i've been drinking alone

I'm not beaten by this yet

"There are ways."

Damn, that was smooth. Like, James Bond movie smooth and complete with the paradoxically cold smolder, but alas, Ingrid was a girl more suited to a Tina Fey production.

“Ways of wearing less without streaking? What, like nipple tassels? Because that’s something even I won’t stoop to.”

Then, he mentioned that he'd never been called anything as formal as 'priestess'. "Well what's the wildest fucking nickname you've got? I need something to call you other than 'that hot bartender guy,'" she said with a wink, shifting again to rest her head on both hands and smirking at him.

"I’m afraid I don’t go and visit Frey much anymore ever since I kissed Safrin.”
Ingrid's jaw dropped so far, it unhinged and clattered onto the floor. "You kissed... Wh... Well fuck, how was it?" she asked.

Then, as he withdrew to talk about the Rathskeller, her blush faded, replaced by pale shock.
"It said ‘too late’."
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Fuck that.
She saw the drink sliding towards her and (with a casual fuck you to her liver) drained the glass the second she got her hands on it.
"...so what, can fire kill them?"

You can't tell me to regret