Timing is Everything
She leaned over her drink, staring at the depths of whiskey and ice entwined in a dance to death. She gave the glass a sudden swirl, grimacing at the resounding clink. Her eyes remained focused on the ice as it revolved and eventually resolved into a stable position. The whiskey remained mostly unharmed, if a little cooler and slightly diluted. A tear fell slowly and plopped with nary a sound. It did little to further dilute the potent mixture. She raised the glass to the light and looked closely, her eyes somewhat misguided and shifting between the background and what lay before them. She drained the glass and then glared at the remaining ice cubes. There was no defiance left in them and they continued to melt, if slowly.
He took a sip of his beer and glanced surreptitiously across the bar. She was seated not far away, but she had yet to take notice of him. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He took another sip. He knew he should go talk to her because odds were she would never talk to him otherwise. He took another sip, yelled at himself internally for motivation, and stood up.
She growled slowly as she realized her drink was still devoid of alcohol and the bartender was no where in sight. The other idiots nearby didn't seem to notice or care. Apparently there was some sort of sporting event on tv. She really didn't care. She didn't care about anything. Not about him, especially. She didn't. Fuck. She needed more whiskey. She'd had enough ice and indifference.
He approached quickly and slowly. His feet moved of their own accord as his mind worked over thousands of horribly constructed introductions that he immediately rejected due to high likelihood of utter failure. Before he was ready he found himself by her side, overlooking her shoulder. He froze. Then he said hello. Soon he realized that she was not responding at all. He felt the heat rising, having no doubt that every person in a 15 mile radius was now staring at him and talking about how much of a loser he was. He panicked.
She thought she felt someone hovering, but when she looked over her shoulder there was no one there. She shrugged inwardly and sighed. Soon she saw the itinerant bartender and ordered a fresh drink to replenish her poor throat and mystify her mind. She let out a few well chosen curses to apply to men everywhere. And to a specific one, just in case the gods were listening.
He sipped his beer. He glanced through the corner of his eye and she still did not even glance in his direction. He sighed, and sipped at nothingness. The bottle was empty.