[OTA|MW] Little lies and little choices; all of it’s a game.
Neal Caffrey is lounging on a stool in a high-class bar, wearing a clearly new, clearly tailored suit and a trilby cocked down over one eye. His trench coat is still damp from the rain and slung over the bar with a kind of possessive self-assurance. This is his comfort zone. It's like breathing again after being underwater for long enough to nearly forget how.
He's nursing a glass of wine - Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac 1996 - and trying very hard not to hope that whatever this is, it lasts. It's too much a caricature of city life to be an attempt to make him think it's real, but damn, if it isn't fun. He's already cased three houses and two museums, before smiling and pickpocketing his way into a much nicer wardrobe and three hotel rooms under different aliases. He left messages for Peter at each place, just in case.
Neal takes a sip of the wine and holds it on his tongue for a moment, closes his eyes, and he can almost pretend he's home and waiting for Mozzie or Peter somewhere neither one of them would really want to go. He chuckles.
For the moment, at least, life is good.
He's nursing a glass of wine - Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac 1996 - and trying very hard not to hope that whatever this is, it lasts. It's too much a caricature of city life to be an attempt to make him think it's real, but damn, if it isn't fun. He's already cased three houses and two museums, before smiling and pickpocketing his way into a much nicer wardrobe and three hotel rooms under different aliases. He left messages for Peter at each place, just in case.
Neal takes a sip of the wine and holds it on his tongue for a moment, closes his eyes, and he can almost pretend he's home and waiting for Mozzie or Peter somewhere neither one of them would really want to go. He chuckles.
For the moment, at least, life is good.