[Location: Summit bar] Searching for a muse

[demonologist]

Wesley leans against the counter, cradling a whiskey. It's not his normal drink. It's not his normal establishment of choosing. But he's bound and determined to gather material for his latest novel-in-making. He knows that the reason why it rings so hollow to him in the rereads is the lack of true experience he has in the subject matter. And so he's here, at one of the less reputable bars in town to gather intel. To immerse himself in an atmosphere that on some levels he's not altogether familiar with.

That doesn't mean that he's not trying to blend in. To act cool. Like he belongs. How much he's succeeding, however, is up to those who may encounter him.

He takes another sip and then glances over his shoulder at the other inhabitants of the bar, looking for a lead, a spark, anything which might get his creative juices flowing.

Needless to say, Willow thinks he's at the library, doing some late research. If she knew the truth...

[OOC: Backdated to before the Sock hop]

Comments

[ location: summit bar ]

[deniedthesight.livejournal.com]

Angela's back at the bar again, nursing a glass of wine. This hasn't been one of her better nights, coming across an old journal of John's had led to re-reading some passages and triggering a few painful memories. Of the times before he'd been killed, of the horrible night it had happened, of the days after when she'd slowly been piecing things back together.

The problem was, things weren't pieced together. It had been a year and there were still too many loose ends, too many questions unanswered, and too few people around who'd be able to help. All of John's contacts had left town after he'd been murdered, fearing the same fate.

Right now she's sitting at the bar with the journal, looking down at it and trying to keep her tears from staining the pages. She should probably just put the damn thing away, but she can't stop herself from poring through the pages. There has to be something, anything, that hints at what it was that attacked him.

[ location: summit bar ]

[demonologist]

The usual hot-rodders and gang types which frequent the bar are interesting and colorful enough, but he's had run ins with them before. Some positive, some not so positive.

Besides, Wes doesn't want 'the usual', he wants to find something different than what he's used to.

That's when he spots her. The attractive brunette sitting alone. That in itself is odd enough to make him take notice. The kind of women who sit alone at a bar tend to not be alone for long, and are often disreputable of reputation. But she's dressed well and doesn't appear to be what others would call a 'floozy'. But even more interesting is that she's crying and leafing through some kind of book or diary.

His curiosity piqued, Wesley picks up his whiskey and moves nearer to her. He doesn't speak, just fishes out a clean hankie and holds it out for her to take.

[ location: summit bar ]

[deniedthesight.livejournal.com]

It takes Angela a minute or two to realize that there's somebody beside her, and another moment to realize that he's offering her something - a handkerchief. It's been long enough that a stranger's been this kind to her that she's a little bit bewildered, and she blinks at him before finally accepting the hankie.

"Thank you," she says, nodding at him and dabbing at her eyes.

[ location: summit bar ]

[demonologist]

He nods and gives her a brief sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Whatever it is."

Then realising that he's perhaps being a little forward considering they're strangers to each other.

"Forgive my manners. My name is Wesley Pryce. I just saw that you might need some assistance..." He gestures towards the handkerchief. "Well, anyway, it's clean. You can keep it."

He turns to go back to his seat.