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

OKAY HERE WE GO I'm wingin' it

[newrecipe]

[Two stools down, he leans against the bar, a sidecar in hand, the glass already half-empty. He's seen her here before, though she doesn't visit every night like so many of their patrons do-- as acting manager, he's had plenty of opportunities to get to know the faces that come and go.

He smiles faintly, raising his glass in her direction.]

Allowing yourself a night off, then?