ex:Savorer Millisent

PROMPT: Two characters meet in a bar. Write about their meeting without using any dialogue. Now write the same scene using dialogue only.

        Milisent had never been in a bar before. Thats not to say she didn't know anything about them. She had seen them on TV of course, and read about them in books. Probably passed hundreds of them on the streets in her lifetime. She had simply never had reason to actually go in one. Not even in college where most of her classmates had probably first had the experience. Before today it had never really crossed her mind. After all, she had never been in a buddhist temple either, nor a petshop specializing in retiles, but these experiences seemed less omissions, and more a fact of life, and so it was with the bar. So it was until today.         Milisent was a teetotaler.

* note here an interesting divergence to look up tee-totaler (note not tea), and an interesting synonym 'nephalism' *

        Millisent was a teetotaler though not on any particular moral grounds. She simply didn't like the taste of the stuff, a trait her college friends assured her she would eventually grow out of, but despite her late blooming in most respects this proclivity had not yet bit the dust like her childhood dislike of cheese that aren't yellow and grape juice before. Today was not to be that day, but perhaps one new experience per day was more to her taste.         Millisent often described herself as a savorer. A categorization of her own design referring to her tendency to latch on, leach like, to a new experience, draining it of its essential newness until nothing was left, and then moving on to the next, rarely sustaining even a passing interest there after. It was a trait that often baffled her friends, frustrated by her near obsession with something for a week or two quickly replaced by utter boredom and even dislike the next, but to Millisent it was the artist in her. She couldn't help but take in every detail of a new experience. She couldn't hope to understand something until every angle, every aspect, every incarnation was observed and enjoyed, and then, once complete, why waste time any further. Once an understanding is reached, after all, what more is there to be gained in dwelling on something. Best to save your energy for the next big thing.         Todays outing was no different. Infact, the series of seemingly random connections of interest that lead to the very threshold of the bar boiled through Millisent's brain as she stood mere paces down the street, examining the entrance from behind the safety of a large blue public mailbox. Being so early in the morning, Millisent had expected little activity, but was surprised to see a steady stream of people, mostly young to middle aged men moving in and out of the bar in their heavy winter coats.

* note here that its not mear nor meer but mere. Also archaic meaning a small lake, or a boundary between geographic objects *

        Millisent stood, examining the scene for a long while. What does one do when they enter a bar? Is there a look? A protocol for entry? There was little information to go on, but images of cowboys waltzing into a saloon, only to have its occupants all turn to face the outsider in a tense hush flashed through her mind. Did all bars have a piano player? No, that's just silly, think of Cheers. Still... Millisent took a deep breath, hands in pockets where they could cling to familiar objects, and stepped for the door.         Determined not to stand just beyond the threshold in a dumbfounded gaze, Millisent rushed the entrance nearly careening into an exiting patron, but once inside the dark and unfamiliar atmosphere was too much, and Millisent found herself not six paces from the shoe mat, frozen like a squirrel staring down a sedan.