There was a woman at the Bar, legs sprawled gracefully across three stools and her elbow propped on the polished wood. Near at hand was a cut crystal glass with something red that smelled of cherries. More importantly, in her lap, her free hand occasionally flipping pages, were stacks of printouts
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"You've forgiven me for the manual labor at the restaurant?" she teased.
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In other words, spending time with Rachel is a higher priority than feeling put out at having to do manual labor.
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"You know...you do know where my room is. You could have stopped by..."
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"I spent most of my time thinking, these past few weeks. I had to get used to being around people again."
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"In my nightmare, all my friends turned on me, wishing to imprison me for what they felt was 'my own good.' They felt that what I did serve was not long enough."
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The flame didn't stop, he needed it. "One of the few things I've managed to learn, Yrael, is that what you believe to be for someone's good does not entitle you to force it upon them. They have their own lives to lead, and you can only advise."
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Thus, he spends time with his friends without worrying too much about vulnerability.
"It has turned out that Moira likes to play the piano."
Bang on the piano with her hands to make fun and jarring sounds, really, but it counts as playing it.
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"Will you start teaching her then?" she chuckled "Or just encourage the pounding?"
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When dealing with humans and mortals, his perspective of years can skew a little.
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"Did you get her anything for her birthday?"
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"Whatcha get her?"
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