His eyes roam about the room (at some point a person gets used to sizing up a room -- or more specifically, how to get out of one -- before doing anything else), although they're quick to return to her. Or rather, her figure.
"Looks like you've set up pretty nice around here," he remarks, steps a little slower than before.
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"Looks like you've set up pretty nice around here," he remarks, steps a little slower than before.
"How's the liquor tastin'?"
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"Bar treats me well," she says.
Another sip from the bottle, and then she moves over to him, holding it out to the side.
"Saw that blade downstairs," she murmurs, tilting her head. "That blood yours, or someone else's?"
She has a feeling she already knows the answer to that question.
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He rocks very slightly forward on his feet, tilting his head the other way.
"Let's just say someone's started the walk off this mortal coil."
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Her hand dangles the bottle in front of him.
"No need to ask the reason for it," she assumes. Her mind's putting two-and-two together.
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