Owner	Pose
Spike	Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. For Spike, this was not that day. And so, he had made his way up to the Bronx, where he was unlikely to come across any of the Scoobies, or anyone else he knew. He hadn't been in this bar before, as near as he could tell. He was old, and had spent a lot of years in and around New York, so it was certainly possible. He was currently sat at the bar, a beer half full in front of him, and there was a gentleman with salt and pepper hair playing guitar nearby. The man was good, probably too good for a place like this.
Sarah Connor	Meanwhile.. Sarah had noticed the best place to overhear rumours was in the bars. Too bad she wasn't a drinker. Sure she drank some, but never enough to lose control. And never the hard stuff. She wandered into Joe's Bar, checking it out before going to the bar, and taking up a seat. "Coors Light." She did even know what it tasted of, but to fit in with the crowd she would have to drink like she was one of them.
Spike	Spike was drinking a Newcastle Brown Ale himself. He glanced at Sarah as she took a seat not too far from him. He wasn't overtly checking her out, and his eyes didn't linger, but he liked to take note of new arrivals, or people in his vicinity. Swivelling in his chair, he put an arm on the bar, so he could see the owner on stage, singing the blues. He was pretty sure she was packing, but that only came from years of experience. He'd been shot before. It stung like hell. Taking another swig of his beer, he swiveled back, halfway, and looked to the bartender, "I'm feeling a might peckish. Do you have any crisps, nuts, or pretzels?"
Sarah Connor	Definitely packing. Multiple occasions she might add. And a few knives as well. Not that she advertised it. When the pale man asked for pretzels or the like, he was feeling 'peckish' she buried her amusement in her glass. "Who's that playing?" Sarah nodded to herself. "I like him." Definitely different from what she was used to south of the border.
Spike	The bartender says, "oh, that's Joe." No need to say it was the owner, since the place was named Joe's Bar, and it was self-explanatory. She would get a bowl of pretzels. Salty snacks made people drink more, so they were free, but the alcohol was not. It was how these places operated. Catching sight of the buried amusement, "it's the accent, right?"
Sarah Connor	She thanks the bartender for the pretzels - you never knew when good relationships would be necessary. And she filed away 'the owner played the blues'. (Decently well!) She let her face linger on the amusement a moment longer. Not because she was so amused, but it carried the street cred that she wanted it to. Sarah was always looking forward, and she deduced the man was hooked on her thinking the accent was funny. So she went for it. "Maybe. It does carry a certain je ne sais quoi about it. From England. Perhaps Manchester?" She didn't know where he was from, other than England. "I'm Sarah." She didn't reach out her hand. Very peculiar.
Spike	"Something like that, Sarah. But not so much on the French part." As an Englishman, he disliked the French. He has a beer in one hand, and some pretzels in the other, so didn't offer his hand either. He did however look to them both, then gave a polite nod, hoping she'd understand. Then he offered, "name's Spike." He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. So either it was a nickname he regularly used, or it was genuinely his name. It was comfortable for him.
Sarah Connor	She laughs softly. "I do. Something about hundreds of years of conflict." In fact it had spread beyond the two countries and spilled out on the colonies. "Don't worry, I don't know anything else in French." Liar. "Something about learning that in high school stuck." Sarah almost managed to have a drink, but she put it down. "That, and swears. Though I can only remember the one. 'Jesu'." She shrugs, and picks up her drink again - without taking any of it. Sneaky.
Spike	"Yeah, and after we had the good graces to let them keep Brittany, Gascony, Aquitaine... some people." He shook his head, smiling. He finished off the rest of his beer, "I'll have another of that," he mentioned to the bartender, pulling out a simple money clip, not a lot in it, and putting it on the table, giving her a tip too. "So Sarah, what else are you interested in, besides French?"
Sarah Connor	"You managed to keep St. Kitts." For whatever they had reasoned. These days they are their own little place, but you can tell that they once were under British rule. Even the kids still wore uniforms to school, despites to utter poverty they lived in. Sarah shrugged. "I'm not interested in French, by the way, just to be certain. And what else? Would you believe I am a closet nuclear physicist?" She's not. BUT she had read up on it extensively. To the point that for a non physicist she was an expert. Not that she wants him to believe that of her.
Spike	"Never been," which was true. "I sunburn too easily," which was also true. He did look pale, but not unhealthily pale. "Trust me, this," he gestured to his face, "in the Caribbean heat, it would not be a pretty picture." Moving on, he asked, "and whatwould a closet nuclear physicist be doing in a bar like this?"
Sarah Connor	"I haven't been myself. But I knew some people who had. Apparently it's one of the choicest places for British people to flock to on vacation." Then she laughs. "Me? Nothing. I'm really not a physicist, nor do I play one on television." She twists the joke around. "I watch television. Kinda a sci-fi nerd. You know, the aliens come back and infiltrate the human race. That kind." Again very close. "You?"
Spike	"Oh, I'm an alien... legal alien." He lied. But he did so well, since, he really didn't care about passports or anything like that. It's not like he was taking a job from an American. "You don't look like a typical sci-fi nerd. Or that you watch a lot of television." She had a strong, athletic physique. She wasn't a bored housewife, spending hours on the couch in her dressing gown.
Sarah Connor	Sarah tips her drink at him. "You've got me." But now she is curious. That made her sit a bit closer and tilt her head. "What do I remind you of then?"
Spike	Receiving another drink, he said a soft and polite 'thank you' to the bartender. He may be a vampire, but that didn't mean he couldn't have manners. He took a long look into the beer, then took a swig, "honestly, this girl I know back in Bludhaven. Had a harder life than she deserves, had to grow up faster than she ought to, but came through stronger for it," he asided, "this isn't a chat up line, by the way," looking back into his beer. He was wistful, sombre, "and she's made her share of mistakes, yet, somehow, despite it all, she's still alive. Others, were they in her place, they wouldn't be."
Sarah Connor	Now that wasn't anything she had expected from him. It was so dead on that for a moment she let her shutters down and she's vulnerable. Just for a half second. And then she's back. "She sounds like she's had to grow up fast. Young?" Sarah had been like this for over sixteen years. She knew how hard it was. "I would tell her to leave it for someone else. Go and live your life." Which is utter bullshit. She didn't walk away. And she most certainly did not live her life as she wanted to.
Spike	Spike was long lived and very good at sizing people up. He could cut through the bullshit, picking up on those little quirks of body language, vocalizations, ticks, glances, attire, when he focused on someone, he could practically see into their soul. Some were easier to read than others. He didn't know Sarah, but he knew her type, he knew it very, very well. So it was easy for him to pick up on. "Yeah, on the first two counts, not so much on the third. It's not exactly the kind of thing someone can leave. And..." more beer, "she is," living her life that is. Without him and without so many of her once closest friends.
Sarah Connor	Sarah was essentially Buffy in about ten or so years. Without friends. Saving the world she believed in *so much* that she was willing to do this, to give her son the chance to win despite overwhelming odds. If she couldn't win this before. "May god rest her soul, then. Because.." And Sarah shakes her head. Whatever this girl was fighting -that much she has sussed out - it would be nothing in comparison to what she herself was fighting if she failed. (Or she thought.)
Spike	"Yeah, but which God?" It was strange living in a world where people walked around, claiming to be gods. Thor and Hercules, the latter a demi-god, did put things in a strange perspective. He offered his drink to clink with her own, "and to yours as well," he said.
Sarah Connor	"Me? I don't believe in gods." And with reasons. How could a gods turn his (or her) back on humanity this way? To leave them as less than servants of machines? No. She doesn't believe in them. She believed in humanity, and that was enough. She puts down her bottle of beer, untouched, and pulls some bills out of her pockets. "Next one's on me." And made her way to the door.