Michael finished tearing off the corners of his napkin.
Two raps of his knuckles caught the attention of the bartender. The other man frowned, picked up a freshly cleaned glass, and made sure that the beer's head was enough to tell Michael that it would be his last for the night.
"Long day?"
Michael's glass had almost reached his lips. Turning, he looked leeways to reach the eyeline of the rust-maned woman who spoke to him. It looked right for her to be in a bar. She was slender, small breasted, and casually tapped her short heel against the side of her stool. Curiosity made her dull green eyes slightly widen; both lips parted to show her genuine interest. A dark, rather transparent blouse covered her top to tastefully show that she was wearing a fashionable bra underneath. Below her lithe abdomen were equally transparent stockings covered by a slightly frilled skirt that ended mid-thigh. She maintained a black tone throughout her threads which allowed her style to clash harshly with the prim way she held her hair back.
"Something like that." Michael's voice was raspy from his workings at the local steel mill, slurred from his constant drinking that night, and slowed from the need for eventual sleep. An inspection of his mug showed that he had only been poured about half a cup's worth; the rest was dissolving in the fizzing bubbles beneath his nose. Again, he made to drink what little he had been given and was interrupted once more.
"I'm Grace." She said. A little lean brought her hands across his front. She reached for the napkin he had been systematically destroying. "I'm new in town." Both her hands started to work on the napkin in the same way he had before. Each pointed edge was made dull, then sharpened by a crease to be dulled again. Her fingernails were well polished and held the same dull-red as her hair. "What's your name?" The little scraps from the napkin she was making were falling into their own designs now upon the polished wood.
"Michael - Look...Grace?" A sideways glance showed that he was bad with names. "There's a few others here that might be better for your company." Gesturing with his mug, he motioned her attention further down the bar. Two women were doing a fantastic show of interest to a man far younger than Michael; occasional laughs and giggles broke the relative silence of the near-closing establishment. One woman had her shorts dipped well enough down her spine to display her stamp. The other was allowing the man to lick some alcoholic glaze off her chin before returning the favor with on his boyish face. "They look like the adventuring type."
"How gauche." Grace took in the sight; leaning back towards Michael as she watched with indignation. "As if I'd ever stoop so low to enjoy friends in such a way. You've been in here for a few hours already. What do you think, Micheal? I see Lust and Gluttony over there at the end of the bar. What do you think the third one is?" Her lean made her faint scent of cinnamon waft between them while she neatly sidestepped his polite recommendation.
Michael took on her challenge and stared at the way the boyish man suckled eagerly on a puddle of liquor between one of of the girl's breasts; noting how one hand was lodged between her legs as he worked her under the bar. Squinting, he saw the man held a sports ring of some kind. The barest beginnings of a football team's tattoo was also displayed on the wrist of the same hand.
"Pride." Once again he tried to bring his paltry drink up to his lips only to have it be swiped from his loose grip by Grace's snatching hand; leaving him with a belt elbow and unwetted tongue.
Grace tenderly put the mug down in the center of her finished design. It was geometric, seven points, and the top three bits of ripped paper were clumped closer together than the others. "I think you're right, Michael. If you had said Sloth I was going to dock points for lack of creativity."
Despite her displayed body, she didn't talk like a prostitute. For years Michael had seen more than his fair share of women who were all "new in town", as Grace had explained, coming and going from the bar he sat in. Where was the offering of flesh-for-cash? The typical desperate grabs? Intelligence glimmered behind her eyes that she barely seemed to blink and it caught him off guard.
She drank merrily from his mug and gasped to help offset the sting in her throat. Only a thin line of beerish dregs remained after her swallows.
"You know the drill, Michael." The bartender's voice broke his concentration as the large man retrieved his stolen glass. "You don't gotta go home..."
"...but I can't stay here. Yeah, yeah." Michael finished the expression; grunting as he lifted himself up on his boots to stand on shaky knees. Grace had cleverly rose with him to steady him with a resolute hand. "I can walk just fine, thanks." Once more he turned to address her over his shoulder though he was thankful for her bracing touch.
"You're drunk." Grace wrapped an arm around his hip and let him lean more into her. "But, at least you don't smell." She was grinning, nudging her hip into his side to spur him to walk. "You have a good night now!" She called to the bartender while giving a low wave.
Michael didn't hear the bartender respond. "She said good night." He said, making sure his voice held a tone.
