Warning: This story may be offensive to some audiences. If lesbians offend you, this isn't the fiction for you.
Note: This contains viewpoints that are not shared by the authoress.
I see you standing at the door, your eyes are black, your lips are sore, I guess you had a fight tonight. That's just the way it is.
She was a regular at the bar. Every evening, at approximately 7pm, she would walk through the door and sit down at her table by the window. Ever since she was legal to drink alcoholic beverages (which had been five months ago, or so she told her regular waitress), she'd show up. The manager of the bar had to admit that the woman had a strange air about her. Her eyes, the most interesting feature about her, could be classified as the color of blood. Her hair was a chestnut brown shade, reaching to the small of her back, and, across her shoulders, was a black tattoo. The design was hard to make out because it was often covered by her hair, but the waitress who served her drinks every evening made out the tattoo to be wings. On her left hand, she had a ring on her index finger of an intricate design, with a glistening red rose in the middle of it.
Her clothing style was revealing, but nothing that people would classify as "slutty." Her corset was ebony black, done up in the back with a complicated design of threads and metal buttons. It revealed some of the woman's cleavage, and when she would bend over to pick up something she dropped on the floor, people would notice she had a tattoo on her right breast of a red rose tangled up in spiked ivy. The woman would notice this on occasion, and her response to someone staring down her corset would be to flip them off combined with a glare that, if looks could kill, would kill the one on the receiving end within an instant.
She wore blue jean shorts on her legs that reached a few inches above her knee, the ends tattered a bit (it was a popular fashion, or so it seemed). Her longs were long, slender, but on the back of her left leg, there was a scar that reached from her knee to the top of her ankle. It was a faded white, and it was hard to notice, but if someone did notice, they would ask her about it. Her response would be to shrug her shoulders, and they knew that it was the end of that conversation.
Her footwear consists of black boots with zigzag pattern laces that were connected together with gold colored metal buttons. A two inch heel was on the bottom, which made her taller than she already was, considering that she was an estimated six feet tall. The heels made her taller than most of the regular men in the bar, which baffled most of them. Since when was a woman so tall?
On her ears were earrings of a fashion that seemed to be becoming popular. On the lobe, she would have a simple flower design, yet a black chain would connect it to a metal clip design on the helix. The flowers would vary on each ear. On her left ear, the flower was a cobalt shade, but on her right, it was of a scarlet hue. Her answer to the different colored flowers was a simple one, "Cobalt blue and scarlet are my favorite colors."
Men had made advances on her within the first few weeks she was in the bar, but she would wave them away with an irritated hand gesture. The occasional one that kept on his advances was promptly kicked in the nether regions with her two inch heel, which sent them away doubled over and cursing in pain. After a few times of having to kick men in the groin, they got the hint, figuring that she had a boyfriend back wherever she lived.
A woman had shown her interest, and the scarlet eyed regular's reaction surprised all of the men. She smiled angelically and said that she was flattered, but the young woman wasn't her type. A few of the men in the bar that night, who had hit on her in the past, were utterly dumbstruck. How could such eye candy want women instead of men? One of them had been brave enough to ask, to which she had replied, "You men think with your dicks. Maybe if you used your head… I might consider you all to not be hopeless idiots."
Some of them had choked on their drink at her comment, but she rolled her eyes and continued drinking her vodka. Men had asked her why she never drank beer, but she would reply that it "tasted like piss" and "I'd rather not drink something that tasted like that." Vodka, on the other hand, tasted like heaven to her, or so she commented. Her favorite was Bombora, made in Australia. It was one of the more expensive vodka's on the menu, but it was made with grapes, which she loved, so it sealed the deal for her.
"Good evening, Miss Anne." her waitress said, skating over to her. "Bombora again tonight?"
Anne stopped drumming her fingers on the table, choosing instead to flash the waitress a grin. "You know me too well, Celine." She put her hand up to her mouth to stifle her giggles. "Yes, I'd like two Bomboras."
Celine blushed faintly, but she winked at her regular. "As you wish, Anniekins."
She skated away, and the twenty one year old rested her head in the palm of her hand. "Celine is cute. I should consider asking her out. She did tell me she was bisexual, after all."
The night consisted of Anne, after having her two vodkas, "kidnapping" Celine from her job and taking her back to her house. What happened between them, the two never spoke of, but Celine would be more giddy around Anne, and Anne, in return, would grin and whisper things to her. A few of the men in the bar would curse that the damn waitress got the sexiest woman in the entire country, and when Celine heard it, she would smirk and say, "Damn right I did. Tough luck, boys."