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Banek made his way towards the bar he had planned to patronize that evening in order to seek out a willing human woman for experimentation, considering the problems he had encountered thus far. Some of the women he had met over the weeks he had been on the planet seemed to be interested in him romantically at first—but somehow, he had not managed to convince any of them to follow through. I’ll have to refine my techniques, he thought as he walked along the sidewalk, barely taking in his surroundings. He had become a “regular” at the bar—Banek had been careful to tip well every time he ordered a beverage, and to be patient with the bartenders, waiting until they had served others without complaining. There was one woman at the bar that he had seen a few times—but always, it seemed, she was with someone else, usually a group of friends.
She was tall and slim, with dark hair and green eyes, and there was something about her that drew Banek’s gaze again and again. He had not been able to understand the feeling that came over him whenever he saw her—it was foreign to any experience he’d ever had. But the sound of her voice, the way that she moved, made Banek wish again and again that he could gather the courage to speak with her, to use his well-studied behaviors and mannerisms to convince her to participate in his experiments. While he had refreshed his studies on the subject of how romantic males approached a woman in a group, he was no closer to understanding how to perform the correct way than he had been before.
Banek stepped through the door of the bar called Vagabond, looking around. It was early in the evening; there were only a few people scattered around, listening to the music and nursing beer or cocktails, talking in small knots of two or three people. “Banek!” the man behind the bar called out, and Banek raised his hand, nodding his head to acknowledge the greeting. He told himself that he would find a subject that evening—whether it was the woman he had been interested in or not.
Banek approached the bar, settling on one of the stools, waiting as the bartender finished serving a diminutive brunette. She was a potential subject, Banek thought, examining her as nonchalantly as possible. The woman seemed improbably tiny by Khateen standards, but he had met women who were smaller than she. Her body was intensely curved: her breasts so full and her waist so small that for a moment Banek wondered how it was possible for her to live without pain. The woman smiled up at the bartender, taking her drinks and leaving a few dollars on the bar as a tip before she left, and Banek considered the possibility of beginning the complex dance that would—he hoped—lead to her agreeing to come “home” with him.
“What’ll you have tonight, Banek?” the bartender asked, leaning forward slightly. “Love the look you’ve got going tonight, by the way; much better than the cowboy thing.” Banek nodded, smiling.
“I think I’ll have a whiskey sour, James.” He had been trying all of the alcoholic drinks he had seen mentions of in books and films—since the Khateen were able to drink alcohol with almost no effects, he had seen no reason not to.
“Good choice.” James started to grab a bottle of whiskey and glanced up as someone walked into the bar. “Looks like your lady-love is here,” James said with a little smile. Banek’s eyes widened and he glanced in the direction of the bar’s entrance. Walking through the door—for once by herself—was the tall, slim, dark haired woman. Banek felt his heart beating a little faster; she looked upset—which filled him with a mixture of concern as well as excitement. A damsel in distress was the perfect opening for his particular understanding of human seduction. So many of the stories he had seen depicting romance involved an upset woman; at first, in his research, Banek had thought that the distress was a required component—but he learned quickly that it simply increased the odds of success.
James served Banek his drink and moved immediately to the seat that the tall, slim woman sat down at. Banek racked his mind for the best possible opening. She had chosen a stool a few places down from him; that didn’t exactly make it easy to talk to her. He thought about his options carefully as he sipped his drink. The whiskey sour was potent—Banek thought that if his metabolism were human, it would give him what was called a “buzz” before he even finished it. He laid down a few dollars for James’ tip and watched as the bartender spoke to the object of his interest. He saw the tall, slim woman smile slightly, nodding to something James said. Banek felt an irrational surge of irritation at the man, who he considered something like a friend, and pushed down the impulse. There was such a thing as getting too into character, he told himself firmly.
James mixed a drink for the woman, and Banek watched in fascination as the bartender added one element after another into the steel mixing cup, shaking vigorously before pouring it into a glass. The woman must be in deep distress indeed, Banek thought. Normally she drank very straightforward cocktails: gin-tonic, or whiskey-Coke. Banek sipped his drink again as he thought about how he would approach her; it would take something very great indeed to woo such an unattainable woman, even when she was in distress.