a willing receptacle [alannah]

late march | 2003

Returning from the bathroom, Charlie thought now might be a good time to cut his losses and go home – or, to the hotel room he was still paying for instead of looking for somewhere a bit more permanent. He vaguely wondered if the reason he didn’t feel so out of place living out of a suitcase was because he’d done that for months at a time when on tour. But having said that, he wasn’t particularly keen to go back to his shoebox. What would he do? Lay in bed and watch television, maybe (definitely) drink overpriced wine from the room service menu? Better to drink overpriced booze in a bar, surely.

He had escaped the confines of his self-imposed exile earlier in the afternoon to join Liam for a pint, but then Liam had had somewhere to be and Charlie hadn’t exactly been invited so he’d remained here; drinking alone – but, crucially, less alone than he would have been in the hotel.

He brushed past a small group of women giggling over espresso martinis and slipped back into ‘his’ spot at the bar, raising two fingers at the bartender to signal for another drink. A woman sidled up beside him and he glanced in her direction, then stared, rather more openly as she caught his eye properly. He wasn’t purely being a lech – even if she was ticking every box for his usual type – he recognised her from somewhere, he was sure of it.

Had he slept with her? Charlie was not subtle about leaning back to check her out fully. The bartender set his drink down, then took her order. Charlie was still staring, rather intensely, at the brunette beside him. “’Scuse me,” he was frowning softly, “have we—?” He stopped short of asking if they’d previously fucked, some part of his brain recognising that that would be a poor opening line – especially if they had and he clearly couldn't remember it, let alone her name. He swallowed, his eyes drifting below her neck. Charlie forced his gaze back up to meet hers, absently thinking he shouldn't be talking to any women in any bars until his divorce was well and truly finalised but— “Can I get that for you?” he offered, gesturing at the drink being placed in front of her.


@Alannah Dupont

Alannah was no stranger to bad press but the latest article to feature her name had hit the Quidditch player like a bludger to the gut.  She kept hoping that one day her performance as an athlete would be enough to make people forget the past and all of the false rumours.  Every time a magazine or newspaper profited from damaging her reputation, it became harder to keep faith that such a day would ever come.  Al was just grateful that her parents didn’t read the Daily Prophet.  They wouldn’t believe a word of it, of course, but they would worry about how it would affect her. 

During some of the lower points of her life, Alannah had been prone to bouts of self-destructive behaviour.  However, despite the ongoing issues she had with the media, the 25-year-old was currently as happy as she had ever been.  She loved working with the Griffins and felt great pride about their recent performance in the league.  Al wasn’t about to go off the rails just because some asshole reporter called her a slut.  On the other hand, she wasn’t going to change her behaviour or appearance to convince people differently, either.  If it wasn’t true, then why the hell should she have to prove it?

A night out on the town was just what the brunette needed to let off steam.  Rather than cowering from the paparazzi, she hoped to greet them boldly with a special middle-finger salute.  Alannah had more interest in kicking ass than kissing it.  She had briefly tried playing the ‘nice girl’ on the advice of her PR manager but hadn’t been able to make that image stick.  Tonight her mood was well past the point of ‘fuck it’.  If they wanted a bad girl, they could have one.  Consequently, Alannah’s choice of attire was more provocative than usual – a little black dress featuring a plunging neckline.  Although a mesh inset added back a hint of modesty, this did little to hide the young witch’s ample cleavage.

Regrettably it seemed like the night was going to end early.  Alannah’s mates had hit it off with a couple of girls and whilst Al was generally treated as ‘one of the boys’ there were times when her mere presence was a cock-block.  Although she had no intention of getting in the way, other women were often put off by her.  Al had long since learned that the boys needed some space if they were going to get anywhere with the opposite sex so after she dished out some good-natured ribbing about how they were essentially ditching her to get laid, Al made her way over to the bar on her own. 

As she crossed the room with long strides, Alannah walked past a small group of women who were bonding loudly over cocktails.  She eyed them briefly, a strange sense of loneliness washing over her at the sight.  It wasn’t as though Al didn’t have any female friends, however, they were few and the dynamic that she shared with them was different to what would be considered typical for most women.   She had never really had the ‘girly’ experience and although it wasn’t exactly her thing anyway, it had always hurt to be shut out.  Upon catching sight of Alannah, the group of women seemed to huddle closer together, whispering and giggling in a more pointed fashion.  Squaring her shoulders, Al kept walking although she was sure that they were talking about her.  That sort of thing was why she preferred hanging out with guys; it wasn’t as though men didn’t have their own complications and issues but at least they were never hurtful in the way that girls could be.

As she ordered a drink at the bar, Al became aware of a new set of eyes upon her – or more accurately, her body.  The guy next to her was checking her out with about as much subtlety as Montrose Magpie’s Seeker trying to pull a feint in their last game (i.e. zilch).  Oh, for fuck sake…  Alannah tensed up, bracing herself for what would come next – surely some atrocious pickup line (that she would smack her mates upside the head for ever using).  Based on the way his eyes kept dropping, she would have wagered that it would be something about her tits.  Therefore, the actual words which left his mouth had her blinking in surprise.  “Have we what?”  Against her better judgement she turned to get a better look at him.  “Oh.”  Alannah couldn’t help smirking as she recognised the Banshee’s frontman: Charlie Baker.  Although she had never met him before, he looked just like the photographs and posters.  As she recalled, his name seemed to be featured in the newspapers for supposed misdeeds just as frequently as her own.  Casting a sweeping glace around the room, Al was mildly disappointed not to spot any of the other band members.  She was hardly a fangirl but if she had to pick a Banshee to meet, their unassuming drummer, @Sam Lynch would probably have been her first choice.  He seemed a little more ’down-to-earth’ than the others. 

On reflection, Alannah was pretty sure that she’d read somewhere that Charlie Baker was married…  So what was he doing at a bar, apparently alone?  A small frown created a furrow in her brow as she considered his offer with open scepticism.  Infidelity was chief amongst the misdemeanours Mr Baker had been accused of in the papers.  Al was not interested in getting involved in any of that, so if this bloke was looking for a hook up he was really barking up the wrong tree.  Still, she was no hypocrite.  It wouldn’t be fair to pass judgement on him based on rumours and hearsay, so Alannah decided to give Charlie the benefit of the doubt.  At the end of the day, everyone deserved that much. 

“I’ve got it,” she replied while already sliding some money across to the bartender.  “I wouldn’t want to owe you anything.”  Yet although Al declined his offer, her tone was light and almost teasing.  All traces of her frown were gone, replaced instead with the hint of a smile.  Aside from the initial staring, he hadn’t yet done anything to earn her hostility.  She shifted her posture to face Charlie more directly and propped one elbow against the bar top before taking a long swig of her beer.  “I’m Alannah,” she finally offered with a shrug as she withdrew the bottle from her lips, “Did your mates ditch you too?”

There was a lot going on in that dress and Charlie was struggling to keep his gaze at eye level. “Met—” he blurted out, rather than say what he’d actually been thinking. Her accent took him off guard slightly, though he wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting to come out of that mouth. “Have we met.” It didn’t sound like a question anymore; he’d sort of answered it himself. He assumed he’d remember… those – everything, really – if they had ever slept together. She looked like the type of woman Pygmalion might have crafted from clay had he been a horny teenage boy.

She gave the room a cursory glance – looking for a boyfriend, perhaps? – before focusing back on Charlie. His offer was hanging between them and he suddenly remembered what it was to have to make an effort – he hadn’t had to work for anything in a long time. Was he angling for something now? Was that wise? Did it matter, if he was? He was essentially single now (and had ironically not slept with anyone since breaking up with Kate).

She declined him, but he didn’t think she was telling him to fuck off. He inclined his head, then smirked. “You wouldn’t,” he said, and he meant it; he might have been a prick, but he didn’t think women owed him anything in exchange for a couple of drinks. Conversation, maybe, but that was just good manners.

She turned to face him head on and part of him wished she hadn’t; he glanced down for the briefest of seconds before meeting her gaze again – staring more intently at her face to try and makeup for his slip in attention to her chest. She took a sip of her beer and Charlie found himself doing the same – mesmerised, somewhat, by the way she looked like she was starring in a Heineken commercial or something. Whatever it was, he’d drink it.

“Alannah,” he repeated in his Northern drawl; she didn’t extend a hand so he didn’t think he ought to either. “Charlie.” He wet his lips. ”What?” he asked, more surprised that anyone would ditch her rather than offended she’d assumed the same of him. “I— yeah, actually.” He didn't stop to consider if that somehow made him less attractive, if he'd been ditched. And she hadn’t asked how long ago said ditching had taken place, so he wasn’t lying. Technically. He shifted to mirror her, his elbow on the bar. “Why’d yours ditch you?” he asked, taking another drink from his bottle.

Charlie got a lot of credit for his response, enough for her to temporarily overlook his wandering gaze.  After exchanging a few words with him, Alannah was willing to believe that he wasn’t a complete pervert; plus she figured he’d get it out of his system soon enough.  She’d seen her tits too and knew they were nice to look at so it wasn’t as though Al was under any illusions that even her mates never sneaked a peek.  The things that really mattered were actions and intentions – the latter of which was still unclear, but at least Charlie wasn’t making her feel like a piece of meat to be bought or taken.  This was good because it would’ve been a shame to have to break his pretty face. 

Alannah smiled when he held eye contact; that simple gesture earning him more appreciation than any compliment he could have given her.  It seemed like he was paying attention, even repeating her name back to her as though to commit it to memory.  Al raised an eyebrow in surprise at his simple introduction of ‘Charlie’ but otherwise did not react or comment.  If he didn’t want to try to use his fame as leverage she’d only be more impressed.  Besides it wasn’t like she was bragging about her celebrity status either (but then, she wasn’t the one trying to win his attention). 

She laughed aloud at Charlie’s question, pleased and amused that he had bothered to ask.  Alannah paused, bottle poised halfway to her lips, and grinned.  “Isn’t it obvious?”  She drank slowly, allowing Charlie plenty of time to wonder.  Al was pretty sure that, if he was anything like other men, he must be wondering.  Some people looked at her face and her figure, only to think that there must be some catch, some great and terrible flaw lurking beneath the surface.  Occasionally Alannah considered whether maybe it would be easier to have friends and relationships if there was some kind of unsightly blemish on her face to which they could point and exclaim – There it is!  That’s problem!  Of course, Alannah had plenty of flaws, they were just not what most people would expect. 

“Probably not the same reason your friends ditched you.”  Alannah added, allowing her gaze to run lazily over him from head to toe in a parody of his earlier glances.  Since he was a stranger that she'd just met, Al wouldn’t claim to be interested in him that way (especially if he was a married man), but she doubted that Charlie Baker ever drove the ladies away.  There was a certain appeal despite - or perhaps because of - an unpolished edge to his appearance.  That must be the rockstar lifestyle, she supposed. 

It wasn’t really her intention to evade his question, Al would happily give a candid answer, but she was testing, trying to gauge what kind of guy he was and where his interests lay.  “Why are you here alone?”  She queried, genuinely curious.

Charlie was working under the (potentially false) hope that the longer he spent in her presence, the more immune he would become to… well, her, he supposed. It wasn’t like her face wasn’t good to look at -- it definitely was -- but there was a lot else he’d like to look at too. He found his own mouth curling up when she smiled at him -- a good sign, he thought. She didn’t say anything in response to his introduction, which left him unsure if she recognised him. She was still niggling at him, at any rate; he’d definitely seen her somewhere before but he couldn’t place it. She hadn’t cared to enlighten him, either. Thank Christ he hadn’t gone ahead and asked if they’d fucked before.

Isn’t it obvious? Charlie blinked. No. It wasn’t obvious. His usual response would be some cheesy line about how he wouldn’t ditch her, but he was either too slow or too conscious to take that approach -- maybe he was growing out of that phase, or maybe it was the divorce. He drank.

He shrugged one shoulder and offered her a lazy grin. “To go and get laid?” It came out before he could think about it. He cleared his throat and lifted his beer to his lips, drinking deeply this time to avoid saying anything else that she might think stupid. As he lowered the bottle Charlie caught her sweeping gaze over him. Oh, was this on now, then? He followed her eyes down (chancing a sneaky glance at her while he was at it). He was somewhat regretting his casual approach to getting dressed now (he had only been catching up with Liam, after all); she was in a little black number that hugged in all the right places (too well, almost), he in dark jeans and a plain white, slightly wrinkled shirt. At least he’d put some effort into his hair -- if slicking it back counted as effort (it did).

Why was he here alone? He drank again, if only to give him some time to think about his response. If Alannah did know who he was, surely she knew his wife had just left him? But that wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to have with her -- or anyone -- and if she didn’t know, maybe he’d prefer that. “Was meeting up with a mate,” he replied honestly. “He had to leave, go see--” he couldn’t say his boyfriend “-- he had a date.” He took another sip of his beer, trying to think of a good reason why he hadn’t just gone home and coming up short of anything that didn’t sound depressing or leery. He smirked at her; “Nothin’ good on telly tonight so thought I’d stay out.” He wet his lips, still holding her gaze. “You? I mean, after your mates fucked off.”

“Yeah, actually.”  Alannah smirked, dark hair swaying forward over one shoulder as she nodded to confirm he’d guessed correctly.  The way he cleared his throat after saying ‘laid’ was rather endearing.  It wasn’t as though she really had delicate feminine sensibilities to offend, but he wouldn’t know that.  If he thought it was a slip up that meant it was real and honest, which made him infinitely more likeable.  Al could see him possibly getting along well with her mates.  Hell, that was fun to imagine!  They’d completely lose their shit if she invited Charlie Baker to poker night. 

“So both our mates fucked off to get fucked?”  Alannah raised her drink towards him in a brief salute of camaraderie.  She cared not the slightest bit about her language.  If Charlie thought it was unladylike, then he could go hump a hippogriff as far as she was concerned.  “I guess I’m out ‘cause… there was nothing good on telly.”  Al smiled, teasingly.  After taking another sip of her drink, she shifted forward just enough to nudge his elbow playfully with her own.  “You must be watching the wrong channel mate,” she said, calling him out on his lame excuse.  “Or you know, you could have just hired a video.”

Swaying back into place with a chuckle, Al tilted her chin up to pour the last drops of beer into her mouth.  “I probably should go home… hell, I should have stayed home, but I suppose I don’t really wanna sit in my room like some misbehaving teen.”  Alannah pulled a face to express her distaste at the thought.  Tapping her fingers idly on the now empty bottle in her hand, she contemplated whether or not to get another one.  Drinking with Charlie Baker hadn’t exactly been part of her plans for the night.  “Shit!”  She exclaimed, as something occurred to her suddenly.  “Just being seen with you is probably going to get me in trouble.”’

His eyebrows rose, lips still around his beer. “Really?” he asked as he lowered the bottle. He’d said it as a crass joke, mostly, but why else did people ditch their mates at a bar? Charlie let out a light laugh at her follow up comment and tipped the neck of his bottle towards her. “S’pose they did.” He felt his shoulders relax a little as he gazed at her, his previous skittishness slowly leaving him as their exchange went on.

Charlie’s lips curled up into a familiar smirk as she made fun of him -- he assumed that was what she was doing, anyway. He acted surprised; “What? You not into Corrie?” He drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle back on the bar, his long fingers still loosely wrapped around it. He grinned, raising a suggestive eyebrow at her nudge -- as if to say excuse me. “Caught me.” He wet his lips and met her gaze, holding it. “Could’ve done.” There were plenty of hireable channels on the hotel television set too, but he didn’t want to stoop that low -- especially not when the alternative was the real thing. “But then I wouldn’t be here, talking to you.”

He broke their eye contact and rolled his shoulders, standing up a little straighter but making no effort to leave. “Same,” he concurred with a lazy grin; his beer was empty, Liam wasn’t coming back -- but he hadn’t banked on finding anyone willing to talk to him--

He blinked, kept his attention on the moisture rings his bottle had made on the counter. So she did know who he was. There weren’t many times Charlie hoped not to be recognised (well, not when he was trying to chat someone up), but this was one of them. Was he so notorious now that even being seen with him was some sort of social suicide? Or did she have a boyfriend? Husband? Someone who'd assume the worst of her, even if all they were doing was having a drink? (Nevermind that he wouldn't say no to being more than just friendly).

Charlie frowned softly, balancing his beer bottle on its edge. “And why’s that?” he asked, playing dumb and flicking his eyes to meet hers. "You got a boyfriend or summat?"

Alannah barely suppressed a snort of laughter and was briefly grateful that she hadn’t been half-way through a mouthful of beer (otherwise she might have sprayed it all over him).  “Corrie?!  Fuck no!”  She grinned widely, relaxing into the conversation a little more.  The fact Charlie knew about the popular Muggle television show at all was pleasantly surprising.  It was nice to see he wasn’t too much of a big-shot to keep up with what the little people liked (even if she personally thought the show was lame).  Unsure whether his next comment was meant to be flirtatious – or how she felt about that if it was – Al responded with a non-committal, “Hmmm.  I suppose so.”

The words had slipped out unintentionally so Alannah hadn’t had a chance to consider how her last statement would sound to Charlie.  Noticing a shift in his energy and the disappearance of his easy smile, she immediately felt like a twat for ruining the mood.  “Hey, no.  I didn’t mean it like that…”  Mildly exasperated, Al turned away under the pretence of waving the bartender over.  Without waiting for Charlie’s input she ordered two more beers and slid one down the counter to him, avoiding direct eye contact all the while.  Digging a fingernail under the edge of the label on her fresh bottle, Al began to peel it off. 

“You know how it is…”  She elaborated vaguely, shoulders rising in a half-shrug.  Alannah sighed irritably, not really wanting to have to explain the obvious – that them being seen together would hardly be low-profile, that given their individual reputations the media would automatically assume the two of them were hooking up.  Unless maybe it wasn’t obvious to him?  Al stared at him openly while trying to remember if he had said anything to indicate that he knew who she was.  Possibly not?  “I’m –”  She stopped short, deciding that if he wasn’t going to bring up his celebrity status then she didn’t have to either.  “It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head.  “I’m a free agent.  No boyfriend.”

There was no way that Alannah was going to ask if he was single.  To resist the temptation she quickly raised the bottle to her lips and took a long drink.  It didn’t matter anyway, she told herself.  Whether or not he was actually married should be of little consequence.  It wasn’t as though she had any plans for their chat to be anything more than platonic.  There was no reason a man and a woman couldn’t drink at a bar together without things getting sexual.  Of course, Al knew all too well that people could get the wrong idea – but that was their own closeminded problem, not hers!  And she had actually been enjoying talking to Charlie before she had fucked things up with her unnecessary outburst.

“You don’t actually like Corrie do you?”  She smiled encouragingly, hoping to resume their earlier banter.  “I mean c’mon!  My parents watch that show!”

He let out a light laugh. “Thank God,” he replied with a grin. Charlie was grateful firstly that she wasn’t a fan of the soap, but secondly that she knew what it was -- that meant she either had a muggle parent (or two) or she was some weirdo like Fergie who was into muggle ‘culture’, as the Scotsman referred to it. Either way, it gave them something to talk about, didn’t it?

She seemed less enthused by his subtle (he thought) attempt to test the waters. Noted.

“Like what?” he asked, still adopting an air of cluelessness but doing a less convincing job of it. Alannah ordered them both another drink and he turned back to her, figuring he should at least hear her out. He lifted his chin slightly in a silent ‘thanks’ for the beer, bringing it to his lips for a sip as his dark eyes fell to her fingers, peeling at the label of her bottle.

He lowered his drink back to the counter and glanced up to meet her gaze; a shittier Charlie would have prompted her to go on, surly and alienating, but he was doing a good enough job of isolating himself from his friends as it was, did he need to do the same with members of the public? I’m-- He quirked a curious eyebrow. She...? Was single, apparently. Had she recently split with someone too, maybe? He considered probing further, but that might just open himself up to his own interrogation. “A free agent,” he repeated, trying not to smirk and half-succeeding.

He was half-expecting at least an ‘and you?’, but it never came -- again, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad. He was, at least, more confident that she knew who he was if she wasn’t even bothering to ask about his status. Charlie filled the brief lull with another sip of his beer, a little longer this time. If this wasn’t going to go anywhere -- if she didn’t even want to be seen with him -- he thought maybe they ought to call it a night. Finish their beers and bid each other goodnight--

“What?” he asked, blinking at her -- surprised not so much by the question but by her apparent effort to slip back into their conversation. He grinned, unable to help himself. “No, mum’s into it but it’s not my cup of tea.” He wet his lips. “More into films, anyway, than television.” He allowed himself a more leisurely glance at her face and found himself drawn back to her light eyes. “What about you? Not into those like, murder mystery ones are you?” he smirked.

The label tore while Alannah was talking; little pieces of it sticking to her fingertips.  She flicked these away idly, towards a small pile collecting on the counter, and then wiped her hand on her dress, causing a slight runch in the fabric over her hip.  It was a relief when Charlie didn't ask any follow up questions about her status.  Although the way he repeated 'free agent' made Al suspect there was something he found amusing about her statement.  Oh yeah?  You wanna make fun of me?  Her lips curled up to mirror Charlie's half-smirk.  Bring it on, Mr Baker.

He really did have a nice smile, even though there was a hint of smugness to it that Al found somewhat provoking.  She was pleased that he took the bait to continue their conversation and leant forward almost imperceptibly, watching the way the man's mouth moved as he spoke.  Charlie seemed to have this habit of wetting his lips between sentences which was oddly distracting once she noticed it...  Wait -  She cast a brief, quizzical look at the half-naked bottle in her hand.  How many drinks had she had?  Al was never great at keeping track but knew that she'd already had a few before meeting Charlie.  Probably be a good idea not to get carried away.  She set the bottle down to rest on the bar, resolving to try to make it last.

"Good.  I would have been disappointed if you were that boring."  Chuckling lightly, Alannah focused her gaze on his eyes.  "Me?"  It was a fair question she supposed.  Pursing her lips, Al considered her feelings about murder mysteries but couldn't really muster up much more than indifference.  "Eh, they're alright," she replied, reaching to pick up her beer again.  "I guess I'm more into sci-fi.  But like..."  Alannah paused to gather her thoughts, one thumb running along the top of the bottle in an absentminded gesture.  "...the ones with a bit of grit."  She nodded, then drank deeply before adding, "I wish they'd bring Red Dwarf back.  That -" she waggled a finger at Charlie for emphasis, "That was a good show."

"How 'bout you?  What kind of movies are your cup of tea?"  The grin Alannah turned on him was bright, enthusiastic - and a little bit mischievous.  Before he could speak, she quickly jumped in again to take control of the conversation.  "Wait!  Lemme guess..."  Standing a little straighter, Al used her free hand to tuck the loose strands of her hair back behind one ear and then began to scrutinise Charlie with a degree of mock seriousness.  "You strike me as a chick flick kind of guy," she joked, barely able to keep a straight face as she playfully ribbed on him.  "Romantic comedies? Dramas?"

Alannah was smirking back at him and Charlie allowed himself to relax a little further -- as much as he’d like to go back to hers and fuck her (bad idea or not), he was actually enjoying just talking to her. It felt sort of effortless -- not entirely, because he was still trying -- but she wasn’t difficult to have a conversation with. It wasn’t some stilted, awkward lead-up to sex; maybe because he’d mostly accepted that that wasn’t going to happen, he was able to just talk. The beers were probably helping, too.

Charlie raised his eyebrows in mock offence, grinning. “So I’m boring, just not that boring? Fuck me,” he said through a laugh, glancing at her before drinking again. He bit his lip as he awaited her answer. When it came, he nodded, then-- “Sci-fi?” He stared at her in disbelief, unable to stop himself from giving her that once-over he’d been dying to repeat since the first time he’d checked her out. “You’re pulling my leg,” he said. His attention fell to her thumb rubbing over the mouth of her beer and he found himself momentarily mesmerised by the motion. Red Dwarf. He flicked his gaze back up to meet hers and grinned, eyes fixed on her finger as she wagged it at him. “Would never have picked you as the type,” he admitted. “No offence,” he added with a defensive open palm.

“Me?” he mimicked her earlier response, then flicked his tongue over his lips again, fighting and failing to keep a grin at bay -- was hard not to mirror her expression. He hadn’t formulated his list before she cut in, wanting to guess. She stood up straighter and he did the same, taking the opportunity to move just a little closer as he did so. He locked in the eye contact, almost but not quite wavering under her piercing gaze, then he did as he scoffed, “Oh, absolutely,” he lied, “Bridget Jones gets me every time.” He bit his lip, then let out a breathy giggle, shaking his head.

“Does The Breakfast Club count as a drama?” he asked seriously, “Don’t mind that.” He drank. “No,” he answered himself after another moment's thought, “s’pose I do like dramas, some of them. Shawshank, Schindler’s List, if you’re gettin’ deep,” he glanced at her and grinned playfully.

“I dunno,” he continued, trying to decide if he should only admit to liking films that made him look cool. Then again, if she knew what Red Dwarf was then it wasn’t like she was baiting him into revealing his inner nerd -- that was a niche show, not one that every fit girl pretending to be approachable could comfortably keep in their repertoire. “I like Bond,” he admitted with a smirk, starting with something he figured would be somewhat expected of someone like him. “The Godfather’s a classic,” he continued, trying to work through his favourites in his head. “Star Wars,” he added finally with an easy smile and half a shrug, as if to say ‘and?’.

“Boring enough for you?” he asked teasingly.

Oh, he didn’t believe her?  Alannah raised her chin defiantly, ready to respond to the inevitable request for proof.  She began to compile trivia in her head.  Characters – Dave Lister, Arnold J. Rimmer (aka “Smeg Head”), The Cat, Kryten.  Setting – the mining ship, Red Dwarf (or the smaller vessel, Star Bug).  Lister’s favourite meal – curry, poppadums and a lager.  It never made much sense to her that some guys got all bothered about a chick claiming to be a fan of non-mainstream media.  What did it matter really?  And as if she would really fake interest in something just to get their attention.  Fortunately, as it turned out, Charlie’s reaction was harmless.  There was no need to school him with her science fiction knowledge.  Relaxing again, she nodded.  “None taken.”

It was nice to see that Charlie could take a joke – and even roll with it, naming an appropriate girly movie title with apparent ease.  She couldn’t maintain her composure when he giggled – giggled! – breaking into uncontrollable (and surely unflattering) guffaws.  It was enjoyably fun and easy to talk to him – so much so that Alannah was in danger of forgetting that he wasn’t one of her mates.  Without thinking, she placed a hand on his chest to steady herself.  The touch was brief, just long enough for Al to catch her breath.  She stepped back, grinning, and took a drink while she listened to Charlie elaborate on the type of movies he liked. 

Clearly his taste in films wasn’t bad, however, there was nothing there to really grab her attention.  Such standard answers.  Al faked a yawn.  An appreciation for classic movies was nice and all - but it didn’t provide any insights about him.  She was about to tell Charlie that he was in fact boring when something he said made her pause –

“Hang on.  Rewind.  Did you say Star Wars?!”  Alannah tried (and failed) not to sound too excited.  She perked up, even bouncing on her toes a little.  “You’re not just saying that to impress me?”  Her tone was teasing but still she eyed him carefully.  Al really hoped he hadn’t just been bullshitting because she was about to nerd out all over him either way.  In an effort to show restraint, she drank some more beer before continuing; barely noticing that she had almost finished another bottle.  “Ok.  Alright, important question for you then…”  Alannah bit her lip and then smirked before asking, “What do you think you’d be?  Jedi?  Sith?  Or some roguish character like Han Solo?”

“Good,” he smiled, relieved.

She laughed with him and Charlie was able to momentarily forget everything that was going on in his life beyond the bubble he now inhabited with Alannah. Things had been easier, hadn’t they, like this? Before. Liam had been adamant they would again -- and until now, Charlie hadn’t believed him. Her hand touched on his chest and Charlie’s face fell more serious, his dark eyes flicking down to where the brunette’s fingers were splayed across his shirt. She made nothing further of it (was still chuckling away -- had he been this good at joking around ‘before’?), so he drank when she drank rather than drawing attention to it.

Alannah had the audacity to yawn at him. Charlie raised an eyebrow at her, half-offended and half-amused. “What?” he asked, nudging her with his elbow in the same manner she’d done a few moments before. Did you say Star Wars?! He mentally groaned at his own foolishness -- of course she’d focus on the least cool franchise he mentioned. “Yeah, Star Wars,” he admitted, his brow furrowing as he looked her up-and-down -- she was practically fizzing.

It was Charlie's turn to rewind. “Impress you?” He adopted a lazy grin, “Now why would I wanna do that?” Plenty of reasons; his gaze fell to two below her neck. He brought his attention back up and took a moment to process what the hell was going on; a verifiable Ten was accusing him of using Star Wars to woo her. His teenage self would implode if only he knew.

What would he be? Charlie breathed in and then out slowly, staring off into space a little as he mulled over her question -- allowing himself a small smirk at roguish character (seemed like that might be her type, then). He glanced at her near-empty bottle. “Let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell you,” he offered, working his way around her initial reluctance to let him do so. Under normal circumstances (namely: not mid-divorce), by now he’d be proposing they find a booth, if not a dark corner, but even without current proceedings looming overhead Alannah hadn’t been receptive to a drink, let alone any seedier suggestions. He had possibly won her over with his charm, or she just really wanted to know where he placed himself in the Star Wars mythos, because she relented. He raised his forefingers at the barman to order them another round and lifted his current bottle to his lips to drain it.

“Everyone wants to be a Jedi,” he said as fresh beers were placed in front of them, in a tone that said but not me. Sith? “I’m a prick but I’m not, like, murder-a-bunch-of-kids level of prick.” Not that that was the only qualifier for a Sith Lord, but Alannah could contest his logic if she so wished. Wasn’t like he didn’t have some sympathy for Anakin. He picked up his new bottle and tipped it in her direction. He lifted it to his lips, pausing before actually drinking -- “Who wouldn’t want to captain the Millennium Falcon?” -- he took a sip, licked his lips. “Plus, Leia.” He smirked.

“Dunno.”  She shrugged and returned his lazy grin.  Why indeed?  It was working though; she was becoming impressed, whether or not that was his intention.  Charlie Baker was different - and a lot more interesting - than she would have expected.  Not that she would say so outright, least that go to his head.
 
"Yeah, sure."  Alannah swallowed the last mouthful of her drink without hesitation, even licking the final drops from her lips and then smacking them together in satisfaction.  Little thought was given to whether she was reaching the limits of her tolerance, nor the potential implications of allowing Charlie to buy the next round.  The idea that he might be trying to pick her up seemed distant and unlikely to her at that point.   "Go on then," she chuckled and prodded him playfully in the arm with her empty bottle before putting it aside.  "Spill."

As the new beers arrived, Al leant a little more heavily on the counter and listened intently for his answer.  Everybody wanted to be a Jedi – but not him?  Yet apparently not a Sith either?   "Oh, good to know you’re not that much of a prick."  Alannah sniggered and took the opportunity to nudge Charlie's elbow lightly again.  At this rate, it was like playing bumper cars - a thought which only spurred on her sniggers.  "Ok, yikes.  It's not actually a great choice is it?"  She reflected with somewhat drunken inspiration.  "Like, fuck - if you wanna have Force powers, you've gotta commit youself to a chaste life with the monastery or join a murder-y cult.  No thanks." 

She couldn't help rolling her eyes at the way he said 'Leia'.  It wasn't difficult to guess why he'd find the Princess appealing.  “Sure, yeah."  Al snorted derisively.  "I mean, if you’re into metal bikinis, I guess.”  There was no shortage of personal reasons for Alannah to not be impressed by that particular costume choice, but it didn't seem fair to take them out on Charlie.  It wasn't his fault he was a (apparently) heterosexual man with eyes.  Besides, she could sort of see the attraction and despite the oversexualised outfit, Leia was a pretty cool character.  "No, no.  It’s cool.  She’s a badass.  Choked that motherfucking Jabba right out."  Picking up her new beer, Al silently toasted to slimy worms getting what they deserved.

Alannah propped her chin on one hand and chewed her lip thoughtfully.  "I think I’d wanna be Chewbacca," she offered with a wide grin.  "No one messes with a wookiee – or tries to make them wear a bikini."  An amusing image - she laughed.  "Or if they did, I could rip their arms off with my bare hands."  Alannah was definitely getting a bit sloshed by this point, so what came out of her mouth next was a lot louder than intended.  “I’d just be like… Mmmmrrmmmmrrrhhhhh!”  Pretending to grasp and yank something out of the air, Al let out  a deep and throaty sound which echoed around the room - her best imitation of a wookiee call.

Conversations around the bar stalled as people turned to stare at her, wide-eyed.  Someone coughed into the momentary silence which followed.  Al turned to look around and commented to no one in particular, “Gee, not a Star Wars crowd, ay?”  Unabashed she turned casually back to Charlie and added, through chuckles, “I think I could even learn to live with the body hair.  Although it would cost a fortune in shampoo.” 

Charlie glanced down again as Alannah leant forward -- he was starting to get the impression she was drawing his attention on purpose, now. She elbowed him (again) and Charlie gave her a look. “Yeah,” he grinned lopsidedly, “just a moderate level of prick,” he clarified, holding his hand up ‘mid-way’ on an imaginary scale. No need to pretend he wasn’t a prick, anyway -- it miraculously tended to work in his favour most of the time. Charlie laughed lightly, forgetting his previous hopes of not mentioning his infamy as he replied: “I think we both know I’m not cut out for a monastery,” He drank.

He didn’t miss her eye roll; he shrugged. Anyone who said they didn’t think that Leia in a bikini was hot was lying -- there was a reason that generations of teenage (and not-so-teenage) boys had had her poster on their wall. “Not metal, specifically,” Charlie started seriously, “don’t like the way it chafes.” He smirked at her out of the corner of his eye. She continued and he turned to face her properly again, one arm still propped on the bar. The musician grinned as he listened; made sense that Leia was a feminist icon as much as a schoolboy’s wet dream. Sort of.

His expression got wider as she declared her desire to be Chewbacca -- seemed she was determined to keep him off-kilter with one curveball after another. He raised an eyebrow at her. “You got something against bikinis?” he asked, giving her another cursory glance head-to-toe and back. He couldn’t help but think she’d look good in one-- Holy shit. He blinked, was about to ask if she was the girl from those broom polish adverts when--

Charlie barked out a laugh at her wookiee impression, turning his head away and into his shoulder as he erupted into a fit of giggles at her facials. Their fellow patrons were less amused -- concerned, more than anything, by the looks on their faces. Charlie turned back to Alannah. “Christ,” he coughed lightly, clearing his throat with a smile still playing on his lips. “Now you’ve got me wondering what a shaved wookiee looks like.” He imagined one of those dogs that had got in a fight with the groomer. He attempted to take a sip of his beer and had to stop as his giggles threatened to return. He inhaled deeply. “That your party trick? Chewbacca?” He grinned.

Charlie quickly drank from his bottle and set it back down before he laughed again and sprayed beer everywhere. “Han, then,” he said, after swallowing, “I’ll stick with Han.” He wet his lips and smirked at her. “Only for the Millennium Falcon, mind. And the leather jacket.” He gazed at her, thinking that yes, she did look like the girl from those advertisements -- was almost certain of it, now, but she’d been pretty anti-swimwear, hadn’t she? Charlie took another sip, still staring at her. “So, what’s a bikini ever done to you?” he asked, half a smirk on his lips.