Forget Me Not

Blonde I guess

Once alone Crowley pulls a little black notebook from his jacket pocket. It's contents are a mess. When he started this ledger he made different categories and spaced them out several pages. Those sections have long bleed together and notes are scribbled wherever now.

He jots down, "never meet my parents," "never wanted to," and "birth certificate? Mother's name?"

Crowley stashes the book in his jacket again and makes his way to the bar. 2 young women are dutifully cleaning glasses and wiping down the bar in their free minutes. One has short, tightly curled brown hair and a nose ring. The other is quite a bit taller with dark hair with an aquamarine ombré. Both girls are exceptionally pretty in completely different ways.

"Hey guys! How ya doing," Crowley takes a seat front and center.

The curly haired woman puts down the glass she was drying. "I thought you were going to talk to him, Tony. I don't want to date a pretty boy. They're all obsessed with themselves," she says.

Crowley can't help but to chuckle, "he's a boy in love, Harp! No- but really I did tell him." Crowley messes with a coaster on the bar-top, "I said you weren't interested but he thinks you'll come around.

The other girl chimes in, "he does tip you well. How much today?"

Harper's face grows flushed, "50," she says quietly. "That's not the point though, Amelia! I'm not going to be bought."

Crowley let's a devilish smile play on his lips, "not even a little?"

"Okay maybe just a tiny bit," Harper giggles. Her and her friend/coworker both burst out laughing.

Amelia nods her head to Crowley's glass, "freshen that up for you?" She pours him a heathy serving of Talister. Crowley grabs his wallet and starts to pay. "Nuh-uh," Amelia stops him, "I wouldn't dream of charging you, Tony."

Crowley rolls his eyes, "fine. How about just a tip then?" He puts a 20 on the bar.

"Big tipper, just like your friend, eh?" Harper teases.

Crowley rebuttals, "something like that, love, only I'm able to afford it." He winks playfully. She knows he's only joking but puts her hand on her chest dramatically and asks if he's flirting with her. "Sorry Harp, not quite my type," he jokes. He catches a glimpse of the calendar behind him and a thought immediately dawns on him. "Oi, Amelia, your art whatever was yesterday wasn't it? I missed it."

It's her turn to blush now, "exposition. Yes it was and yes you did."

"Well, tell me how it went," he sips his drink.

Before Amelia can reply Harper cuts in, "it was amazing! She did all these paintings of random things around London. They were light and blotchy but in a good way, you know. Someone bought one for like £300!"

Both Crowley and Amelia take a beat to respond to that level of zeal. Amelia puts a hand on her friend's shoulder, "they were water colors and he paid £225 for it." Crowley asks what the painting was. "A gargoyle," she answers, "did a whole portfolio on churches in the area. Just stuff I think is visually interesting."

Crowley re-adjusts in his seat, "personally I've never liked churches. They give me the heebie-geebies." He recoils thinking about it.

The group goes on to talk about the art show and how churches, and church-goers, can be scary. Crowley enjoys his work friends but he loves gabbing with these girls. Crowley has another whiskey. He has a crazy high tolerance. Going drink for drink with his guy pals, Crowley is only just getting buzzed when they're forgetting how to stand.

A caramel-skinned woman, who could definitely of been a model in her youth, comes up and leans on the counter next to Crowley. "S'cuse me, could I get an Amaretto Sour? No egg whites, please." Harper gets right to making it but Amelia rolls her eyes to Crowley, out of the woman's line of sight.

"So what are you drinking?" She smiles at Crowley. He tells her that it's just plain old whiskey. "Simple, huh? How about I buy your next round?"

Crowley holds his still-full glass up and examines it, "nah I think I'm set, cheers though." He then goes back to chatting with Amelia, who had since made herself busy.

Harper sets the sour in front of the woman and she takes it with a huff, then returns to her group of friends.

Harper leans in on the bar with a dumbfounded look in her eyes, "what was that? She was gorgeous!" Crowley just looks at her puzzled. "Why didn't you accept the drink? Or introduce yourself or anything!"

Crowley just swishes the liquid in his glass, "this one's still full and also it'll probably be my last."

"Yeah but that's not how the dance goes," Amelia adds, "if a fine piece, like that, hits on you then you accept the drink and get her number."

Crowley sits up straighter and looks over his shoulder to the woman, then back to the barmaids, "wait she was hitting on me?"

Amelia just laughs and Harper groans, "yes! Tony, I swear- Lord. It might not be too late," she adds glancing to where the woman is sitting. Crowley waves it off, saying that he'll pass. The girls exchange looks and gestures that Crowley isn't too sure about. It's like they're speaking telepathically. Harper lightly shoves Amelia towards Crowley.

They finally speak real words. "Fine," Amelia swats at her friend, "I'll ask." She faces Crowley and clears her throat, "what is your type, Tony, if it isn't Harper or that milf? Do you even like women?"

Crowley had never thought about it before. As far as he can remember he'd never found anyone attractive, male or female. He shrugs and stammers something incomprehensive in response.

"Both, maybe," Amelia suggests.

Crowley bites his cheek, trying to think. Finally he gives an actual response, "I guess I like them the same." None at all, he thinks. The barmaids giggle and look at each other, excited to learn more of their strange, middle-aged, man-friend.

A real wicked smile forms on Harper's face, "you owe me £20! I called it! He's not straight." Amelia begrudgingly forks over the tip she had gotten from Crowley. "Thank you very much, sir," Harper dips her head to Crowley. "Okay, so men, women, all the same. What's your type then." Again Crowley hadn't ever put much thought into it.

After some thinking he does get the slightest idea. He simply answers, "blonde, I guess."

***
And we all know he means platinum blonde like practically white ;) anyways I hope you're enjoying!!!