"Personally, I don’t see as it’s anyone’s business where she went. Sometimes you just gotta get out of town and breathe a bit, y’know." He shrugs, reaching up a hand to brush a bit of hair out of his eyes. "Don’t see why she had to tell anybody where or why she was goin’, not at that age."
"Yeah, you’d think we were looking for a five-year-old based on what people are saying. I swear, small towns are weird." Maybe it’s a bit unusual, but Damien can confirm it’s less weird than some of the other things going on in this town; so what if someone wants to leave? It’s not prison.
"Don’t you think she would have told someone, then? If she was.. moving, she would have said something. And what about the car?"
"Who knows? Maybe she just wanted attention." Damien shrugs; he’s still convinced she’ll turn up again in another few days. But then he frowns. "What about the car? I didn’t hear anything about a car." Not that he’s really been paying attention.
"I’m in a committed relationship with earning my Master’s degree."
That’s not a bad answer; Damien has to give her credit. “I hear those are more useful than boyfriends anyway. What’re you studying?”
"—I don’t see why everyone’s so upset. She probably just wanted to get out of this shitty town for a few days, get a breath of fresh air… seems pretty normal to me."
Hawk looked at the strange man for a good ten seconds before his eyebrows furrowed, “compensation?”
What’s a nice way to say this? "It means you do something big—” Damien gestures at the paint—"to make up for being small in other areas.”
He can hear what he’s been given and he rolls his eyes. Why did he let this guy decide what he was going to drink? Jace ran a hand through his hair and decided to wait until the bartender returned to make a slight change to his order. His pearly whites flashed as he gave the woman a request. “Could you bring me a Red Bull?” A wink passes between the two and then he returns his attention to Damien. “I’m alright with jager, but I hate how it taste alone.”
"Tell me about yourself, mystery man."
"What do you want to know? There’s not much to tell, honestly." Nerd kid graduates, goes to get an engineering degree, and comes back with drugs and a thirst for blood. Take out the parts he can’t tell, and it just sounds like he’s got health problems or something, and that’s a discussion for people with no sense of occasion.
"I’m just biding my time here ‘til I can leave," Damien says with a shrug. "And trying to have some fun while I’m at it, but it’s not easy. I grew up here and hated it and I still do, to be honest.”
Witty. Just because I like to use a more laboured vocabulary, does it mean that I’m old?
Yeah. Or pretentious, I guess. But I don’t want to hurt your feelings, grandpa.
"Oh, I might’ve been at that. I got the shit kicked out of me more than once, people writing ‘fag’ on my locker, all that happy crap." He shrugs as if it doesn’t still irk him ten years later, though it most certainly does. "You’re too good looking for me to believe that though, c’mon. I can see the correcting thing but the glasses couldn’t have been that big."
Adam snorts at the question, it’s not like he hasn’t heard that one practically a hundred thousand times before from teenagers and little old grandmas alike. "All kinds of medicinal herbs, we do a bit of selling living plants too, honey, all that. But as for that medicinal herb, well…" He smiles faintly, shaking his head. "I don’t have a problem with it, but it’s not wholly my business I’d be putting in danger selling it. Not difficult to grow either, but that’s the legislature for you."
"Huh. Just be glad your name doesn’t rhyme with the word gay,” Damien replies. He smiles reluctantly; his good looks came just a little too late, unfortunately. His is an ugly-duckling story, but without a heartwarming ending so far, which is honestly fine by him—he’s got other things in mind, but this gentle herbaceous soul probably doesn’t want to talk about strategies for fucking over ex-bullies.
"Well, I’ll be sure to come by your place for any new age spiritual healing I need," Damien continues, "weed or no weed." A brief grin there, lest the guy make any assumptions. "What about houseplants? Do you have those? My girlfriend could use one—might make her a little more nurturing."
Tell me, who do I have to court to get a drink around here?
With a vocabulary like that, I’m going to suggest you try the retirement home.