Soft Drops

AU Ver. I

Prompt: Robin was a genius stuck in a dead end job because of her father. Passion lost and mind dulled, she lived like a husk day to day. She was seeking a way out. One night, she met an aspiring dancer in a small jazz nightclub.

The smog ailed her, while the chilled air strung and nipped at her skin in tiny nymph-like bites. Ten more minutes until one in the morning—another day lost. Bitterness overwhelmed her aching self. She wanted a drink, but she didn't want to walk farther than she needed to. Her apartment and the nearest store were too far apart for her to even consider walking another inch. Damn.

A bright neon sign flashed and flickered. The lights connected to form a saxophone. She paused and stared at the lights. It was a small nightclub, one she only faintly recognized—though, she only saw it during the day. She heard soft music waft through its doors, however. She entertained the thought of entering, then laughed. A woman, her age, going to a club? She wasn't in college anymore.

Still, the steady beats lured her. She was faintly reminded of the sweet citrus cocktail she drank years ago. She licked her dry lips, reminiscing the sweet taste of orange mixed with mango. She became thirsty.

A look, she thought, wouldn't hurt. She could leave anytime she wanted, she reasoned. Sneak in, grab a drink if possible, and leave at the first half-opportunity. Besides, who would be interested in a worn out pencil pusher like her? No one.

She gathered her courage and pushed opened the doors quietly. The lights were dimmed, most of the focus on the stage, while chairs and tables alike were scattered about. Most of the people inside, it seemed, were students. She spotted the bar further inside, and bit her bottom lip nervously. It was too out of reach for her liking. But, she was dying for any sort of drink (water, would had been fine at this point).

Hesitantly, she sat at one of the stools. A tall brooding young man looked at her, waiting for her presumably. She started. "Ah, one citrus-mango cocktail…?" she said uncertainly. He nodded and turned away. She heard the scraping of wood besides her.

"Ah, that's my favorite too." A young man settled into the seat. He grinned slyly, as he leaned in. "Now, may I ask; what is a beautiful woman like you doing here in such a small joint?"

Robin smiled wryly. "Not interested, if that's what you're implying."

"Ouch." He pouted in disappointment. "Couldn't have even given me a chance?"

"Not at all."

He sighed. "Now, that's a shame. You are rather beautiful—even more so, under the light, I'm sure."

"Well, aren't you a charmer?"

He grinned. "Yes indeed." She snorted lightly. He had the ego to boot. "Oh, but I am curious why you're here. We don't see many… older persons come in."

She felt slightly irritated by his comment. "I only wanted a drink, and this was the closest place opened."

"Oh, so you live by here?" She didn't answer. "Well, I'm sure you have your reasons," he said. "Although, good ol' Inigo here wouldn't mind lending an ear—or maybe a shoulder to cry on?"

"Is that your name?" She finally turned to look at him. Under the dim light, she took in his dusty, light-colored hair, and noted the single golden piercing in his left ear. He reminded her of some sort of juvenile.

"I've never introduced myself, have I? I'm Inigo Threadway. And may I ask for the lovely lady's name?"

"Robin," she answered curtly.

"The lady isn't very sociable," he mused.

"You're quite rude, aren't you, Inigo?"

"My intention isn't to offend, but I humbly apologize if I did." He turned and mock bowed. She laughed into her hand. "Ah, the little bird has smiled." He grinned cheekily.

She smiled wryly. "I suppose that's entertaining for you?"

"Ah, all I want in life, is to make every lady in the world smile. Now, is that too much to ask?" he said dramatically.

Her lips twitched upwards. "Yes." He fell, as if in shock.

"Well, Robin," he said, situating himself onto his seat again, "I would like to meet again, if possible." He took out a crumpled piece of paper, tearing a strip from it. He hastily scribbled something on it. "My number, if you'd like." He slipped it to her.

She took the scrap and folded it neatly, tucking it away in her front pocket. She'll throw it away when he wasn't looking. "Ahem, I hope you'll stay awhile. We have a few performers tonight, and I'm sure you'll enjoy them."

"Are you performing, Inigo?"

"Oh, oh, no." He cringed slightly. "I'd loved to, but, I'm a bit shy, you see." Robin stared at him. Someone as frivolous as him, shy? She figured he would be the first to stand out. "Erm, may I ask if you would please stop staring?"

"Oh," she looked away, breaking eye contact, "sorry."

"It's not a problem; but, if you'll excuse me, I need to help with setting up. I hope to see you again." He winked at her, before leaving.

Robin blinked. He really had just said his piece and left. "Miss." Startled, she looked up at the gloomy bartender. He nodded, set down her drink, and quietly left.

"Er, okay," she mumbled to herself. She took the glass and sipped at the top, grimacing slightly at the saccharine flavor. Strange. She didn't remember it being this sweet. Still, she sipped at it little by little until a tiny translucent orange drop remained at the bottom.

She arrived home, tossing her heels off and dropping her purse to the ground. She patted the front of her jacket, remembering the small slip of paper in her right pocket. She took it out and held it over the nearest trash bin, pausing.

Slowly, she unfolded the crinkled slip, staring at the hastily scribbled number. 202-555-0142. She refolded the piece and dropped it in her bedside table instead. She'll forget it later, she told herself. When cleaning day comes, she'll toss it into the bin along with all the other receipts she stockpiled over the months.

She landed heavily on her bed, the springs creaking from the sudden impact. She sighed, and undid her hair, letting the dark strands fall around her. She closed her eyes briefly. When they opened, they landed on the dinky table beside her. She stared at the wooden knob harshly. Her fingertips twitched from temptation. She wanted to know more.

A/N: AU I had in mind for a while now. I'm a sucker for older woman w/ younger guy type stories. I needed to post this. Also, that number is fake.

Bartender!Gerome, please. He doesn't ask anything of the customers, nor is he interested. He just does his job.

Sidenote: thank you to my lovely reviewers, especially Loz-Fan Yami-Chan and NotSoGreatGamerGirl for reviewing multiple times. I usually don't do this, but authors should appreciate their fans, so I will now go crawl back into the hole I came from.