Thread: English 2352 {DearestDarling & Dane Stalling}

She had just intended to mess with him a little. She had wondered what would happen if she pushed buttons that she knew she shouldn't. She had thought he might've slinked out of the bar, back to the wife who watched him under a microscope... or at the very least, shrink uncomfortably back in his chair as she murmured the lyrics just to him, her voice soft and moody, too intimate. But he met her gaze with his own, straight-backed in his chair, fumbling with his fingers... Oh god, was he...? She saw a flash of gold drop into the glass she had left him, his wedding ring swimming in the minty water. He wouldn't stop looking at her as he drank from her glass, and something about the song, their eye contact, and his lips touching where hers had sent delicious chills down her spine. Suddenly he was a mystery that had to be explored, a dark cave with the promise of a hidden treasure. As the song faded into nothing, she watched as he scribbled something on the napkin and left. A note? For her? They only had two songs left in the set-- Mondays nights, they always ended a bit early-- but they seemed to drag. It was torturing Rose to have to wait to see what the professor had written, and before she had reached the table, the bartender had already cleared it and the tie he'd left behind away. As soon as she was able, she confronted the apathetic man about it, trying not to stare at his face there was more metal than skin, he had so many piercings. Hey, there was a note on the table-- and I think a tie? That was for me. It was for her, right? Yeah, I cleaned up the trash. He should've brought it up here, not left me something to pick up... I threw it away. I have the tie, though. He took it out from a low shelf and dashed it on the bar top. It coiled, like a black snake. Happy? Not happy. Go through the trash, and dig it out. She picked the tie up carefully, easing the silky fabric through her hands. Dig it out? He looked at her like she had two heads. What the fuck? Yeah, dig it out. You think you would have half this crowd in this shitty bar if we didn't play here? Dig it out. I'll wait. He stared at her for a long moment, but finally grumbled as he bent to pick through the trash. He slammed the napkin down, slightly damp but still readable. Fuck, she murmured, squeezing the tie in her hands as she read it. He wanted her to follow him. What the fuck does this mean, anyway? Who is... Mestofockles? Rosalie grinned, shaking her head. Don't worry about it. She was the tiniest bit worried about it. So I'm just supposed to drop you off here? The old red jeep idled at the corner of Pecan and 13th, Alex pushing back his long, blonde hair incredulously as he waited for Rosalie to answer. She confirmed with a nod, picking up her backpack and reaching for the car door. Rosalie, I'm your ride home. What are you going to do, walk back to the west side? Take a bus? She pulled on the door handle, easing the creaking door open and hopping out. I'll find my own way home. I'll see you tomorrow, after class. She felt her phone buzzing at her hip. Jessica had driven her own car, and she was going absolutely nuts over the thought of Rosalie meeting their professor for middle-of-the-night coffee. Rosalie hadn't even told her about the Facebook stalking, the glass of water... The ring. The tie. What exactly was she about to walk into? He glared at her from his seat, his face red from the booze he'd drank. Okay. Don't be late tomorrow. No excuses. No excuses, she repeated. She found what she thought was the dive he had mentioned in his note, a greasy spoon for redneck truckers. Another place he didn't really belong to... He sure had a knack for finding those. He was sitting alone in a booth by the front window, looking for her maybe? But she didn't hurry her pace. Her heels clicked on the yellowy-white linoleum as she entered, drawing the attention of several truckers, who eyed her as though she were something they could order off the menu. Her pigtails had been pulled out, dark, messy curls spilling down her back, and his tie was hanging loose around her neck. She slid into his booth without a word, noting what he had ordered. Black coffee and a strawberry cupcake... Was it supposed to be for her? Without asking she touched her fingertip to the fluffy pink icing, scooping up a bit, and then sucking her finger clean, her lips puckering. Her lashes touched down as she savored the taste. Mm... How did you know strawberry was my favorite? You must have done some extensive... research on me. She asked for green tea with lemon and honey, and after the waitress walked away, she finally addressed him properly. Mephistopheles... You know, that's really not your name. He's the demon that corrupts Faust. I don't think you have it in you to corrupt. No, he was much more likely to be the victim of corruption. She touched her fingertips to the tie at her throat, watching him as a lioness might gaze at her prey. You left this at the bar. That was sort of careless, don't you think? She didn't offer it back. It wasn't his anymore. She paused for a long moment, taking a sip of the hot tea that she'd been served. So... Care to talk about how we're going to make things work? She fiddled with a sugar packet, tearing it open and tapping it into her cup. I mean, in class. It was obvious by her teasing tone that she had left that bit out, on purpose. She picked another pink packet from the basket on the table. Sugar?