Eliza watched as he ate, her mind slowly taking notes on his surroundings without the need for a pen, Eliza used a very unique version of short hand that meant she could store a lot of detail in her mind, something her father taught her as a child when she'd struggled revising fact for her first exams. She studied the lines on his face as he ate, where had once been smile lines had turned into depression in his eyes. The house boat she sat inside was in need of a female touch for sure, Eliza thought that if she lived here she would be depressed so he obviously did nothing to help himself.<br/><br/>Her demeanor had begun to soften, that was until Mr Quarterback opened his mouth, Eliza HATED being compared to trashy tabloid journalists who walked in gun-ho without any information, she'd spent a couple of hours researching his background and could have answered several of his accusing questions but his attitude towards her made her fiery temper show itself.<br/><br/>She stood up and picked up a trash bag and began bagging up bottles and cans and any other trash around the room as she spoke, Eliza always had to keep her hands busy when her temper flared or there would be trouble. She spoke quickly, with little time for breath,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4dff">"You know what I hate and you must hate this too because lets be honest we are both stereotypes apparently, you are the once amazing jock with 6,123 yards passing in your rookie season 19,453 in the 3 years you were active, which is not only the record but a fantastic achievement, you have an 85% completion rate, you had 153 touchdowns, only 4 interceptions on your record and you hold every major college passing record, but now you are an alcoholic nobody, stereotype one right there. Me I'm stereotype number two apparently, college and university educated, won several academic achievements for literature, majored in journalism and climbed higher and faster than anyone in my classes or on my teams, but now resorting to writing some dumb article about someone that quite frankly I don't think anyone gives a shit about reading about. Here we are, the two stereotypes"</span>, she paused to take a breath, not letting him intercept the conversation just yet.<br/><br/>She looked around, tied the trash bag and looked around for a duster, and began dusting the room,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4dff">"Listen I honestly couldn't care less about your story, I could be a half arsed journalist because in the short time I've been here I have enough to write a shitty article, put a tick in the box and say",</span>she lifted her hands making a sign in the air,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4dff">"Quarterback Mark Windham gives up and resorts to alcohol"</span>, she put her hands down,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4dff">"I could write about the only passes you make now being those given to delivery guys or speak about your lack of female companionship, I could talk about the fact that you clearly can't survive without alcohol as I'm guessing you haven't been up that long and you already have withdrawal"</span>, she stopped dusting and stood in front of him. She remembered the games her father made her watch as a child, that one match....she knew he'd turn in his grave if she just walked out on one of his former heroes.<br/><br/>Eliza took a deep breath,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff4dff">"I'm not a crappy journalist and I'm not a crappy human being. Sucks for you huh, thought you had me pegged when I came in, did you? Got your laughs on the deck, but listen here jock, I'm going no where til you talk and tell me YOUR story, I don't even need to print it, but I think you need help and I can get you that, you help me, I'll get you off this piece of shit boat"</span>, she sat down finally and waited for his no doubt cocky answer.