“…government has been committed to amending the Reinsurance Act. In fact, in doing so, Pool Re today extends coverage to non-damage losses during acts of terrorism. So, at this point, it’s about making this protection gap an affordable coverage, and making sure businesses are aware of their choices in the face of disaster. I wish it weren’t the case, I wish there wasn’t a need, but it’s a fact; government partnership aside.”
Silas shook his head slowly while listening to a well-known member of his community bemoan the economic morale of London. They weren’t wrong. They weren’t wrong in the slightest. Silas just didn’t want to dig more than necessary, more than he had outside of this moment. It was fitting that people in his community would seek him out at this moment, but Silas was government - not the mayor.
He left his company slowly, finding it difficult to escape such important conversations, but in the end, he was able to find himself in front of the bar.
Silas had been sober. He’d been sober for years. Had been.
Cocktails. He could deal, he supposed. He downed one quickly before taking another to meander with. God, how he had missed that feeling of internal warmth.
“Hi,” he said to a familiar face as he turned.
"I don't suppose I can interest you in.." her words faltered as he turned. She had been on the approach, but apparently not paying all that much attention. And now she was. Gaze dropping to the glass in his hand, and tone dropping just the same, no longer lilting with some smartass remark. Except one perhaps, even if it played out somber. "Shouldn't you have chosen something more distinguished for the occasion? A scotch as old as your sobriety at least?"
Hilarious that she had set her own glass down before heading to him. As in need of a drink as she now was, she wasn't going to snatch the one before her, couldn't make that decision. Instead, "I voted you as biggest twat, and though it was to make a fucking joke, maybe you'll want to not turn me into a retroactive psychic?"