The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
She takes another cigarette with a grateful nod, lighting it with her magic before taking a long, rather needed drag. That’s not a day she likes to visit, and she does it infrequently. When she does, she does not usually give so many details. But he had trusted her with quite a lot, and she doesn't mind trusting him with her story in return. ”What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?” she says, something rueful in the tone. What a cliche, and yet, it was rather true.
This time he pours, and she lifts her glass to his toast, taking a sip as well. She leans across the bar again, her posture almost lazy, arms sphinx-like to hold herself up. There’s something right about it, the sight of her behind the bar, as if she has always belonged here and had just been waiting patiently for her time. ”So how is Torchline treating you?” she asks, switching the subject. They could both use a break from the deep and dark for a minute, she suspected.
This time he pours, and she lifts her glass to his toast, taking a sip as well. She leans across the bar again, her posture almost lazy, arms sphinx-like to hold herself up. There’s something right about it, the sight of her behind the bar, as if she has always belonged here and had just been waiting patiently for her time. ”So how is Torchline treating you?” she asks, switching the subject. They could both use a break from the deep and dark for a minute, she suspected.
Weaver
