Indy and Mike's suite
At the far end of the living room, Indy sets his glass down by the liquor cabinet and pours himself another bourbon. He's a little flushed, and beads of sweat stand out on his forehead. He doesn't seem to be in any discomfort though.
There's a faint squeak as the stopper is pushed back into the bottle, then another as he wipes his hand through the layer of heavy condensation clinging to the window pane. Tears of displaced moisture streak down towards the wet sill from the shapeless patch of clarity.
Through and beyond, there's not much to seea shroud of mist obscures any view of the lake or the woods. He looks on for a few moments anyway, eyes glazing slightly. It's almost hypnotic; the languid swirling and drifting; completely aimless, but so easy to lose oneself in.
There's a faint squeak as the stopper is pushed back into the bottle, then another as he wipes his hand through the layer of heavy condensation clinging to the window pane. Tears of displaced moisture streak down towards the wet sill from the shapeless patch of clarity.
Through and beyond, there's not much to seea shroud of mist obscures any view of the lake or the woods. He looks on for a few moments anyway, eyes glazing slightly. It's almost hypnotic; the languid swirling and drifting; completely aimless, but so easy to lose oneself in.