|recognition (a.k.a. I *heart* procrastination)
||[Nov. 19th, 2004|09:57 pm]
Well, since this (or something similar) is one of my self-proclaimed obsessions, I sorta *had* to (quickly!) write something, didn't I?
When they’ve had a bit too much to drink, the boys tend to amuse themselves by daring Olivia to pick up women. They scan the bar, debate the prospects raucously. Snicker and high-five each other as their selections become increasingly absurd. More of a brooding drunk, Olivia doesn’t often play along.
Tonight, however, they pause in genuine astonishment.
Fin sees her first, and his eyes widen. “Hey Liv, that chick... she could be your twin!”
Olivia looks. The woman is leaning against the bar, head thrown back as she laughs at whatever flirtatious quip the (young, male) bartender has just made — the sound obnoxiously loud and forced. Her hair is carefully styled, her lipstick pale and shimmery, her camisole pink, low-cut, and bordered with lace. She’s slighter than the detective; prettier, softer, more packaged. But the resemblance is extraordinary, and explodes in Olivia’s gut like her first takedown.
The boys have gone back to the game, impervious. “Oh, Liv, you can’t pass this one up — come on, we dare you to hit on her...”
Without a word, Olivia pushes out of her chair (swaying only slightly) and saunters over to the bar. Stands too close. Touches the stranger’s thigh. Faces down her startled, slightly alarmed expression. Bends toward her (lips almost brushing her earlobe) and asks, “Can I buy you a drink?”