Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold.
Another Drink
Session 1
Sitting on a stool in a dank little bar in a small town sat a woman completely dressed in black. Sitting in front of her was a shot glass, half full with an amber colored liquid. Anyone passing by would stop and take a glance at the woman. Her trench coat hid her body from prying eyes, but her head remained in full view. Her head was adorned by a thick mane of blonde hair that trailed down to below her waist in a braid. The bar tender stood off to the side glancing at the young woman every now and then. He knew her from past visits to the small bar. She never really spoke, but when she did it was always to him.
* * * *
To think I've come to this, drinking in a bar. A drifter people would call me, so what. I made a living; my writing skills went to no waste. But why did I care anymore? No one cared for me. My own parents kicked me out of the house after I turned 16, my only best friend deserted me for others... and the only person I thought I loved turned away from me. Though they were my inspiration for my books, that and the open road. I wore nothing but black and traveled on my bike. Stopping whenever I finished something for my editor or if I needed supplies. Would I ever go back to Hillwood? Funny, ever since I left I could never find an answer to that question. It would leave my lips and hang in the air, as if gravity had no control over it... or myself.
Picking up the glass in front of me I took a small sip and let the whiskey sit for a moment before swallowing, burning as it went. Still holding onto the glass I turned it this way and that, watching the liquid as it moved. It was something that I knew that wouldn't turn it's back on me. Though eventually it would cause problems in the future, but right now I didn't care.
"Hey Nick, ya ever heard of a city called Hillwood?" I said lightly to the bar tender. He stopped his usual wiping of the counter top and turned toward me. His face was thoughtful for a moment before he answered.
"Only from you Helga. Why do you ask?" Looking back down to my drink I thought of what to say, lifting the glass to my lips and drinking the rest of the whiskey I turned to him.
"Just wondering if you've ever been to a worse place then this town." Smirking I placed the shot glass in front of me and motioned to him to fill it.
"Well, I can't say that I haven't. Though you do make it more interesting around here." Letting out a laugh I downed the whiskey he had poured and thought back to when I was younger.
"Nick, never let someone tell you that your childhood was when you lived." With that I stood, paid for the drinks I had and walked out of the bar and out to my motorcycle. It sat waiting for me to ride it off on some lone highway, getting on and starting it up I left the dirt parking lot of the bar and drove off into the cold night.
* * * *
Those who sat outside of the bar watched the "Woman in Black" they had dubbed her, get on her motorcycle and drive off. The only thing visible was the back taillight of the bike. Nothing more then a drifter off to another town, to another drink.
Another Drink
Session 1
Sitting on a stool in a dank little bar in a small town sat a woman completely dressed in black. Sitting in front of her was a shot glass, half full with an amber colored liquid. Anyone passing by would stop and take a glance at the woman. Her trench coat hid her body from prying eyes, but her head remained in full view. Her head was adorned by a thick mane of blonde hair that trailed down to below her waist in a braid. The bar tender stood off to the side glancing at the young woman every now and then. He knew her from past visits to the small bar. She never really spoke, but when she did it was always to him.
* * * *
To think I've come to this, drinking in a bar. A drifter people would call me, so what. I made a living; my writing skills went to no waste. But why did I care anymore? No one cared for me. My own parents kicked me out of the house after I turned 16, my only best friend deserted me for others... and the only person I thought I loved turned away from me. Though they were my inspiration for my books, that and the open road. I wore nothing but black and traveled on my bike. Stopping whenever I finished something for my editor or if I needed supplies. Would I ever go back to Hillwood? Funny, ever since I left I could never find an answer to that question. It would leave my lips and hang in the air, as if gravity had no control over it... or myself.
Picking up the glass in front of me I took a small sip and let the whiskey sit for a moment before swallowing, burning as it went. Still holding onto the glass I turned it this way and that, watching the liquid as it moved. It was something that I knew that wouldn't turn it's back on me. Though eventually it would cause problems in the future, but right now I didn't care.
"Hey Nick, ya ever heard of a city called Hillwood?" I said lightly to the bar tender. He stopped his usual wiping of the counter top and turned toward me. His face was thoughtful for a moment before he answered.
"Only from you Helga. Why do you ask?" Looking back down to my drink I thought of what to say, lifting the glass to my lips and drinking the rest of the whiskey I turned to him.
"Just wondering if you've ever been to a worse place then this town." Smirking I placed the shot glass in front of me and motioned to him to fill it.
"Well, I can't say that I haven't. Though you do make it more interesting around here." Letting out a laugh I downed the whiskey he had poured and thought back to when I was younger.
"Nick, never let someone tell you that your childhood was when you lived." With that I stood, paid for the drinks I had and walked out of the bar and out to my motorcycle. It sat waiting for me to ride it off on some lone highway, getting on and starting it up I left the dirt parking lot of the bar and drove off into the cold night.
* * * *
Those who sat outside of the bar watched the "Woman in Black" they had dubbed her, get on her motorcycle and drive off. The only thing visible was the back taillight of the bike. Nothing more then a drifter off to another town, to another drink.