milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Grace is pissed.

For the moment she's hiding it well beneath her casual disregard for anything around her other than the Budweiser in her hand, but her friends would notice something simmering under the disinterest.

Good thing they aren't here.

She'd left the bar and the surprise family cabal only to find Earl sitting at her counter with the freaking brochures she'd just thrown away. Belching, she deleted her sister's messages and ignored Earl's latest attempts to impress upon her the importance of family values. It was a relief when he flashed the wings and disappeared to Vegas or the Titanic or wherever the hell he said he was going. She doesn't care. She never cares.

But she doesn't feel like being alone. These days, that means finding Mike and making some trouble, so here she is, lurking around the main bar with a beer and a somewhat vacant expression, waiting for trouble. Yee-haw.

[OOC: Also for car keys, all are welcome, slowtime likely, etc.]

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"The thing about one night stands, even they require a level of trust." Something she wasn't sure she had anymore, not on that level. "Have to trust the guy isn't a sleaze, I deal enough with that while on duty."

It was always duty, never just work.

"Yeah, I play pool and darts." A small smirk appeared on her face. "Love a good round of strip poker, have earned a good supply of night shirts that way."

The smile deepened as she thought back to those moments.

"For you," Grace clarifies, adding a wink and a laugh. "Other folks might approach things differently."

Naming no names.

"Nice. Why night shirts?" she asks conversationally. "And hey, need another drink?"

Sonya had been nice enough to offer the seat, after all.

"And you're not the only one to suggest it." Sonya was well aware of her appearence, but in the long run of her career, she never gave it much thought. Really, how did her appearance help on the job anyway-not a bit.

"Because for some reason a guy's shirt always feels more comfortable then what's made for women." Even now she had no clue why. "Plus, in secret I'm a soft touch and have to atleast give them back their pants."

She laughed. "Sure, what the hell.." Drinking alone wasn't something she liked to do, but in company was completely fine. "Draft, anything from Texas."

All this talk had her feeling nostalgic.

Grace shrugs. It's very much: to each her own.

"Never give them back their pants," Grace advises seriously, or perhaps not seriously at all; it's hard to tell. "Never." She snickers. "Yeah, I like a good man's shirt."

Or a bad man's shirt.

She collects clothing like a magpie does shiny things. It pisses Ham off.

Grace lets out a loud groan at Sonya's order. "Shit, you're a Texan?"

"These are the same guys that have my back in the line of duty. The least I could do is spare them some dignity-the fact that they know I can beat their asses is prize enough." Even if the eyecandy was nice.

Sonya may've been just a touch smug when admitting this. She also can't help but laugh at her reaction.

"Born and raised, up until I was five years old, then it was onto Georgia, then Alabama, then we spent a few years in Japan and back to the states for us." Somehow she was still able to remember most of the places she and her family moved. "Dad was in the army, so I can't exactly say I ever had a proper home town."

Just whistful nostalgia for one.

"Goddamn Texas."

Grace smirks. Really, isn't it best Sonya got out of that damn state early?

Texas.

"I've got a team. Best guys I know," she says, starting to laugh. "Dignity's not a big factor in our relationship."

For any of them.

"So where was your favorite place?"

"Before I even got into the military.." She thought a moment. "When we lived in England for six months, it was another country but we didn't need translators for everything. Was twelve years old at the time and dad let us spend the day in London once for Guy Fawkes day."

Fireworks, bonfires and food-what wasn't to like.

It was her turn to smirk. "My turn to ask, what the hell sort of experience did you have in Texas to hate it so much?" Part of her wondered if it was just a matter of principle.

Grace snorts. "Always thought that was ironic. Celebrating a failure to blow shit up by lighting bonfires all over the place."

It is often a matter of principle when it comes to football. Sitting back, Grace makes a show of widening her eyes and her arms in a come at me, bro posture.

"C'mon. I'm a Sooner. What'd you expect?"

"Actually the conspirators were killed-if there's one thing people love it's seeing a traitor getting offed." English, American, what have you-didn't matter if the monarch was a bastard, treason was still seen as a hot topic. "And an excuse to blow shit up, what's not to like."

She could only shrug at her posture. "I went to a military boarding school in way of high school, the only rivalry I care about is Army vs. Navy." And even then she couldn't really bring herself to care about that anymore.

"Mmmmmm," is all Grace says to that, both because there is actually nothing to argue and because she's a cop in Oklahoma City. She knows about traitors. She knows about things blowing up. She knows about revenge.

The flat expression is back.

"Catholic school," she adds at last, lifting her eyebrows in a brief sardonic expression. "Where'd you train?"

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