Well. Locke is in his room again, the door closed and staring at the wall, sitting up on his bed. He has not had a good afternoon. He doesn't really look like he has for the past few months. It's amazing how fast all the masks break away. He doesn't look quite human, not with the wild look in his eyes and the way he's hardly moving at all. There's
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But.
Her loyalty is to Locke first, and Jaenelle is with Phedre, so she goes looking for answers.
She knocks on the door.
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"If it's another lecture, 'Nita, take it somewhere else. I'm drunk, won't get through anyway."
He recognizes the beat of them. Some benefits to being a thief, anyway.
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She gets in.
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He looks farther along that direction than he usually does. He swirls the wine in the bottle. "Gods. This stuff is awful. Didn't know they made shit this bad."
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"I do, so I'll know how bad you're doing."
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"I have three more bottles of the swill, just so you know."
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A pause. "No, I think someone just bottled cat piss and let it ferment for a while." He wrinkles his nose. "No one here has any taste in wine."
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"It's awful. Why are you inflicting it on yourself?"
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