Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step.
Daryl had been gone for most of the day. Running around with Merle busying up most of his time. Now he was back in town and wanting a little something to wet his whistle. He parked his bike outside and wandered into the bar. It was empty, which only meant one thing; closing time. He stood at the entrance for a full minute or so watching her clean tables. A new face, which caused an eyebrow to lift. Her outfit made her look like she was about to walk the corner, and her makeup was really dark, he couldn’t see the color of her eyes.
He chose to have a seat at a table she has yet to clean and waved his hand. She had stopped singing ever since he came in, and if she was working here now, why shy away from paying customers?
“Don’t stop singin’ on my account.”
The redhead blushed lightly as he mentioned her singing, surprised that he gestured for her to continue. Shaking her head a bit, she muttered something about it not being in her job description before making her way to the bar and fixing him a beer. She moved over to his table and set the mug in front of him, wiping the unused part of the table off and walking back behind the bar.
Charlie felt as though she should say something, but she she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She found herself mesmerized by him and suddenly self-conscious of her appearance. She adjusted the corset as nonchalantly as she could before turning away from him and heading to the back room to grab her coat and bag. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the windows and sighed softly. She did her best to wipe away the heavy eye make-up before returning to the bar.
Slipping her coat onto her shoulders, Charlie pulled her up into a sloppy bun and finally decided to speak to the man. “I, uh. Well, I hope I did I decent job today,” she murmured, pulling a pair of sneakers from her bag and sitting across the booth from him. She slipped the boots off her tender feet and rubbed them for a moment before pulling on the sneakers. “The waitressing part wasn’t hard anyway. I’m just not used to the outfit. I’ve never felt quite so exposed.” She wasn’t sure whether she should stay and wait for him to finish, but she got the impression he didn’t care if he had company or not. She stood, tossing her bag over her shoulder and moving towards the door.
The man stifled a laugh when he heard the remark about the outfit. “There are worse outfits.” Fingers against the base of the mug, he turned it inch by inch clockwise as he watched her change shoes. “New aroun’ here?” he asked, sticking a hand in his pocket and pulling out an open carton of cigarettes and a lighter. Pulling an individual cigarette out of the carton, he put it between his lips and lit it. “Or are ya jus’ lookin’ to make some money?”
She was…different. In what type of way he was unsure.
Taking a few drags, he let the smoke pour out from his lips and into the air around him. When he finished, he beat the butt into the ash tray and then with the same hand, he lifted the beer to his lips.
