[The incoming crowd only draws his attention for the briefest of moments, inspiring him to check the clock on his phone— it does seem about time for the after-event crowd to start trickling in, and it's clear enough that the members of this group all seem to be coming from the same place. The chatter is already lively, bringing an entirely different mood over the bar, but he thinks it may even be a welcome change— though he doesn't plan on being particularly social, the din of the crowd may be enough to distract him from his own anxious thoughts while he has his last drink.
He takes a moment to check his messages, briefly: two texts from Tara, which he immediately decides he'll return later, knowing precisely what she'll be wanting to talk to him about. He would much rather get his mind off that subject at the moment, and he looks up to offer the barkeep another warm, grateful smile as she sets his drink in front of him, offering a nod of thanks. He's prepared to take his first sip and busy himself with finding something on his phone to serve as a distraction when an unfamiliar voice beside him draws him out of himself.
He looks only mildly surprised when he looks up at its owner; he hadn't expected anyone to care to approach him tonight, assuming his dour mood must have shown as much on the outside as it weighed upon him within, but without a second thought, he finds himself nodding, setting his phone down so that he might use his free hand to gesture to the seat beside him.]
Of course— please, by all means.
[His gaze lingers a moment later than he means for it to, and he's certain it's because of the whiskey doing its work, but even though he had come here for a change of scene and to drown his sorrows, he cannot help but notice that the young woman before him is strikingly lovely.
She must only be speaking to him because the stool beside his is the only one left. Women like her did not approach sweater-wearing, self-pitying astrophysicists in bars like these.]
no subject
He takes a moment to check his messages, briefly: two texts from Tara, which he immediately decides he'll return later, knowing precisely what she'll be wanting to talk to him about. He would much rather get his mind off that subject at the moment, and he looks up to offer the barkeep another warm, grateful smile as she sets his drink in front of him, offering a nod of thanks. He's prepared to take his first sip and busy himself with finding something on his phone to serve as a distraction when an unfamiliar voice beside him draws him out of himself.
He looks only mildly surprised when he looks up at its owner; he hadn't expected anyone to care to approach him tonight, assuming his dour mood must have shown as much on the outside as it weighed upon him within, but without a second thought, he finds himself nodding, setting his phone down so that he might use his free hand to gesture to the seat beside him.]
Of course— please, by all means.
[His gaze lingers a moment later than he means for it to, and he's certain it's because of the whiskey doing its work, but even though he had come here for a change of scene and to drown his sorrows, he cannot help but notice that the young woman before him is strikingly lovely.
She must only be speaking to him because the stool beside his is the only one left. Women like her did not approach sweater-wearing, self-pitying astrophysicists in bars like these.]