@elcvates // Chandler Dean Burton had spent his entire life traveling. His first words were uttered in the back of a run down, rust-ridden 1965 Chevrolet Nova. He learned to walk on the stained carpet of a motel somewhere in Alabama. He fell in love for the very first time when he and his father 'settled down' for six months in Louisiana and he actually attended public school. There wasn't a moment that he was not on the road and he couldn't imagine his life without the hot asphalt beneath his vehicle.
It had been that way since he was about five months old, at least that's what he was told. His mother, Laura, had died while giving birth, and left him the hands of his broken father Jimmy. The idea of living at home without his wife drove the man absolutely insane, to the point that he just picked the bare necessities up, and took off with his son. For the next nineteen years, Chandler and his father were absolutely inseparable. He followed in his father's footsteps and did odd jobs, construction, yard work, the occasional farming -- anything to make ends meet. The had traveled all over the country at least twice. And then it happened. The old man eventually fell dead to his battle with alcohol and his inability to sleep. While it shook Chandler to the very core, he followed in Jimmy's footsteps. He picked up what he had left and took off.
Just five years later, Chandler found himself in Charleston, South Carolina, loosely contracted to help on a few building renovations. It was a rare thing for him, staying in one place for too long, but his contract gave a time -- he'd be in town for at least three months. Just long enough to get to know the local haunts and see the local girls. None of them had really caught his eye just yet, though. He hoped, secretly, that none of them would. It was always a pain in the ass to explain why he couldn't stick around. He was a rambling man, never destined to settle down.
It was around ten-thirty in the evening when he finally stumbled into the local bar, his clothes caked in dirt and grime for the day. He had just finished cleaning up the job site and packing his tools and quite frankly, the only thing on his mind was getting a drink. Chandler never once though of going after a girl after such a long day. Hell, had he even known anyone attractive would be there, he would have at least gone back to his motel and changed his clothes before heading out. Yet, as he sat there at the bar with his whiskey on the rocks, his dark brown eyes couldn't help but follow the silhouette of a beautiful brunette. He'd offer to buy her a drink, but he thought better of it. What if she's with friends? What if she doesn't drink? What if she thinks you spiked it or are a fuckin' creep? he thought to himself. Against his better judgment, the tall brunet stood up from his stool and slowly made his way over to her. His heavy steel-toe boots clunked against the floor with each step he took, only adding to the rough look that seemed to drape across his enitre being. "Hello there, Ma'am," he said in greeting. A bright, cheesy grin stretched across his face, causing the small dimples hiding beneath his scruff to finally show. "I don't think I've ever seen ya here before. Call me crazy, but I reckon I'd remember ya. Do you, uh... D'ya want a drink or somethin'?"