Red Dragon Great Hall
Monday, April 25th...
Dean had been to the Great Hall a few times. It was one of those places you could come to where you might actually find some peace and quiet. He'd never seen anyone tending bar here, so the drinks were usually free, which was a bonus.
Clover made a winding path through the back garden into the hall. She wore a black poets' top that had long sleeves and was fairly sheer, giving away the blush of pink covering her chest beneath. It was paired with grey jeans, designed with a sheen of silver to them and black heels. A silver four-leaf clover hung from a thin chain that rested closely against her neck. Entering the Great Hall, blue-grey eyes glanced about.
He was seated at a table, leaning back in the chair, booted feet propped up on the table, wearing his usual non-descript jeans, t-shirt, and flannel, drinking a beer in the middle of the day and contemplating....something.
The door had been held open as she looked around. Spotting Dean, she considered him quietly, then stepped away from the door—shutting it with enough force for it to make a noise, though it felt short from being a full on slam.
His heard turned when the door slammed and when he saw who it was, he uttered a small groan. "Stalking me, Red" Come to claim the goods?" Just the previous night, he'd lost a game of poker to her, and he knew she'd come to collect on the debt he owed sooner or later.
She smiled, "Red? I think you can come up with a better pet name than that Dean." moving to the bar where she fetched down a bottle of Jack—skipping a glass. "No, not stalking. I just have lucky timing." A twist to her lips. She said nothing about collecting on debts owed as she made her way over to his table.
"Give me a while and I'll come up with something a little more original." He left his feet where they were on the table, making no move to either encourage or discourage her company, only tilting his beer back for another swallow.
Fresh bottle of Jack, once opened the cap was set on the top of his table. She leaned her backside against the table top, near to where he was sitting so that she was looking to him with only the slightly turn of her head as she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long pull.
"I could have used a little luck last night," he muttered, mostly to himself.
She looked over him, "You're still in one piece. Who's to say that wasn't the luck you received."
He snorted. "I wasn't worried about Quinn. Mack is another matter. I think she wanted to rip my throat out."
Clover searched her memory. She had met Quinn once, but hadn't been well introduced to her friend. Still, even a blind man could have seen the daggers Mack had been staring at Dean. "You'd have been lucky if she stopped at just tearing out your throat." There's Clover for you, always looking on the bright side. There could have been worse!
Dean had been to the Great Hall a few times. It was one of those places you could come to where you might actually find some peace and quiet. He'd never seen anyone tending bar here, so the drinks were usually free, which was a bonus.
Clover made a winding path through the back garden into the hall. She wore a black poets' top that had long sleeves and was fairly sheer, giving away the blush of pink covering her chest beneath. It was paired with grey jeans, designed with a sheen of silver to them and black heels. A silver four-leaf clover hung from a thin chain that rested closely against her neck. Entering the Great Hall, blue-grey eyes glanced about.
He was seated at a table, leaning back in the chair, booted feet propped up on the table, wearing his usual non-descript jeans, t-shirt, and flannel, drinking a beer in the middle of the day and contemplating....something.
The door had been held open as she looked around. Spotting Dean, she considered him quietly, then stepped away from the door—shutting it with enough force for it to make a noise, though it felt short from being a full on slam.
His heard turned when the door slammed and when he saw who it was, he uttered a small groan. "Stalking me, Red" Come to claim the goods?" Just the previous night, he'd lost a game of poker to her, and he knew she'd come to collect on the debt he owed sooner or later.
She smiled, "Red? I think you can come up with a better pet name than that Dean." moving to the bar where she fetched down a bottle of Jack—skipping a glass. "No, not stalking. I just have lucky timing." A twist to her lips. She said nothing about collecting on debts owed as she made her way over to his table.
"Give me a while and I'll come up with something a little more original." He left his feet where they were on the table, making no move to either encourage or discourage her company, only tilting his beer back for another swallow.
Fresh bottle of Jack, once opened the cap was set on the top of his table. She leaned her backside against the table top, near to where he was sitting so that she was looking to him with only the slightly turn of her head as she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long pull.
"I could have used a little luck last night," he muttered, mostly to himself.
She looked over him, "You're still in one piece. Who's to say that wasn't the luck you received."
He snorted. "I wasn't worried about Quinn. Mack is another matter. I think she wanted to rip my throat out."
Clover searched her memory. She had met Quinn once, but hadn't been well introduced to her friend. Still, even a blind man could have seen the daggers Mack had been staring at Dean. "You'd have been lucky if she stopped at just tearing out your throat." There's Clover for you, always looking on the bright side. There could have been worse!