(no subject)
Lucy's been dumped. Hard. She is surprised that it hurts. After all, in her heart she knew her avoidance tactics were childish and unfair, and it was time to move out of Siberia anyway, but it stings no matter what.
So she's at the bar in a foul mood. Lucy's asked a waitrat for a glass of the strongest thing they've got, and the little creature returns, fearfully holding a shotglass of something green. Or maybe it's amber. Or clear. Whatever it is, she's considering drinking it.
Maybe.
So she's at the bar in a foul mood. Lucy's asked a waitrat for a glass of the strongest thing they've got, and the little creature returns, fearfully holding a shotglass of something green. Or maybe it's amber. Or clear. Whatever it is, she's considering drinking it.
Maybe.