Truth and lies
Liam takes a sip from the scotch and makes a slight face. He's not a normally a scotch drinker. "First off," Liam says, "The stories I wrote with you in them were just stories. I don't really know anything about you."
The buzz and hum of people talking around them creates white noise. There is no great interest in their booth; Dara it seems is familiar enough to be unremarkable here, and Liam has drawn no untoward attention either. A dice game a couple of tables over becomes briefly noisy; the disagreement is settled at knifepoint, and the game resumes.
Liam glances briefly but keeps his attention on Dara.
Dara says, with a little bit of sympathy, "Just toss it down if you don't like the taste; like medicine." She makes no offer for an alternative beverage. "It doesn't do to show weakness." And her glance goes briefly to the man who's staggering toward the door, before it cuts back to Liam, skewering him briefly under its force before she softens it again with another half smile. "I did wonder why so many people are keen to call me a queen. I'm just a girl. One of Corwin's many ex girlfriends."
"It makes good narrative flow," Liam says and he tosses down the scotch. "People remember and relate to narrative flow. It captures the imagination."
Dara lifts her glass, an ironic salute, and she says, "I would be the last person to complain about bending the truth a little." And her smile is mischevious now. It appears to come in more colours and shades than your average paint chart. "Why replace poetry with the dull."
"The truth has nothing on a good story," Liam says. "And as a professional liar, I prefer the lies."
Dara reaches out to clink her glass against Liam's, and says, "I'll drink to that!" And she seems perfectly charmed, for the moment.
The buzz and hum of people talking around them creates white noise. There is no great interest in their booth; Dara it seems is familiar enough to be unremarkable here, and Liam has drawn no untoward attention either. A dice game a couple of tables over becomes briefly noisy; the disagreement is settled at knifepoint, and the game resumes.
Liam glances briefly but keeps his attention on Dara.
Dara says, with a little bit of sympathy, "Just toss it down if you don't like the taste; like medicine." She makes no offer for an alternative beverage. "It doesn't do to show weakness." And her glance goes briefly to the man who's staggering toward the door, before it cuts back to Liam, skewering him briefly under its force before she softens it again with another half smile. "I did wonder why so many people are keen to call me a queen. I'm just a girl. One of Corwin's many ex girlfriends."
"It makes good narrative flow," Liam says and he tosses down the scotch. "People remember and relate to narrative flow. It captures the imagination."
Dara lifts her glass, an ironic salute, and she says, "I would be the last person to complain about bending the truth a little." And her smile is mischevious now. It appears to come in more colours and shades than your average paint chart. "Why replace poetry with the dull."
"The truth has nothing on a good story," Liam says. "And as a professional liar, I prefer the lies."
Dara reaches out to clink her glass against Liam's, and says, "I'll drink to that!" And she seems perfectly charmed, for the moment.