[A tip of the wrist to humor the cheers given to no longer having to suffer each other, Takasugi finishes his drink as quickly as the rest. It doesn't feel warm slipping down his throat, and by the time it settles in his gut, he's forgotten about it.
But he won't lose Solomon to similar disregard.
In the least, he'll remember how much more palatable alcohol made the man.
He sets his glass down and rises, dragging a hand over the counter.] Next time, you can treat me.
no subject
But he won't lose Solomon to similar disregard.
In the least, he'll remember how much more palatable alcohol made the man.
He sets his glass down and rises, dragging a hand over the counter.] Next time, you can treat me.
[He'll leave without regard for a response.]