<div class="floatleft">(http://fashiontribes.typepad.com/main/images/mens_penguin_sweater_nordstrom.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Sam Reid (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=169361.msg7948132#msg7948132)<br/><strong>Location</strong>: The Woods<br/><strong>Tag</strong>: Ashleigh<br/><hr/><br/>Perhaps life was looking up after all.<br/><br/>His ability to read people hadn't disappeared. Take the little things, add them together, create a whole. She was the sister of the quarterback dude who had... Sam was polite and so internally used the term “borrowed” rather than “stolen”... his whisky. Score one to the good guys. A slight self-confidence boost to a man who was still completely out of his element here. He'd never got drunk on a field before, certainly not like this. Never even gone to a party in a field before... unless Coachella counted as a “party in a field” and Sam rather suspected it didn't. What would his friends say if they saw him now? Sam didn't want to think about. Partly because he realised he didn't actually have a great deal of friends.<br/><br/>The second stroke of good fortune was that he'd actually got his bottle of whisky back. Sam was happy to admit he'd given it up as lost to the Gods... or more appropriately lost to the drunken teenagers of Fairview... but for once the Gods were smiling on him. It was rather petty of Sam to act as if the powers-that-be had forsaken him... in the great scheme of things Sam had a rather good life, but despite the fact he'd never admit it to himself, Sam was perfectly capable of suffering from teenage angst. And for him, Fairview was pretty damn angsty.<br/><br/>He smiled and nodded in what he imagined was a polite and somewhat rakish way as the girl spoke. Of course she didn't know what the whisky was. It was Talisker, aged for 18 years, brewed from the peaty soil of the Isle of Skye. Deep and powerful, hints of oak rising through it, a slight spice as it rests on the tongue before a smoky yet warming burn as it slides down. It was a drink to savour, a drink to enjoy, a drink to appreciate, to sit back and ponder. Not a drink to glug, not a drink to quaff down and certainly not a drink to mix with coke. It was a drink of the sophisticated, of the mature, of the knowledgable. She was a girl who was currently using her mouth to hold a burger. Of couse she didn't know what it was.<br/><br/>Not that Sam minded. It meant he got his whisky. And not just the cup full he had hoped for. Instead he got everything that was left in the bottle... and despite the quarterback's best efforts there was still a decent amount left. I guess the attentions of a teenage girl impressed by his ability to throw a ball beat out the sophisticated joy of Talisker. Sam's eye rose up to the girl, watching as she chewed through the disgusting burger. She was sexy, no doubt of that. Tall, athletic but despite that nice curves. Pretty face as well. He could at least understand why the quarterback valued women over alcohol. He watched her chew some more. No, actually, he didn't.<br/><br/>He knew at this point he should be polite. He should make small talk, he should be pleasant, he should probably flirt a little even if he didn't mean anything by it. But he couldn't be bothered. He couldn't be bothered to be here, he couldn't be bothered to pretend to enjoy himself, he couldn't be bothered to pretend that he gave a damn. The whisky would help... as would certain other things. That was what he was interested in. That was what he cared about. I mean what was the point of talking to this girl? What would he say? What would he talk about? Why bother?<br/><br/>He smiled as she apologised, following her comments by lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a deep sip. Talisker should be enjoyed in a glass, preferably with a cube or two of ice to help release the flavour but there was a certain illicit thrill that came from drinking this way. Like eating caviar on tortilla chips or putting white truffle on $1 ramen noodles. He felt the soft burn roll down the back of his throat. That was more like it.<br/><br/><strong>“Oh, don't worry.”</strong><br/><br/>Sam was used to people whittling on. He enjoyed it in some ways. Helped him to read people. He guessed she liked her brother but was also exasperated by him. Like a sort of pet bear. Maybe he was wrong. He'd been wrong about that blond being a vegetarian. He had been right about this girl being the quarterback's sister though. If he cared, if he'd been interested. He may have played along. But he wasn't and he didn't.<br/><br/><strong>“Thanks for the drink. You're very kind.”</strong><br/><br/>And with that he flashed what he hoped was a charming grin, turned on his heel and headed off. He felt a little bad about it... but frankly a girl like that wasn't going to be left alone for too long in a place like this. She'd find some drunk college boy... or maybe even girl... who wanted a crack at those long legs. No, he didn't feel too bad... not when he was about to feel really good.<br/><br/>Hey ho,<br/><br/>Hey ho,<br/><br/>Off to the woods we go...<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Katie closed her eyes. She could still feel Chad's breath, warm and wet, on her skin. She felt him draw away, felt his fingers gently slip from her hand. And then...<br/><br/>Nothing.<br/><br/>She waited, her heart racing a little.<br/><br/>Nothing.<br/><br/>She kept her eyes closed, her pulse rising. What was going on?<br/><br/>Nothing.<br/><br/>She cracked an eye open.<br/><br/>Nothing.<br/><br/>Chad wasn't there. No-one was there. It was just an empty clearing in the woods. She looked left. Looked right.<br/><br/>Nothing.<br/><br/><strong>“Chad? Chad where are you?”</strong><br/><br/>Nothing.<br/><br/><strong>“Come on Chad, this isn't funny! Where are you?”</strong><br/><br/>She took a few steps forward.<br/><br/>And something reared from behind the trees...<br/>