You're Fair Game [M], Preston A Nightclub, 31st May 2011

Morgan was bored, she had been at the vibe for over an hour and still no one had caught her interest. In all honesty there was only one thing on Morgan's mind and that was that she wanted to have sex tonight. That was why she had not drunk much tonight, she wanted to be sober so that she could remember who she had screwed tonight. She remembered that at least and the dates in case anything actually happened to her. But it would not obviously, she was fine. Anyway she was bored, nothing would happen, not to her anyway.

She sipped the drink that had been slipped to her by the barman. Morgan had bought it only a second around her, she knew him very well now considering how often she actually came here. Well she had once screwed him of course and there seemed to be no hard feelings about the fact that she did not intend to do it ever again. Well the barman was a little ugly, well actually he did resemble a pug but well she had been rather drunk when she had tried it on with him. Well who could blame him for that?

Morgan was very pretty after all, but she was still waiting for someone to come along that might take her fancy and she could get into bed with just for tonight. Although she might not be so picky tonight, it just depended who approached her first. Yes, she preferred the man to approach her first it just seemed a lot classier to Morgan even though she was probably going to end up screwing an absolute stranger. Well she turned her attention back to the enterance of the nightclub and waited patiently looking around and sipping the drink in her hand.

It wasn't like Preston to feel down. If anything, he was always up, despite the events that crept into his life from time to time. There wasn't anything particularly tragic in his story… no premature deaths, no intense fights that left him mauled. He was never abused, he wasn't usually ignored. But Preston felt isolated. When he was a child, he'd felt as though his father cared more for his whores than he did everyone else. But now, Preston understood… that was just what the man in the house was supposed to do. End of story.

Preston would never ascribe to such things. He would never be the pussy he saw other men were, as they whimpered through their lives. They were the men who sat at dinner with their wives, getting kicked under the table, praying that they would just have enough wine to relax. Preston would have a gorgeous wife who didn't need to criticize him. Someone who didn't make him regret doing this whole… marriage thing. If he got there. He was signed up for The Vow, but didn't have very many high hopes for it. Well. His father was skeptical at best, and Preston would fucking show him.

He needed a drink. A drink, and a nice fuck. He had fair luck at The Vibe, and at the very least, he realized he could get a little wasted, stumble through the street for a few hours, and wake up with lungs that were black and a throat sore from the cigarettes and booze. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't really a losing situation here. He stepped inside, surveying the club, and grabbed his pack of cigarettes. He beat it against his palm until one slipped through, pressed it between his lips, wetting the filter with his tongue just a bit. Wear it down… get more of the nicotine and tar, and all the shit that would kill him at an early age. Go out early, he figured, and go out in infamy.

Now was not that time. It wasn't time to think about death or taxes. It was time to think about the other inevitable: Preston was getting laid tonight. He was going home with some hot piece, and he was going to get out of this funk. Bingo. Hot blonde at the bar, looking around. Searching for her knight, to whisk her up on his horse. That's all they really wanted anyway, despite the other bullshit they spouted about true love, and marriage. Women just wanted a man. Preston went to her and smirked, motioning over the bartender.

"Scotch, on the rocks" he said, motioning to one of the more expensive bottles. He turned to the blonde, offering her something of a predatory smirk. "I don't know what your intentions are, love, but they're looking a little less than honorable," he continued, giving a quick motion to her drink. "I'll buy your next."

She half turned raising an eyebrow when she heard a voice next to her. "Do I look like the sort of girl who has ever had honorable intentions?" Morgan enquired smirking back at him a little. Well she had when she was younger and maybe when she was a little less into alcohol and parties. At least her grades had not fully gone down the pan whilst she was still in high school. Well she was not 18 anymore, she was 23 and thus legal to drink and do whatever the fuck she wanted. It was her life after all.

"Well if you want to I suppose I'll let you buy my next," she shrugged. Morgan raised an eyebrow slightly at the bartender who was trying to make the new man's drink and look down the top of her dress at the same time. Morgan rolled her eyes "You were never a great multi-tasker were you?" she said with a sweet smile on her face but with a voice laced with venom. He looked away from her then and got on with the drink and Morgan smirked satisfied. She wished that idiots like that would just stop being complete prats.

If they wanted to look down her top then they could wait until she was drunk and attempt to try it on with her. Chances were, she would probably fuck them. It depended how desperate she was to be honest, being desperate was never a good look on Morgan but whatever she could deal with it. She had been dealing with it since she graduated and had nothing to do with her life except go to work and do whatever she wanted at night. Miss Morgan Renaud did not look pretty bored out of her mind that was for sure.

The woman all but barked at the bartender as he looked down her shirt, and Preston couldn't help but smile at that. He was a little impressed by the forwardness of this women and realized, if he ever wanted to get that forwardness turned his way, he was going to have to turn it first onto her. With a wolflike grin, he took his drink and leaned in towards her a little. "If I take a sip and look at your bloody gorgeous pair, does that count as multitasking? Because I assure you, love… I'm a master." He brought the scotch to his lips and tilted it back a little, eyes never leaving her, amused.

The scotch was a shitty excuse for a scotch. It was rank and sour, and needed to sit for another ten or fifteen years before it was fit for human consumption. He felt it slide down his throat, burn it, and he realized… there was no way in hell he could make a night out of drinking it. This lovely blonde wonder could wait, for just a few bloody seconds. He turned to the bartender and lifted his hand, motioning him over. "This is bloody piss, mate," he said, holding up the scotch. "I wouldn't pay to put this in my fuckin' mum's cabinet, eh? And I don't like my mum very much." That was a lie, of course, but it got his point across. There was nothing inherently wrong with his mother… she was just an obnoxious prat of a woman who couldn't stand up for her bloody self.

"Something older," Preston demanded. "Your oldest. Trust me, mate, price doesn't bloody matter, as long as it's smooth on the tongue." As though he was talking to a fucking scotch expert. Preston let out a breath as he realized… he was never going to get the best here. It was a bloody club. Which brought him back to… "So, love." His predatory eyes were back on the blonde beside of him. This, Preston could do. "Let's revisit those intentions of yours then, eh? What's a lovely girl like you doing in a club like this, then? Seems to me like you're just askin' for some trouble, with the likes of these blokes."

OOC: I can NOT be more sorry for the delay!

Morgan smirked a little, "Well it seems you can do it a lot better than a certain troll can," her eyes flashed to the bartender, raising another eyebrow at him. Dear, dear he wasn't getting much was he. "Permanently stuck with the notion that he can get a woman, trust me he tried it on when I was very drunk but well he didn't get too far," Well fucking him didn't really count as going too far in Morgan's book, that being said she did not really have limits. Never had, maybe someday she would have reasonable and moral limits.

But for now she did, Morgan smirked a little more at the man raising an eyebrow at his behaviour towards the barman. Very good, but that man was a troll and it seemed unlikely he would ever serve quality stuff around here. Trolls lacked brain cells to do much with their lives, get women and have a decent job or be able to do anything that involved well moving or talking or any other basic function. Sometimes Morgan thought it might be a struggle for them to actually remember that they had to breathe. Stupid little fucking idiots and all.

Morgan smiled as his eyes were back on her, "Asking for trouble? Well I'm a big girl and well I'm more than capable of handling some of these blokes. I'm that sort of girl your mother warned you away from." She smirked and glanced briefly back at the bartender who was just staring dumbly at her "It's a very simple thing to do, handling those sort of men and I don't have honourable intentions. Never have and probably never will but that's just how I roll," her eyes snapped towards the bartender giving him a sharp look that sent him on his way.

Well, well, well. Kitty had claws. Preston couldn't help but watch her, his impressive smile apparent. She was quickly becoming more than just that beautiful blonde at the club, that one time, and that was something that amused Preston, almost more than anything else. She was fucking gorgeous, of course. She was gorgeous, and upfront. She voiced what she wanted, offered a little bit of the chase of which Preston was so fond, but obviously did so without any sort of ulterior intentions. She played with her food, so to speak, but still fully intended to eat the whole damn meal. With those gorgeous, tempting lips. Preston couldn't keep his eyes off of those lips.

"I'm that sort of girl your mother warned you away from," she said, with a bit of a smile. Oh, the things that Preston could say. The first, though possibly the more true statement (though not the one he was going to voice) was the fact that his mother had never warned him away from any girl. Perhaps she just didn't care. Perhaps she was too damn busy, caught up in her own sham of a marriage. His mother had always been a pushover, and rather than garnering any of Preston's respect (or Preston's father's respect at that), she she'd merely perpetuated that with her too-kind eyes and her turned-down face. She'd presented herself as the woman who wanted for her husband to philander about town, offer his body to anyone else who would dare taste it. And when Preston's father was out, philandering, Preston's mother was at home. Drinking. Drinking so much that she, obviously, didn't have time to impart any sort of "maternal wisdom" on her child. Never really had the time to tell him, "Sweetheart, there are types of women that you want to marry, and types of women that you don't."

Instead of all of this, however, Preston opted for the next thought. The one that helped him seem predatory. Scheming. The one that played into the game that she'd tossed out there for him to accept. "That's interesting, love," he said, taking the refreshed scotch, and sipping from it. Much better. It settled on his tongue nicely, slid down his throat like scotch was supposed to. "Because I'm the type of man your mum warned you about. Hm. What should we do about that, eh?"