[ Whiskey's a good drink for every occasion. Down in the dumps? Better order Jack. Night out? Time for some Jim. Drowning your sorrows? Order a Jameson.
Dean tends towards the cheaper end, but that's normally all that he can afford, but oh...when he comes into any cash, he's always thrilled to order something that's smooth and amber, that doesn't burn when it goes down, doesn't settle in his stomach like rocks.
He swirls said Jack in his glass, glancing over at her with a ghost of a smile, because he knows the look, even if he has no idea what caused it. ]
What can I say, I'm erudite. [ No, Dean. No you're not.
He is, however, smarter than he looks and smarter than a lot of people give him credit for. ]
I'm Dean. [ He puts a hand out, offering it to shake. ]
[ That smile, even if it's barely there, is something she needs to see. Needs, the way she needs this conversation. It crashes into her without warning like a wave colliding with rocks along the shore — a loneliness so deep that it's in her bones. She hasn't felt it in years but it's settled in like an old unwanted friend.
So, sorry, Dean. This conversation's going to last a little longer. ]
Daisy. [ She sets her hand in his, savoring the warmth of someone else's touch for the brief moments it lasts. The vibration of his body sinks into hers, her powers pulling the frequency across her senses, and for just a moment she's not so lonely anymore. ]
[ He likes daisies, they're cheerful; those and dandelions, because even if most people consider them a weed Dean doesn't. They're hardy things, sticking up through pavement and roots, living where nothing else dares. Maybe that's him, still alive simply out of spite and happenstance, sitting here in a bar with a pretty girl who's hand is warm in his. ]
[ It makes something in her ache to withdraw her hand again, to wrap it around the cold bottle of beer. The sensation is like a tactile metaphor for her life, every bit of warmth and comfort stripped away when she was torn from the people she loves and the work that gives her life purpose. But, for just a moment, she'd been able to forget.
She's grateful for that.
Like the flower. His words bring out another smile with a fondness tinged with old pain. ]
My mom used to sing that old song to me when I was a baby. You know, the one with the bicycle built for two?
[ He squeezes it lightly, but he does let go because he's not a creep, not a weirdo (normally anyway, like sure he's a little weird with his job and he's a nerd but he's not THAT kind of weird), and he doesn't want to give her any wrong impressions. ]
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do-
[ That's what comes to mind, anyway - and now that song is going to be stuck in his head for the next YEAR. ]
That's the one. [ And sorry? At least she doesn't have any childhood attachment to the Small World song. That one will stay in your head for a full decade if you're not careful. ]
I don't actually remember her singing it, just my dad telling me about it a few years ago. [ She takes another sip of her beer, rolling the taste of it over her tongue before adding an explanation that he really doesn't need. Maybe she could blame the three and a half beers she's consumed on a mostly empty stomach. Or maybe it's that loneliness again. ] I didn't grow up with my parents.
[ The turn of the conversation hits her and she immediately shifts in her seat, moving to face the counter again with an embarrassed grimace. What the hell is she thinking? ] And that is way too personal for a bar conversation. Sorry, wow.
[ Sure, it's depressing, sure, but Dean can commiserate, at least in part. Besides, what are bar strangers good for, if not telling your deepest, darkest secrets?
His lips twist in a wry smirk as he taps the lip of his glass with his fingertips, tracing the edge. ]
I barely knew my mom. [ He admits, because she shared something, he can give a little. ] She died when I was four.
[ They might just be strangers in a middle of nowhere bar but it means something that he shares that with her. Looking over at him, her expression is unreadable while she studies his face, searching for any sign he might just be messing with her. Finding none, she nods once. ]
That sucks. [ It's better than I'm sorry, at least in her mind. Everyone says they're sorry when they hear about someone else's loss but they rarely mean it. Those are the words you say when things are awkward and you don't know what else to offer this person hurting in a way you can't really understand. Everyone's pain is personal — you can only ever know your own and guess at what another is feeling. ]
Mine died when I was 26, a few weeks after I found her again. [ Daisy takes a breath, steadying herself against the wave of emotion that threatens to rise, and pushes it back down with another swallow of cheap alcohol. ]
[ No one ever knows how to react to the whole yeah, my parents are dead truth bomb. I'm sorry always feels shallow, it's the meaningless platitude that pisses him off the most, because even if the person is sorry, it's still hollow and empty and bullshit.
He nods, tipping his head as he takes a sip of his whiskey before setting it back down. ]
That's equally shitty. [ Heartbreaking, really - Dean can only guess how that feels, and he doesn't want to linger on it. If he got his mom back then lost her a few weeks later, he'd be a damn mess. ]
[ There's a lot to be angry about, for the both of them. Neither had been able to grow up the way they should have, the hope of normal childhood ripped away by forces beyond their control. Their entire lives have been shaped by losses so profound that there really isn't any way that another person could understand it unless they'd been through it too.
Raising her drink, Daisy offers a sad smile that is at odds with the strength in her voice. ] To the mothers we should have known better.
[ She'd rather not talk about the unfortunate details of her own situation, particularly since there's so much she'd never be able to tell anyone from this world, and she's got a feeling that he'd rather not discuss his own tragic past either. So, a close to that line of conversation. ]
[ It isn't fair. It isn't fair, at all. He and Sam deserved a better childhood, a better life - but they were robbed of their mother and consequently, their father in a lot of ways. They didn't deserve the garbage hand they got dealt. Judging by this interaction, he thinks Daisy deserved better, too.
Dean holds his glass up, because if there's anything that he agrees with, it's that. ]
[ Daisy contemplates the offer for a moment, weighing her options. Finish the last of her drink now and head out to her van, which she'll drive to some remote location and fail at sleeping in the back of before starting the whole process over again tomorrow... Or stay and enjoy another drink with someone who doesn't seem like a disgusting garbage fire.
Yeah, it's really no contest. ]
Why not. Turns out the company here isn't so bad. [ Her eyes briefly move past him to two of the leering creeps against the wall, after which her expression turns into something resembling a grimace. ] Not in this particular spot, anyway.
[ Her bar is very low these days but he's the only one in the building who has surpassed expectations. Jury's out on who that says more about, him or her.
She goes for a whiskey this time, the same as him. ]
I take it you frequent this sort of establishment pretty regularly. [ She's not judging! Just making an informed guess. ]
it's unbelievably obnoxious and seems to target this account of mine, specifically
[ Yeah, fair enough. Of all the douchebags in this bar right now, he's probably the best option. In his youth, he probably would've gotten turned right the fuck down and rebuffed, but as he's gotten older and gone to hell and back (literally), he's mellowed a little, and found solace in booze and porn rather than hookups. ]
You could say that. [ Really, he probably deserves the judgment, so by all means. ] They tend to be on the way from job to job. It's convenient.
[ He's not the only one who made somewhat questionable decisions in his younger years. While Daisy had never been much for random hookups on the road, she'd certainly had a string of boyfriends who had mostly been an excuse for a place to stay. She's not particularly proud of those decisions now that she's older and moderately more stable, but she'd done what she had to in order to survive. ]
What kind of work do you do that has you traveling so much? [ Picking up the glass the bartender deposits at her elbow, she eyes the amber liquid within but doesn't try it just yet. ]
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no subject
Dean tends towards the cheaper end, but that's normally all that he can afford, but oh...when he comes into any cash, he's always thrilled to order something that's smooth and amber, that doesn't burn when it goes down, doesn't settle in his stomach like rocks.
He swirls said Jack in his glass, glancing over at her with a ghost of a smile, because he knows the look, even if he has no idea what caused it. ]
What can I say, I'm erudite. [ No, Dean. No you're not.
He is, however, smarter than he looks and smarter than a lot of people give him credit for. ]
I'm Dean. [ He puts a hand out, offering it to shake. ]
no subject
So, sorry, Dean. This conversation's going to last a little longer. ]
Daisy. [ She sets her hand in his, savoring the warmth of someone else's touch for the brief moments it lasts. The vibration of his body sinks into hers, her powers pulling the frequency across her senses, and for just a moment she's not so lonely anymore. ]
no subject
[ He likes daisies, they're cheerful; those and dandelions, because even if most people consider them a weed Dean doesn't. They're hardy things, sticking up through pavement and roots, living where nothing else dares. Maybe that's him, still alive simply out of spite and happenstance, sitting here in a bar with a pretty girl who's hand is warm in his. ]
It's nice to meet you.
no subject
[ It makes something in her ache to withdraw her hand again, to wrap it around the cold bottle of beer. The sensation is like a tactile metaphor for her life, every bit of warmth and comfort stripped away when she was torn from the people she loves and the work that gives her life purpose. But, for just a moment, she'd been able to forget.
She's grateful for that.
Like the flower. His words bring out another smile with a fondness tinged with old pain. ]
My mom used to sing that old song to me when I was a baby. You know, the one with the bicycle built for two?
no subject
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do-
[ That's what comes to mind, anyway - and now that song is going to be stuck in his head for the next YEAR. ]
no subject
I don't actually remember her singing it, just my dad telling me about it a few years ago. [ She takes another sip of her beer, rolling the taste of it over her tongue before adding an explanation that he really doesn't need. Maybe she could blame the three and a half beers she's consumed on a mostly empty stomach. Or maybe it's that loneliness again. ] I didn't grow up with my parents.
[ The turn of the conversation hits her and she immediately shifts in her seat, moving to face the counter again with an embarrassed grimace. What the hell is she thinking? ] And that is way too personal for a bar conversation. Sorry, wow.
no subject
His lips twist in a wry smirk as he taps the lip of his glass with his fingertips, tracing the edge. ]
I barely knew my mom. [ He admits, because she shared something, he can give a little. ] She died when I was four.
no subject
That sucks. [ It's better than I'm sorry, at least in her mind. Everyone says they're sorry when they hear about someone else's loss but they rarely mean it. Those are the words you say when things are awkward and you don't know what else to offer this person hurting in a way you can't really understand. Everyone's pain is personal — you can only ever know your own and guess at what another is feeling. ]
Mine died when I was 26, a few weeks after I found her again. [ Daisy takes a breath, steadying herself against the wave of emotion that threatens to rise, and pushes it back down with another swallow of cheap alcohol. ]
no subject
He nods, tipping his head as he takes a sip of his whiskey before setting it back down. ]
That's equally shitty. [ Heartbreaking, really - Dean can only guess how that feels, and he doesn't want to linger on it. If he got his mom back then lost her a few weeks later, he'd be a damn mess. ]
no subject
Raising her drink, Daisy offers a sad smile that is at odds with the strength in her voice. ] To the mothers we should have known better.
[ She'd rather not talk about the unfortunate details of her own situation, particularly since there's so much she'd never be able to tell anyone from this world, and she's got a feeling that he'd rather not discuss his own tragic past either. So, a close to that line of conversation. ]
no subject
Dean holds his glass up, because if there's anything that he agrees with, it's that. ]
I'll drink to that. You want another?
no subject
Yeah, it's really no contest. ]
Why not. Turns out the company here isn't so bad. [ Her eyes briefly move past him to two of the leering creeps against the wall, after which her expression turns into something resembling a grimace. ] Not in this particular spot, anyway.
nice, DW didn't send me this notif :|
Yeah, places like this usually don't have the best clientele.
[ He gestures to the bartender for another round; whiskey for him, beer for her if she likes, or whatever else. ]
But the drinks are cheap and so's the jukebox.
ugh i hate the notif issue so much
She goes for a whiskey this time, the same as him. ]
I take it you frequent this sort of establishment pretty regularly. [ She's not judging! Just making an informed guess. ]
it's unbelievably obnoxious and seems to target this account of mine, specifically
You could say that. [ Really, he probably deserves the judgment, so by all means. ] They tend to be on the way from job to job. It's convenient.
how very rude of it
What kind of work do you do that has you traveling so much? [ Picking up the glass the bartender deposits at her elbow, she eyes the amber liquid within but doesn't try it just yet. ]