this world is a wasteland where nothing can grow
It doesn't surprise Niki in the slightest that Sunjata is a connossieur at assigning meaning to liquor - what self-respecting bar (er, and brothel) owner wouldn't be after all? He listens quietly as the other man assigns himself the appropriate labels, vaguely aware that he's selected a particularly spicy sauce for his chicken wing that sets fire to his mouth in a wonderful way, but paying it little mind. "Nostalgia I understand," he says with a smirk, setting down the wing when he's done and licking the sauce from his fingers, "but you've always seemed humble to me. Or was that a ruse? Are you secretly trying to put on airs and graces?"
Then it comes to his assessment, and Niki's hand has reached for a slider quite without his permission, though the other is delivering another sip of a martini at the same time. He hums his amusement across the rim of the glass as the other man speaks, setting it back down and inclining his head in wry acceptance. "I concur with all of those, except tradition," he says. "I quite like to buck the trend, given the chance. That is where innovation lives, no?"
Sighing his satisfaction around the first bite of the slider, he relaxes in his seat and motions to the remaining liquor. "What's left?"
Then it comes to his assessment, and Niki's hand has reached for a slider quite without his permission, though the other is delivering another sip of a martini at the same time. He hums his amusement across the rim of the glass as the other man speaks, setting it back down and inclining his head in wry acceptance. "I concur with all of those, except tradition," he says. "I quite like to buck the trend, given the chance. That is where innovation lives, no?"
Sighing his satisfaction around the first bite of the slider, he relaxes in his seat and motions to the remaining liquor. "What's left?"
Niki
i used to have strength but i ran out of hope
