Snippet #1887115

His responce was a hearty laugh, eliciting a hardening of the glare in Izzie's eyes as they narrowed on him irascibly. "Well, for starters," he said, stopping to take a swig out of the bottle of Bacardi before forging on. "I'm about the only person who has any common characteristics. I mean, other than that one guy you hang with." His brown eyes, bearing a stoic, unrevealing manner to them, met Izzie's own sharp glare, eyes encircled with the dark shadows of insomnia--almost, it seemed, granting more flame to the gleam of her unrelenting glower, a glare that could wither a grown man to nothing at a mile away.

Well, perhaps that was something of an exaggeration, though it was true not many people saw that glare and then decided 'hey, she seems like someone I'd like to talk to, I should go bug her'. Evidently Damien Lewis did not follow this infinitely more sensible line of thinking, for if he had any reaction to the vicious cold gleam she met his nonchalant gaze with, he did well not to show it. Instead, he was making a show of not doing the sensible thing--by which was meant going away. It caused a knot to come up in Izzie's mind that she refused to allow any signs of to emerge to the surface of her stone-hard, cold countenance--What the hell does he want? There had to be some sort of reason this random babaca she'd hardly spoken to before was now approaching her like he was planning on...hell if she knew. But he definitely had to have something up his sleeve, some motive for coming here for no reason and just deciding it was time he and she 'connected'--it was just the question of what.

"Of course," he continued onwards. "You're welcome to try and make friends with a ballet dancer, a philanderer, an Aussie,what I can only assume is a tech geek, a baseball player, and two gals--who don't seem to have anything in common with you at all." He adopted a smug sort of smirk about his smile, which elicited further irritability from Izzie. She didn't like smugness. How many people had she seen wearing that same kind of smug-ass grin pasted across their face that she didn't decide needed a good ass-kicking right after? Well, fuck if I know, I don't keep a goddamn list of people whose asses I've kicked. She crushed out the now-spent cigarette butt in her hand, placing its ashen remains on the surface of the table. "I mean, I know you and your friend enjoy bitching at each other--or so it seemed the other day when I was near the pool, scowling glances aside. I figured you could use someone else to yell at. Just be warned, I like to yell back."

At this point, Izzie broke the cold harshness of her facial expression. A bitter, venomous smirk instead graced her thin, coarse lips to match the smug one he wore, a malicious glint arising to her dark eyes. "If you think I came here to try and make friends with a ballet dancer or two gals, or to find someone to yell at..." She reached out, grabbing the bottle of Bacardi he'd edged towards her, and downed a generous swig of it, wiping across her mouth with the back of her tattooed hand. "You obviously figured wrong."