vance--b:
Vance had always been independent, she was never one that came across as a damsel in distress, unless it was some form of flirtatious move, but in most cases she was happy and more than capable to fend for herself. She knew the importance of looking after herself, because despite the fact she was all about being spontaneous and having fun, she wouldn’t put herself in a situation where she was compromising her safety. In this case she had company, and she probably had more to drink than she normally would but she was still able to make rational decisions and she was having a good time. The thought of anyone trying to take care of her was beyond her understanding in most cases, let alone someone challenging her authority to hold her own.
Shaking her head back and forth at the comment– her curly tresses spilling over her shoulders she lowered her bottle to the bar top, wrinkling her nose as her brows knitted together. “Nope, I am fine. I do not want to go home.” There wasn’t alot of cases where Vance actually spent long amounts of time in her apartment, she was always out doing something and she couldn’t stand the thought of being alone.
And now, Deacon felt himself at a fork in the road, mentally. His Southern bred hospitality had him ready to push further, but the rough edges of his personality from growing up in the middle of Atlanta and the part of his mind that always had him rationalized and ready to keep his head down told him to take the hint and fuck off. She wasn’t his problem, after all, and if she wanted to stay at the bar--despite the fact that she so obviously didn’t need another drink--who was he to take that from her? “Alright, then,” He said simply. “Don’t get roofied.”