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angela8675
Title: So this guy walks into a bar...
Rating:PG, PG13-ish
Disclaimer: Not mine - JJ's.
Summary: Killing time.
Notes: Written forhey_killer at the Hidden Connections Ficathon. She wanted a chance encounter between Sawyer and Shannon as he's looking for his next woman to con, some snarky conversation and a side appearance by another character. I think I got it all in there. Hope you enjoy, HK.
Miami International Airport, 2001
***
Sawyer scans the bar quickly and immediately spots her potential. He can tell from where he's standing that he has found his next bank roll. Taking a closer look at the tailored black suit with a shorter skirt than what seems proper, his eyes follow the miles of leg down to the Louis Vuitton carry-on at her Manolo-encased feet. She all but screams money. Hell, she's wearing sunglasses inside like she's some kind of movie star. If he can get her to nibble at the bait, maybe he can work on her when he gets back from paying off Mannie the fifty grand he owes. Plant the seed now, reap the benefits later.
***
Shannon looks up from her drink when she hears the squealing begin and if she tilts her head to the left a bit, she can see around the man standing in the doorway. There's a shaggy guy holding a guitar case and swarmed by just about every 13 year old girl in the concourse - he's smiling down on them, signing autographs and edging closer to the guy walking with him. He's wearing a scarf, she notices, then frowns to herself. It's August. Who wears a scarf in August?
"Charlie! I love you!"
She pulls her sunglasses a little bit down her nose and sneers over the top of them, her reddened eyes narrowing, then pushes them back up as she tosses her hair. She never throws herself at a man -- she doesn't have to. They all come crawling to her, and she doesn't respect the kind of girl who chases after them, hoping for just a smile.
And she's definitely not going to throw herself at anyone when she gets to France. She'll patiently hold court at Residence de la Pinede until she finds a benefactor. That's the only way she'll be able to make her tiny inheritance last. Damn Sabrina Carlysle. Well, the woman won't have to worry about her precious little son being led astray anymore.
She's slowly spinning her martini around her glass when the stool next to her is dragged out. She glances around at the empty seats along the bar and rolls her eyes. Not many people are drinking at noon, and this jackass still had to sit right next to her. She doesn't have the patience for this right now.
"So, who's the Attention Whore out there?" The drawl makes him sound friendly, but she knows better.
"I don't know." Her voice is curt as she angles away from him and takes a long sip of her drink. The olive in the bottom of the glass slides against her lips as the last of the vodka disappears.
"I think it's that guy from Oasis. You think he'd have a private plane so he could avoid all of this crap." His briefcase lands heavily at her feet as he shrugs his jacket off. She pushes her empty glass forward as she looks at him from behind her sunglasses and notices the Armani label inside his jacket.
Armani is so last year.
***
He thinks he's run into the first woman who isn't instantly intrigued by his slow Southern drawl. He's propositioned so many women that he has the first thirty seconds of his routine down to a science - a casual opening, a non threatening question to engage them, a little purr in his throat as he slows the words down to the speed of molasses before leaning over them. She didn't even look when he took his jacket off, and he made sure to pull his shirt tight against his chest. He mulls over his options as he calls the bartender over, then leans against the bar to look down at the blonde. He catches a glimpse of a lacy bra peeking out where her jacket gapes. She has a nice rack.
Sawyer puts an order in for a bourbon but holds the bartender there for a second.
"Would you like some Southern Comfort?" He adds a suggestive twist at the end then grins cheekily at her blank look. "My friend, please bring the lady another drink." He sits down and takes a chance. Stay away from cliche, use the manners momma taught me. "I'm sorry, I didn't ask you if you really wanted another cocktail. When does your plane leave?" This gets a heavy sigh out of her and, after a few long seconds, an answer.
"Not soon enough," she tells him with clear disdain.
She looks up at the bartender as he sets another martini in front of her and Sawyer gets a better look at her profile. A high forehead and softly rounded jaw firmly set. He sees her eyes for a brief second and curses to himself. Red and puffy eyes, great. In his experience, crying females go one of two ways. They either fall right into bed with him or they're a waste of his time. And right now, time is something he doesn't have. He takes a sip of his drink as he thinks it through. Might as well get some entertainment for the eight dollars he spent on her drink.
***
Despite her better judgment, Shannon picks up her new martini and takes a healthy swallow. She wants to treat him like a stray dog - ignore him and he'll go away. She's just about to sip when he starts speaking.
"You know, for someone who just had a drink bought for them, you could be a little nicer. Or did your daddy tell you never to talk to strangers?"
She flinches at the mention of her father and feels guilty. Sabrina ran her out of the house so quickly that she came to the airport straight from his funeral. She takes another quick drink before giving him a look that should strike him dead. "I don't need a daddy to tell me that you're strange. I figured that out for myself."
She hopes to offend him enough so he'll leave, and she's shocked when he lets out a belly laugh. She doesn't like being laughed at.
"Princess, you don't know the half of it."
Shannon sneers and moves to step off her barstool but catches her stiletto on the handle of his briefcase. It falls to the ground with a solid thunk, and he hurriedly picks it up and slides it under his stool, his feet protectively around it.
"Jesus, what do you have in there? Gold bars? A million dollars in ones?" She tosses her hair and misses the look on his face.
***
Damn, she's good, he thinks. Of course, just looking at her he should expect her to be able to sniff out money a mile away. Maybe it's time to have a little fun.
"As a matter of fact, it's closer to two and it's in hundreds. How about I buy us a nice little island somewhere in the South Pacific and you can have all the sand and coconuts, waterfalls and daiquiris your little heart desires." He gives her a leer. "We could lay naked under the sun, never have to worry about tan lines or being bothered. Build a little hut on the beach and stare up at the stars all night. What do you say, darlin'?"
He knows by her smirk that that's probably not going to happen, but he can daydream. He takes another long look at her legs and gives her an expectant smile.
"I say that on my list of people to be stranded with on a deserted island, you're not even in the top five...billion." He watches her stand up and give him a mock toast before she tosses the rest of her drink back. As she leans over to pick up her bag, he takes another peek down her jacket then leans back.
"So everyone else in the world, huh? Who's your number one?" He really doesn't care what her answer is, he just wants to look at her for another minute.
He's starting to think that either she and a team of plastic surgeons and personal trainers take really good care of her body, or she's a lot younger than he originally thought. Instead of huffing away all offended or giving him an answer, she briefly ducks her head and gives him a mysterious smile. A grin creeps over his face as she darts her tongue out and runs it slowly over her lips before turning to leave. Sawyer gives a slow, rumbling laugh as she saunters away and eyes the swing of her hips. Oh well. It was worth a try.
***
The Island of Mystery, 2004 (Day 2)
She didn't really appreciate his hand on her ass, shoving her up the steep slope. She didn't appreciate the doubt on his face when she said she wanted to go. Now, as she lays here in the dark in front of the fire, Boone not far away, his voice sounds kind of familiar. The only Southerners she's seen in LA are the south-of-the-border kind, so she's not sure where she would have run into him. He's a lot older, and scruffier, than the kind of guys she meets, but his drawl is still standing out in her memory and for some reason it's calling her darlin'. She's not worried, though. It'll come to her.
angela8675Title: So this guy walks into a bar...
Rating:PG, PG13-ish
Disclaimer: Not mine - JJ's.
Summary: Killing time.
Notes: Written for
hey_killer at the Hidden Connections Ficathon. She wanted a chance encounter between Sawyer and Shannon as he's looking for his next woman to con, some snarky conversation and a side appearance by another character. I think I got it all in there. Hope you enjoy, HK. Miami International Airport, 2001
***
Sawyer scans the bar quickly and immediately spots her potential. He can tell from where he's standing that he has found his next bank roll. Taking a closer look at the tailored black suit with a shorter skirt than what seems proper, his eyes follow the miles of leg down to the Louis Vuitton carry-on at her Manolo-encased feet. She all but screams money. Hell, she's wearing sunglasses inside like she's some kind of movie star. If he can get her to nibble at the bait, maybe he can work on her when he gets back from paying off Mannie the fifty grand he owes. Plant the seed now, reap the benefits later.
***
Shannon looks up from her drink when she hears the squealing begin and if she tilts her head to the left a bit, she can see around the man standing in the doorway. There's a shaggy guy holding a guitar case and swarmed by just about every 13 year old girl in the concourse - he's smiling down on them, signing autographs and edging closer to the guy walking with him. He's wearing a scarf, she notices, then frowns to herself. It's August. Who wears a scarf in August?
"Charlie! I love you!"
She pulls her sunglasses a little bit down her nose and sneers over the top of them, her reddened eyes narrowing, then pushes them back up as she tosses her hair. She never throws herself at a man -- she doesn't have to. They all come crawling to her, and she doesn't respect the kind of girl who chases after them, hoping for just a smile.
And she's definitely not going to throw herself at anyone when she gets to France. She'll patiently hold court at Residence de la Pinede until she finds a benefactor. That's the only way she'll be able to make her tiny inheritance last. Damn Sabrina Carlysle. Well, the woman won't have to worry about her precious little son being led astray anymore.
She's slowly spinning her martini around her glass when the stool next to her is dragged out. She glances around at the empty seats along the bar and rolls her eyes. Not many people are drinking at noon, and this jackass still had to sit right next to her. She doesn't have the patience for this right now.
"So, who's the Attention Whore out there?" The drawl makes him sound friendly, but she knows better.
"I don't know." Her voice is curt as she angles away from him and takes a long sip of her drink. The olive in the bottom of the glass slides against her lips as the last of the vodka disappears.
"I think it's that guy from Oasis. You think he'd have a private plane so he could avoid all of this crap." His briefcase lands heavily at her feet as he shrugs his jacket off. She pushes her empty glass forward as she looks at him from behind her sunglasses and notices the Armani label inside his jacket.
Armani is so last year.
***
He thinks he's run into the first woman who isn't instantly intrigued by his slow Southern drawl. He's propositioned so many women that he has the first thirty seconds of his routine down to a science - a casual opening, a non threatening question to engage them, a little purr in his throat as he slows the words down to the speed of molasses before leaning over them. She didn't even look when he took his jacket off, and he made sure to pull his shirt tight against his chest. He mulls over his options as he calls the bartender over, then leans against the bar to look down at the blonde. He catches a glimpse of a lacy bra peeking out where her jacket gapes. She has a nice rack.
Sawyer puts an order in for a bourbon but holds the bartender there for a second.
"Would you like some Southern Comfort?" He adds a suggestive twist at the end then grins cheekily at her blank look. "My friend, please bring the lady another drink." He sits down and takes a chance. Stay away from cliche, use the manners momma taught me. "I'm sorry, I didn't ask you if you really wanted another cocktail. When does your plane leave?" This gets a heavy sigh out of her and, after a few long seconds, an answer.
"Not soon enough," she tells him with clear disdain.
She looks up at the bartender as he sets another martini in front of her and Sawyer gets a better look at her profile. A high forehead and softly rounded jaw firmly set. He sees her eyes for a brief second and curses to himself. Red and puffy eyes, great. In his experience, crying females go one of two ways. They either fall right into bed with him or they're a waste of his time. And right now, time is something he doesn't have. He takes a sip of his drink as he thinks it through. Might as well get some entertainment for the eight dollars he spent on her drink.
***
Despite her better judgment, Shannon picks up her new martini and takes a healthy swallow. She wants to treat him like a stray dog - ignore him and he'll go away. She's just about to sip when he starts speaking.
"You know, for someone who just had a drink bought for them, you could be a little nicer. Or did your daddy tell you never to talk to strangers?"
She flinches at the mention of her father and feels guilty. Sabrina ran her out of the house so quickly that she came to the airport straight from his funeral. She takes another quick drink before giving him a look that should strike him dead. "I don't need a daddy to tell me that you're strange. I figured that out for myself."
She hopes to offend him enough so he'll leave, and she's shocked when he lets out a belly laugh. She doesn't like being laughed at.
"Princess, you don't know the half of it."
Shannon sneers and moves to step off her barstool but catches her stiletto on the handle of his briefcase. It falls to the ground with a solid thunk, and he hurriedly picks it up and slides it under his stool, his feet protectively around it.
"Jesus, what do you have in there? Gold bars? A million dollars in ones?" She tosses her hair and misses the look on his face.
***
Damn, she's good, he thinks. Of course, just looking at her he should expect her to be able to sniff out money a mile away. Maybe it's time to have a little fun.
"As a matter of fact, it's closer to two and it's in hundreds. How about I buy us a nice little island somewhere in the South Pacific and you can have all the sand and coconuts, waterfalls and daiquiris your little heart desires." He gives her a leer. "We could lay naked under the sun, never have to worry about tan lines or being bothered. Build a little hut on the beach and stare up at the stars all night. What do you say, darlin'?"
He knows by her smirk that that's probably not going to happen, but he can daydream. He takes another long look at her legs and gives her an expectant smile.
"I say that on my list of people to be stranded with on a deserted island, you're not even in the top five...billion." He watches her stand up and give him a mock toast before she tosses the rest of her drink back. As she leans over to pick up her bag, he takes another peek down her jacket then leans back.
"So everyone else in the world, huh? Who's your number one?" He really doesn't care what her answer is, he just wants to look at her for another minute.
He's starting to think that either she and a team of plastic surgeons and personal trainers take really good care of her body, or she's a lot younger than he originally thought. Instead of huffing away all offended or giving him an answer, she briefly ducks her head and gives him a mysterious smile. A grin creeps over his face as she darts her tongue out and runs it slowly over her lips before turning to leave. Sawyer gives a slow, rumbling laugh as she saunters away and eyes the swing of her hips. Oh well. It was worth a try.
***
The Island of Mystery, 2004 (Day 2)
She didn't really appreciate his hand on her ass, shoving her up the steep slope. She didn't appreciate the doubt on his face when she said she wanted to go. Now, as she lays here in the dark in front of the fire, Boone not far away, his voice sounds kind of familiar. The only Southerners she's seen in LA are the south-of-the-border kind, so she's not sure where she would have run into him. He's a lot older, and scruffier, than the kind of guys she meets, but his drawl is still standing out in her memory and for some reason it's calling her darlin'. She's not worried, though. It'll come to her.
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