“Whoa there cowboy. I know it’s after midnight somewhere in the world but right now it’s a little early for anyone to be as skunked as you are.” Ellen shakes her head as she leans back away from the smell of vodka, thinking she didn’t need to order a drink because she could get drunk from just being next to this guy. “Now I don’t know about you but I’m starving and that burger you haven’t touched looks good. So I’m going to order one of my own and how about you and I have lunch together.”
Maybe it’s years of habit from the Roadhouse but she’s seen that look before on the face of other hunters and it makes her want to take care of the stranger as best she can. This bar isn’t her place but it’s pretty universal she figures, get food in them, black coffee and sober ‘em up a bit. “I’m Ellen by the way.”
As she orders her food and a black coffee she looks around the bar, people are looking at her, looking at the guy next to her and no one has a real happy expression. A close knit community and she’s a stranger that looks like she just came off a work detail she figures and now she’s talking to the town drunk. “What did you say your name was?”
The matron ring to her voice made him sober up, almost instantaneously. He felt a sudden rush of regret—mixed with a healthy dose of shame. He nodded over at Matt—holding up two silent fingers to indicate he’d pay for his meal and hers. Trying to at least give a decent show of professionalism, he straightened, head still buzzing with the aftershock of cheap alcohol. “Stuff’s like rat poison,” He mused to no one in particular, but since she was there, Ric supposed he addressed her.
Now that he looked at her— actually looked at her, there was something about her that was strikingly familiar. If he had been sober, he would’ve caught it right away, but in his current state of inebriation, he was none the wiser. “You look familiar…” His voice was caked with a heavy layer of exhaustion sweeping through every syllable. From the moment she came in—he suspected that she wasn’t a local. Even with the population of hybrids, vampires, werewolves, and now ~dead ghosts~; Alaric could still retain the ability to tell the difference.
“I’m guessing you’re not from here…?” He straightened, as best he could, offering the stranger a grimace which he hoped resembled a smile. “… and since we both seem to know each other, would you mind jumpstarting my memory by telling me your name?”
A low chuckle rises up in her as she watches the poor guy try and straighten up, she can see the struggle in his eyes to pull himself together and she gives her head a small shake as she pushes her hair back behind her. It’s times like this that she misses the Roadhouse the most, if they were back there she would have already had this guy in one of the back rooms, passed out on a cot, he sounds tired, worn down and it’s not just the alcohol that’s making him look that way as well.
“Ellen Harvelle and nope, I’m not from here, originally from Nebraska but that’s another story for another time. What about you? What’s got a decent looking fellow like you work’n so hard to pickle his liver?” She raises a brow at him as she smiles to the young man that brings out her plate.
Eyes scanning the room behind her as she let’s her fries cool she casually watches the people, it looks like a normal small town but there’s something just not quiet right. Plenty of people talking but the atmosphere feels somber, almost heavy as everyone goes about their lives.