[McCree happened to be one of those card players, fairly deep into his game. He was enjoying company for what it was worth--quiet and impersonal. Something simple to keep his mind off the idea the entire world as he knew it was gone. Wasn't really doing the trick as each round passed and a clear winner or loser still hadn't presented itself, and each card passed felt more and more inconsequential.
Sombra's distraction is as jarring as it is welcome. His eyes are quickly drawn to the bottles of liquor. He'd sweet talked Roman into giving him a healthy supply of drinks but it seemed the silver-haired man knew exactly where McCree's limits were and had no intention to let him cross them so easily. Sombra had the good stuff, the liberating stuff--and plenty of it. He imagined she had to trade for it.
And so what exchanges between McCree and his cardmates is a quick, entirely wordless conversation. McCree leans on one arm, tips his hat up with his thumb and cants his head in Sombra's direction. The other three men exchanges glances, look at Sombra and narrow their eyes at McCree. Two men quickly shake their heads subtly 'no'. The third deliberates. McCree tries to egg him on with a raise of his brow, questioning, almost daring. In the end the man simply looks apologetic. It seems they're not willing to get sloshed in this way, not with a woman like that. She screams trouble.
McCree grunts and peacefully folds his cards. Tips his hat down in a farewell gesture and stands to move to an empty booth. He's decided the drinks are worth a little trouble. Maybe he's even looking forward to it.
Along the way he raises Sombra with another tip of his hat, index finger tracing the rim subtly towards the booth and makes direct eye contact--it's clearly inviting.]
you had me at tequila https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44bA552Nr5A
Sombra's distraction is as jarring as it is welcome. His eyes are quickly drawn to the bottles of liquor. He'd sweet talked Roman into giving him a healthy supply of drinks but it seemed the silver-haired man knew exactly where McCree's limits were and had no intention to let him cross them so easily. Sombra had the good stuff, the liberating stuff--and plenty of it. He imagined she had to trade for it.
And so what exchanges between McCree and his cardmates is a quick, entirely wordless conversation. McCree leans on one arm, tips his hat up with his thumb and cants his head in Sombra's direction. The other three men exchanges glances, look at Sombra and narrow their eyes at McCree. Two men quickly shake their heads subtly 'no'. The third deliberates. McCree tries to egg him on with a raise of his brow, questioning, almost daring. In the end the man simply looks apologetic. It seems they're not willing to get sloshed in this way, not with a woman like that. She screams trouble.
McCree grunts and peacefully folds his cards. Tips his hat down in a farewell gesture and stands to move to an empty booth. He's decided the drinks are worth a little trouble. Maybe he's even looking forward to it.
Along the way he raises Sombra with another tip of his hat, index finger tracing the rim subtly towards the booth and makes direct eye contact--it's clearly inviting.]
This cabrón's mighty thirsty.