"...and then she and her mousy little paramour toss this sparkly stuff all over me. Say goodbye to that dress. But before I could stomp them both into so much sticky witchy goo, she claps her hands and suddenly I'm miles away, starting my descent from 30,000 feet. I could not believe they'd pull such a cheap, flashy trick! I mean, come on,
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The proprietress, however, seemed to set her level of attentiveness by how corruptible she thought a patron was. She seemed to have little interest in Glory, most likely because it was unlikely that a hell-goddess would fall victim to the opium-laced mixture she passed off as the 'house special shisha blend', or any similar tricks.
Well. Maybe La Fee Verte would put in a more concerted effort to acquire some authentic gǔshù pu-erh if he did her a slight service. He settled into the barstool beside Glory's and curtly ordered himself a sidecar.
"If it doesn't lead to you getting hooked on something or at least amusingly and unintendedly inebriated, you might as well be monologuing to a spice rack," he told Glory in a low tone.
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"Gotta say, that Harkness guy? Good call. First mortal brain I ever came across that's not only tasty, but oughta be good for seconds." And thirds, and however many more helpings she needed. "He and I are gonna be spending lots of quality time together. Whether he likes it or not." She suspected he wouldn't. So much the better.
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