there ain't no sweet man

[unweaving]

[ Aranea steps through the entirely unremarkable door and breathes a sigh of relief. She's done good work today; she deserves a night off.

This joint's one of the nicer ones, better booze and clientele who are generally high enough up the food chain that they don't end up trying to prove themselves in stupid fights and knifings. It's a good chance to unwind after a tricky job, even with the air full of cigar smoke and the music loud.

She heads straight for the bar and orders a sazerac (the gin has the distinct tang of bathtub but the rye's better) and turns to lean against the bar as she waits for her drink, toying idly with the rope of pearls around her neck and people-watching. ]

Comments

[unweaving]

[ Really, she's wondering how he might be out of control. That's not what she says, but it's probably right there in her smile. ]

Probably not as entertaining as people would think. I'm guessing you cope by making it your element.

[newrecipe]

[He looks only mildly surprised by that observation, but the shake of his head as he goes to take another sip of his drink is indication enough, perhaps, that she's right.]

I won't deny, there's something to that. [The latter bit, anyway.] I adapt.