veronicamarshmallow: (Shocked)
Veronica ([personal profile] veronicamarshmallow) wrote 2012-12-05 12:04 am (UTC)

Vee. One single syllable made her have to hide a grin. No one called her that but Weevil, and sometimes, out of the blue, she was shaken to her core at the realization she missed that jerk. This was one of those times.

As Blake was apologizing, Veronica regained her composure, waving him off. “No worries. I’ll owe you one, huh? You’ve got my address now, so if you ever want to collect…” she trailed off with a small shrug, letting the gesture speak for itself. She was indebted to the man for his kindness (and for her supper), but she doubted she would ever see him again. Gathering up her coat and shoulder bag, she donned a genuine smile for his benefit. “Thanks, bro,” she said cheekily. “Keep in touch.”

She had no sooner stood up when Red Dress let out an unearthly scream and collapsed in a pile of chiffon at the foot of her barstool. The waitress, who’d been rounding the bar to cash Blake out, scrambled to her side. She was soon joined by a tiny Filipino chef who seemed to have materialized from nowhere. He calmly communicated to a younger black man, also in chef’s whites, that he should call 9-1-1, and then turned to see who’d witnessed the commotion.

He approached Veronica and Blake, and gestured for Veronica to sit. “I am sorry for the scene, my friends,” he said sincerely. “Please, sit. I will bring you a drink for your nerves.”

“The girl, is she… will she be okay?” Veronica asked, still watching the waitress tends to the limp figure on the floor. Barney, she noticed, stood and stared, his eyes wide, and beads of sweat shimmering on his large, pale forehead.

The chef shook his head. “I do not think she was okay to begin with, miss. She has the – em, what do you say?” He gestured to his tattooed forearm, tracing the lines with a forefinger. “Er, train tracks?” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Shame. She is quite a beautiful woman.”

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