In the bar this evening, Veronica sits, her hands curled around a tall mug of coffee. She's been trying her best to cut back: coffee's a stimulant, a drug, a sign of weakness. But it's been a long day tacked onto a growing chain of long days, and lord, she needs it.
When Fi left Michael's place at 5am, she'd been intent on going home to sleep in her own bed. She still smelled vaguely of accelerant, her hair was singed, and her nerves were well and truly fried. Michael's little melt down didn't help clear matters up.
It occurred to her that life in a war zone was far easier to deal with. Get up. Get moving
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Heart breaker, soul shaker I've been told about you Steamroller, midnight stroller What they've been saying must be true. [ tiny dangerous tag : Fiona Glenanne ]
Indy is propping the bar up tonight, at his usual spot, with his usual drink and with his usual laidback poise. Somewhat unusually however, there's a bar towel draped over his shoulder. To address this state of affairs, a napkin appears after a little while. There's no written message on it, just a simple arrow that points across the counter
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