There is a CIA agent in the bar, trying to reconcile his view of the way the world's supposed to work with the sudden appearance of a place that should not be. He hasn't yet worked that out yet, but hopefully liberal amounts of alcohol will help with that
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"Mr. de Courcey." He raises his glass in a salute of sorts. After all this time, there's no real need to be so formal with his counterpart, but he enjoys it. It's a ritual - if they had that sort of thing.
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No, the formality isn't necessary, but they've been doing it since Merano. Why stop now?
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"How are you adjusting?"
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Florence hadn't actually hit Walter, though. He'd ducked, and then caught the next one. But still.
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Walter is not laughing. Really. Not at all.
Okay, maybe just a little.
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Walter is lucky Molokov is a bit fond of him.
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Only a bit? Walter is hurt.
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Well, more then a bit, but shh.
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We won't tell anyone. We promise.
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