"Not a reveler, eh?" Leaning back upon your hands, you turn enough to raise an eyebrow at the woman, watching as she puts the bottle back to her lips. "I don' believe it." She looks like she's had her share of wild nights, or so you'd like to believe. Or maybe you're wrong- few would peg you for a wilding these days, yet gods know you've cavorted and made a fool of yourself just as well as the best of them.
A story is a cost you would have had no problem paying, in said bygone days. Now you snort, looking back to the revelry. "Once upon a time, there was a grumpy ol' alcoholic who very much wanted a drink." The lines around your eyes crinkling playfully. "Used't be he knew a good number'a tales, but he got rusty with age. Now it takes some liquor to loosen him up, an' even then he makes no promises." Turning full-on to face the woman, you shrug as though to say, well?
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
