"'s a busy season fer me, ya know that." Prepping for the Ark to sail, prepping for LongNight, actual LongNight. And yeah okay maybe you used to frequent the bar more often before you had a house guest and a feud with an Arm-biter and a bear-child to occupy your time, but isn't that a good thing? Means you're finally getting out of your grief shell, or something?
Right?
You meet her glass with her own, a muttering "Cheers," before downing a sip. Not a gulp: this is good shit, and you know how to savor it, and besides. It's going to take you a second to figure out how to answer Raza's vague yet absolutely pointed question. "Oh, y'know. Gettin' ready fer the rain. Havin' my house invaded. Gettin' stabbed in tha face. Same old." You raise your severed eyebrow, the scar still far from fully healed. "How 'bout yerself, lady Liason?"
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
