"You're lookin' awful lonely there, sugar."
With a glass of wine tilted towards her mouth, Brittany pauses and shifts her pale eyes to the left to peer at the man who had just spoken to her. She knows the type all too well, saw hundreds just like him circulating through her gallery in what feels like an entirely different life. His hair too oily with product, slicked away from his broad forehead, and his whole ensemble looks pricey, from the cut of his suit to his cuff-links.
"I beg your pardon?" she asks. The mans wide mouth cracks into a excessive smile as he drops one of his hands to the surface of the mahogany bar, and inches it towards where her elbow rests.
"Heh.. I said you're looking lonely," he says, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "Hard to believe someone who looks like you is here alone."
Over his right shoulder, there's a flicker of movement that catches her eye as Santana slides into view, hidden beneath the bars shadows in her form fitted black attire. She raises her hand and, with a quick flick of her oh-so-talented fingers, opens a butterfly knife that gleams in the lights installed above the bar. She doesn't say a word; instead, simply raises a sharp eyebrow.
Brittany nods minutely, setting her glass aside as she rests her long fingers on top of the man's, well away from the back of his hand.
"Oh baby," she says as Santana moves, "you must be new here."
Anything the man says in response is buried in the sound of Santana's knife slamming through the back of his hand and into the solid wood of the bar.
Blue and brown meet, "good evening, lover."
Fin.
Merry Christmas (~￣³￣)~
