Silver Bells and Cockle Shells
First impressions last.
If he looked dull, chances were. And if a glint lay behind his eyes, well, then just call her Mary Magpie.
But this one was different. She'd knocked a drink out of his hand in forging a path to the bar, and watched as both the glass and her words tumbled and shattered on the floor, before she could stop either.
"Shit sorry I'll buy you another...."
"Bloody Mary." In a quiet voice, laced with promise and expectancy.
They'd been talking now for well over an hour, her ears ringing with the faint hum that always accompanies engaging conversation. Yet she could not recall a single topic, and in the strangeness of that revelation, Mary looked at his face for what felt like the first time. He wasn't even remotely her type; his features held as much appeal as the walls of a warehouse, silent and grey, bits of thin, dark hair drooping like wire across his forehead.
Flashing lights coloured the walls a dull red. Two officers stood just out of the shadows, beckoning to Sgt. Sheppard as he ducked under the tape.
As he approached, he heard the last of a muffled conversation.
".....patrol this road every damn week, and never even give this place a second glance."
Sheppard peered into the cold depths beyond the warehouse door.
"You know what they say about first impressions....."