Clarice lets her eyes wander around the bar, sighing almost imperceptibly. This isn't the worst date she's ever been on, but it's up there.
Her date, Paul Krendler, is possibly one of the most irritating men Clarice has met. He's self-absorbed, sex-obsessed, and not even that good looking. Still, Clarice had promised Ardelia that she wouldn't walk out on this one like she had other blind dates she'd been set up on, so she'll give it one last try.
After a minute or so of conversation in which Clarice doesn't feel the urge to strangle her date, she feels the call of nature making itself known.
"'Scuse me for a second," she murmurs. Paul smiles indulgently and gestures away from the table, and she gets up and heads for the bathroom.
The way to the bathroom is around the men playing darts, who all share a look as she passes. One edges out towards her and taps her on the arm.
"Hey, miss... We were watching your date over there, and I think it might be a good idea if you try the angel shot," he says.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm fine with what I've got." She smiles and steps past him, intent on the bathroom once again.
On her way back to the table, a group of girls in a booth wave her over. Oddly, though, she's never met any of these women before.
"Can I help you?"
"What did that dart player say to you?"
"He, uh, told me to try an angel shot. Not really sure what that is. I'm more of a Jack and coke kind of girl, I don't usually go for cocktails."
The girls share a look. "He was right," one says darkly. "From the looks of your date, it'd go a lot better if you ordered the angel shot."
"Thanks," Clarice says, "but I think I'll skip it tonight."
She heads back to her table once more. Paul notices her slightly shaken expression.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothin'. Just some weird people in this place."
"What did they say? Something bother you?"
"Just told me to try an angel shot, whatever that is."
Paul becomes slightly colder, she notices, the smarmy smile sliding off his face. "Did they, now?"
"What?"
"Nothing." He smiles again, but she notices that it doesn't reach his eyes.
They resume the conversation, but it's not as interesting to Clarice anymore. Paul speaks in short, clipped sentences, as though he's trying to shake something unpleasant off, and Clarice, looking at her nearly-empty drink, decides to get another. She offers to grab Paul another drink, and he smiles. FInally, the expression reaches his eyes.
"Of course. I'll have a pint of Heineken, thanks."
"Back in a second, then."
She makes her way up to the bar. It's busy, and she has to wait a few minutes before she can order.
"Can I get a pint of Heineken, and..."
The bartender raises an eyebrow. "And? Difficulty deciding?"
"Well, I mean, I did have a Jack and coke on the rocks, but... seems like everyone's telling me to try the angel shot. What's in one of them?"
The bartender's odd maroon eyes bore into hers, and she struggles not to shudder. His gaze is rather uncanny.
"Well, my dear, there's three ways to take the angel shot: neat, on the rocks, or with lime. Which would you prefer?"
"Uh... neat, I guess."
"Then allow me to retrieve my coat, and I will escort you to your car." At her confused expression, the bartender winks. "The angel shot is a life preserver, my dear. Someone who asks for an angel shot is someone who is on a bad or even dangerous date. And a beautiful thing like you asking about the angel shot..." Suddenly, his eyes narrow. She thinks that he's looking at her, but she realizes he's actually looking over her shoulder. "It would appear that those who told you to ask about it were correct. Your date is drugging the remainder of your drink. How... uncouth."
"He's what?!"
"It would appear he's attempting to drug and rape you." The bartender's eyes return to Clarice's. "Still want that angel shot?"
Clarice gulps. "Yes, please."
"Take a seat. I shall return in a moment." The bartender leaves to get his coat, and Clarice hops up onto one of the bar stools.
Paul comes over a few seconds later. "What's taking so long? And where's the bartender?"
"Not sure. He might be helping another customer."
"The service here is terrible," Paul mutters, and takes Clarice's arm. "Come on, finish your drink and let's get out of here. We can head back to my place, maybe..." He trails off with a wink that makes Clarice feel like she needs about four showers and a good, long, hard scrub.
"I'm afraid the lady won't be going anywhere with you, tonight." The bartender returns, wearing a black coat and looking, despite being shorter than Paul, quite intimidating. "As a matter of fact, I was just about to walk her to her car."
"What... You..." He turns to Clarice, and she can see the anger burning in his eyes. "You can't seriously be thinking of going anywhere with this... this freak!"
"Now, that's quite rude. I don't much like rude people." The bartender has a peculiar glint in his eyes as he looks at Paul, but Clarice feels much safer around him than she does around Paul, now. She steps towards the bartender, pulling her arm out of Paul's grasp, which has become uncomfortably tight.
The bartender offers her his arm, unperturbed by Paul's spluttering. She takes it, and he leads her to the bar's front door. Clarice doesn't have to try very hard to ignore Paul's yells as they walk away; the bartender seems to radiate calm and poise.
"Thank you for your help," she says as she opens the driver's door of her car. "I wouldn't have even realized he did that without you."
"It was my pleasure, I assure you." The bartender takes her hand and bows over it, bringing it up to his lips, and Clarice can't help but feel a warmth blossom in the pit of her stomach.
"I'm Clarice," she blurts out as he releases her hand. "Clarice Starling."
"Clarice," he tries, softly, and her name sounds right, rolling off his tongue. "I am Hannibal Lecter. Doctor Hannibal Lecter."
She smiles up at him, gazing into dark maroon eyes. "Thank you, Dr. Lecter."
"It was no trouble." He winks. "I am sure we shall see each other again."
"Definitely," she agrees.