(no subject)
Whatever was up with the bar the last couple of days, with the weird video screens and the Legos, seems to be over with now. Liz can't say that she minds. She never looked at what her options were for "transformations"; she doesn't know if being herself-but-without-fire for several days was an option, and she never will.
She's good with that. And currently staring at a napkin that just appeared in front of her.
A second one pops up on the bar-top; that one gets a reaction. "I said I was sorry," she retorts (to the bar), frowning.
An exchange follows, Liz's eyebrows lowering prodigiously with every short response she gives.
Within five minutes, there's a woman dressed all in black standing behind the bar, her arms folded.
HAPPY HOUR:
Half off anything in a bottle that I can find easily.
Mixed drinks don't count.
Liz exhales, and wishes, for the first time in ages, for a cigarette. "Come and get it," she calls, low and sardonic.
She's good with that. And currently staring at a napkin that just appeared in front of her.
A second one pops up on the bar-top; that one gets a reaction. "I said I was sorry," she retorts (to the bar), frowning.
An exchange follows, Liz's eyebrows lowering prodigiously with every short response she gives.
Within five minutes, there's a woman dressed all in black standing behind the bar, her arms folded.
HAPPY HOUR:
Half off anything in a bottle that I can find easily.
Mixed drinks don't count.
Liz exhales, and wishes, for the first time in ages, for a cigarette. "Come and get it," she calls, low and sardonic.