The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
She is not surprised by his response, but for the moment, she does not move to pour the drink. Instead she chuckles slightly, giving him a small smile at the mention of hermit. ”You kind of did,” she says, head cocked and eyebrows raised. You do not live without growing close to people, unless you simply avoid them. No matter how hard you tried to harden your heart or build up walls, someone usually managed to worm their way in.
As he lights the cigarette and finally goes to open the letter, Weaver turns, busying herself with pouring their next round. The letter is not for her, and she gives him space to read without her staring him down. She takes a deliberately long time, pretending to find the perfect glass, measuring slower than she needs to. The smell of smoke fills the bar, and she revels in it, enjoying how the Kraai is finally starting to feel lived in.
As he finishes, she turns to him with a small glass in hand. The drink is nearly clear, with a tint of apricot in both color and flavor. It is a relatively bitter drink, citrus in nature, with a hit of caramelized sweetness. More importantly, it’s made of the strongest booze she has. She places that in front of him, and then grabs two shot glasses. She pours a double into both, this time using some of the good vodka Sunjata had brought.
Weaver grabs one shot and hands the other to him with a slight incline of her head. ”To Maea. May she burn brightly.” She waits a moment to give Sunjata space to add anything and then downs the shot in one swig, placing the glass back down with a bit too much force. She reaches out a hand toward the cigarette in his mouth, the gesture clearly asking if he’ll share.
As he lights the cigarette and finally goes to open the letter, Weaver turns, busying herself with pouring their next round. The letter is not for her, and she gives him space to read without her staring him down. She takes a deliberately long time, pretending to find the perfect glass, measuring slower than she needs to. The smell of smoke fills the bar, and she revels in it, enjoying how the Kraai is finally starting to feel lived in.
As he finishes, she turns to him with a small glass in hand. The drink is nearly clear, with a tint of apricot in both color and flavor. It is a relatively bitter drink, citrus in nature, with a hit of caramelized sweetness. More importantly, it’s made of the strongest booze she has. She places that in front of him, and then grabs two shot glasses. She pours a double into both, this time using some of the good vodka Sunjata had brought.
Weaver grabs one shot and hands the other to him with a slight incline of her head. ”To Maea. May she burn brightly.” She waits a moment to give Sunjata space to add anything and then downs the shot in one swig, placing the glass back down with a bit too much force. She reaches out a hand toward the cigarette in his mouth, the gesture clearly asking if he’ll share.
Weaver
