Time to have [i]fun[/i].

It wasn't really a thought of hers, honestly. One of the flannel boys had put two and two together and realized that if they were going to spend the time chatting they might as well do it around a table. By the time they grabbed the guy at the bar she'd almost made up her mind, but that's what sealed the deal--if they were willing to grab some random asshole from the bar, they'd have to be down with her showing up. That was why guys went to bars, after all, to get drunk and hang out and pick up chicks. Right?

Like she had any fucking clue, but that dandy appletini-Coors Light combo had the beginnings of a buzz in her temples and she was feeling a little rebellious. It was a night out, goddammit! Maybe she never had any fun because she never [i]let[/i] herself have any fun. Maybe Big Bad ([i]It's the alcohol talking,[/i] a little part of her hyperventilated, [i]don't be stupid, don't fuck things up![/i]) didn't [i]have[/i] to be as much of a killjoy as she made him. It had been a while since she'd cut loose, since he'd ripped out, and even when the moon came along she had her little safety nets. When was the last time she actually got someone hurt?

As was usual for Michelle, while she was busy thinking and exacerbating and freaking the hell out, her body had plans of its own and made them known. She was already on her way to the table when her stupid heart started beating faster, her lips pulling tight in a little catch-me-if-you-can smile. It felt like she was getting away with something, and that edge of going-to-get-caught, fuck-it-do-it-anyway abandon was making her a little giddy.

If there was something to be said about her, she was a physical person. Mama might not have raised a dummy but she'd been a dancer and a cheerleader (Hah! What a fucking riot!) once upon a time and she knew how to slide her way across a floor. Effortless with all the confidence she didn't have, she got to the table just as the boys were settling down. A quick twist of a wrist on the back of a worn smooth wooden chair pivoted it on a leg and spun it around to let her straddle it, wrapped around the back rest while her chin rested in the groove between her wiry forearms. Her hoodie flopped across like a punk-rock circus tent in a breeze, the worn holes for her thumbs not the only ones where pale flesh peeked through.

"Howdy gents." Her smile twitched to a grin before falling back to size. "Cool if I crash your stag party? And I'll have another, honey, thanks so much." She added to the waitress from before, snagging her as she passed to another table and wiggling her fingers by way of please-and-thanks before turning to her new partners-in-crime properly. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe this would be fun after all. Or maybe they'd tell her to fuck off!

Never knew until you tried. It was a little funny--the more she stuck herself out there, the more she relaxed. She'd learned by now that if a pucnh was coming it was better to roll with it, and on the edge of watching her tentative good-time-girl bravado crumble she was oddly at ease.

"How 'bout that fucking radio-thing, huh? You guys ever heard shit like that before?"