taken. "So what's a guy like you trying to relax from? Mechanic?" Nah, too clean to be a mechanic.
"I'm a teacher," Scott states simply, with a lift of the glass and a sidelong sip at it, his eyes alert behind the glasses. Watching, of course. "Plenty to relax from."
Not much to watch beyond the faint nervous twitch of a finger wrapping around a strand of hair every now and again. "A teacher? Oh wow. Good for you. That's what I'm going to school for. Theater education. S'it hard?" brow arch over glasses. Her eyes, like his can't be seen through the glasses hiding them.
"Depends on the day, the class, and the subject matter. Sometimes you could sleep through your own lecture. Sometimes it's hard. About like any other job." Scott raises one shoulder, takes another sip.
Wow, it's just like pulling teeth. But that doesn't mean Nevaeh will stop trying to get the guy to talk. Why not, it's better than sitting by herself and having nobody to talk to. "Rewarding though right?" She asks quietly.
"Of course. Wouldn't be in it if it wasn't." Scott sets the beer down. No, talkative, he is not.
Nevaeh can do little but nod at that, eyes rolling faintly. "Of course." And to save herself from having to try and find a new topic she brings her drink back to her lips.
Scott, sensing a pause with some relief, turns his attention to the napkin scribble, running a finger along a line. The stiff set of his shoulders is mildly uncomfortable.
Nevaeh's eyes shift down to the napkin as she sighs and pushes her seat back, smile plastered on her face. "Well, thanks for letting me sit with ya darlin'. Hate drinkin' alone. I'll let you get back to your work." She has the distinct impression it'd be easier to try and chip through an iceberg with a toothpick than to get this guy into a conversation.
"Sure. Anytime," Scott says, raising his attention enough to give her a belated (or pre-emptive?) little wave, small, almost apologetic smile.
A quick, friendly salute before Nev throws back the rest of her drink before gliding back towards the bar and settling on a stool there. Maybe the bartender will have a funny story for her? Either way she leaves Scott to his work.