there’s a certain feeling you get when you realize someone’s really looking at you. not glancing ; not peeking ; actually looking at you. studying. searching. seems a little different than moments before, when his eyes were all over her – again, not that she could blame him ; that kind of attention’s half-expected. but while that’s half-expected, this is different. where before, she could handle it with a certain confidence, here, she finds the rose-blush in her cheeks deepening, kohl-rimmed eyes looking anywhere else. peculiar.
“ well, if you say so. ” hopefully sammy won’t mind too much. she peers in his direction, now, out of the corner of her eye ; selina’s equally curious about him, believe her, but she doesn’t want to let on about it just yet. “ 'course, i only ask, because, well – there is a case of the walking dead, here. and a few other things that go bump in the night, but i mean – you’re the ‘ ghostbuster, ’ right ? ”
now she’s said her piece, she’s got time to dissolve into her thoughts behind a sip of her martini. charismatic, personable ; they’re words that come to mind, when it comes to her company. but he’s hiding something behind witty one-liners and passable laughs – and while that could be deceptive, it’s a win, in her book : call him mysterious, or intriguing, or anything you like ; he’s something she has yet to figure out.
“ you’re an interesting guy ; i’m gonna give you that. ” as far as she’s concerned, it’s the best compliment in the world. “ it’s refreshing. ”
it’s the rose - hued tint to her cheeks that he almost found endearing, in that romantic cliché sense of the word –– the word he’d always hated because it was a poet’s word, and poets’ words were too soft and kind for someone like dean; there wasn’t enough grit, wasn’t enough this and wasn’t enough that. but poets’ words were perfect to describe what he saw when he looked at her. he just couldn’t ever say them.
interest piques with the turn of conversation. things that go bump in the night are right up his alley, but that isn’t why he’s here. a cursed relic dating back to the eighteen - hundreds, on the other hand, that brought him half - way across the country to gotham, is ( but he’s had less luck tracking it down than he hoped. )
❛ ghostbuster ? nah. i’m a ghostganker. ❜
sounded better in his head, he realises, but only after saying it with so much conviction that even the bartender looked up from beneath the hood of his eyes, riding the tail - end of secondhand embarrassment. but dean recovers with a charming smile, half - hidden behind the rim of the glass as he drinks to smother the nervous laugh that swells down in his throat.
it drowns beneath a swallow of whiskey. a lot like everything else.
❛ hey, i’m still sittin’ on a couple more pickup lines if you’re still ridin’ the fence about givin’ me your number –– even though i can think of at least two things off the top of my head that you could be straddling instead. ❜
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