help me get down, i can make it

[outoftheattic]

The Hub isn't somewhere Laurence Dominic hangs out often, mostly because he was never much of a heavy drinker (drink makes smart men do stupid things), and also because he knows that Adelle DeWitt does. Still, the early evening finds him sitting at the bar, hunched over the counter, head cradled in his hands. Unsurprisingly, the fact that they've

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[coercive]

The odd part of the picture is the picture itself. In three years, Laurence Dominic never once accepted Adelle's offer of a drink, which, after some time, came solely out of habit, a gesture of politeness. She understood a reluctance to drink on the job, but this was something altogether apart; this was a man who made it a point to rarely drink at all. Of course, whatever picture she had painted of said man had gone out the window along with everything else, but even when proved entirely wrong, first impressions were difficult to shake

[outoftheattic]

The fact that she doesn't even need to speak to get a drink around here tells him a lot, but he mercifully refrains from commenting. (His gaze, however, follows her gesture as he slowly straightens up, and although his expression remains neutral, if a little tired, that single glance is worth a thousand works.) At her question, he takes a moment to pretend to mull over an answer, his actions exaggerated. If this situation could, in any way, be easy, he might relent, but he doesn't intend to do so tonight

[coercive]

Adelle, in turn, waits until there is a drink in her own hand to begin considering her answer. It tastes great going down, like an iced, liquid Jolly Rancher, which tells her there's more flavoring in her drink than anything else. She can barely taste the vodka, it doesn't even burn at the back of her throat, which is her first indication that this will be a long night indeed.

"Three months ago, I found myself standing at the shore of a desert island, only to be told that I had been kidnapped by magical forces and subsequently tossed into an alternate dimension," she lifts an eyebrow, gestures toward the book. "Twain himself would find it difficult to compete, don't you think?"

[outoftheattic]

He concedes the point. "I can't argue that." Tom Sawyer can't quite compare to a yarn like this, even if he does remember enjoying that particular piece of work. "Maybe the bookshelf should've provided something like Heart of Darkness instead." Although he would have been done with that in a considerably shorter amount of time. "Not that this place is all that heavy on spiritual darkness, but still."