Beautiful Death

Carrd (x)

[bellemcrte]

what happens when you                         make fuck around and find out                               your whole personality? a lot of unstable chaos mostly. and if you add in a little spice. well, you’ve got your own new brand of shitshow.

ind. mutual only. selective. single muse fandomless oc. kept by rocki. she/they. pst. entire account, including keeper, 25+. multiverse traversing ft verses in fallout, bioshock, spn, and more. est. 2017. revamped 2024. read rules before interacting. mutuals only, because it probably needs reiterated. moderate activity. queue ran.

carrd. memes.

find me elsewhere; lucy maclean. barb howard.

[bellemcrte]

she’s backkkkkk.

[bellemcrte]

I’m still working on stuff, I’m just easily distracted and working on a soft launch. xoxo.

[bellemcrte]

She just needs to get home, and once she does, she can stitch herself up like a champ and sleep off whatever insanity she'd been through. Small problem with the plan: the little lady may have lost a little more blood than she initially anticipated. Maybe, just maybe, she isn't entirely safe to get herself home. She isn't going to ask for help, though. That's stupid.

She's just taking a little break on her journey that's taking way too long. It will all be fine.

The voice is enough to perk her back up, ocean eyes lifting to blink once, twice. Lighter without all the blood, huh? Dena snorts, because drifting in and out of consciousness or not, a good joke is a good joke. "I can probably still walk, you know." She points out. "You don't have to help me, lighter or not. Besides, it's not that much blood. I was just taking a break on my way to patch it up."

Please ignore the idiot. She doesn't know how to ask for help nor accept it.

She guesses it could be worse. She could be getting dragged to a stranger by a stranger to patch her up. She isn't the most pleasant thing on earth when her side isn't seeping. She's downright insufferable when she's in any sort of pain. No one wanted that. A bottle of whiskey and a steady hand were just as good, and she'd already be dead if it were anything vital. What's one more scar to add to her collection?

@neverhangd said: ❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜

[bellemcrte]

I’ll be here to do things tonight when I get home. And yes, I roadtripped my ass out of the heat. Bummed af I have to go back, but still.

[bellemcrte]

me? Gone for a few weeks because it was simply too hot to do anything here? Yup.

[lapis-memes]

Reblog this if you’re okay with people sending unexpected IC asks to your muse at any time! No meme prompts needed!

[bellemcrte]

they're sitting at the dining room table, sun slipping lower with each passing minute. dena was lucky she hadn't tried to make a run for it after dark yet. she's less lucky dealing with the mood swings, and the general life is a nightmare of a teenager. if she ever got home, she'd be apologizing her dad immediately about it.

"how'd you get here?" @janeyjhoward asked over her cup, and dena put her own down to chew on how to answer that.

what do you tell a teenager who was running away about how you came to be stuck in a town you can't leave from?

"well, there's no straightforward answer to that, really. i was leaving my husband, because he sucked, and a friend and i got stuck here together. he stays up at colony house and i stay in town." she shrugs, and she can tell janey's unsatisfied with her answer.

"okay, well my doctor husband was at a conference in florida, i dropped my son off at his grandmother's because the man is an obsessive dick and would try me for kidnapping had i taken him without the divorce being final. please, keep in mind i had to grant her guardianship and argue with a judge that until the divorce was over it was the best place for him. he's three and really likes eggs." she pauses, sighing before continuing.

"anyway, i'm assuming he found out, because i ended up ditching my very obvious car and hitchhiking for a while. don't recommend it. very dangerous shit. met a guy at a gas station. he was headed for california, in the wrong direction, and he said i could come. we ended up here two days later. he's at colony house, and the entire town thinks we're married. we just stopped correcting them." she arches a brow. "happy?"

meme, accepting

[bellemcrte]

note to self: stop hoarding every meme you get.

[hollywoodbountyman]

She didn't annoy him, but he did find her distracting. It took months to get his career back on track and even longer to find an assistant who didn't quit within a day. He wasn't difficult, but he wasn't as blind to Hollywood as he used to be. Anyone could be an actor today and disgraced tomorrow. He liked things a certain way now, because he knew he could lose it all again.

Then, the studio gave him her. She couldn't even see over his shoulder, and she was already changing everything up. He trusted people about as much as he trusted Hollywood these days, and she just so happened to be the object of his ire. It wasn't anything she'd done, either. In fact, he found her extremely helpful. She just rubbed him wrong for being so happy to help and down right rude when she wanted to be.

"You're taking a label gun to every prop bag in my trailer. I don't lose anything on purpose." He defends, crossing his arms over his chest. "And who said you could just waltz right in wherever you damn well please, anyway? Isn't there a rule about privacy somewhere?"

It isn't your fault, Dena. He's a jaded old bastard.

[bellemcrte]

"Respectfully, Mister Howard, I don't particularly give a shit if you like the labels or not. The goal, believe it or not, is to make sure you don't get fired." The executives were already debating keeping him on. It was all too much too soon, they'd said. "Now, if you want to help, you're free to do so. If not, please do me a favor and close the door on your way out."

She's right back to labelling, eyeing him as he seems to just gawk at her. Here she thought she'd let him walk away without meeting his irritation with her own. "And another thing, since we're sharing so freely, my contract says I can waltz right in. If you were a little more welcoming, the other six would've stayed, but you're making yourself hard to work with, and that isn't my fault. Not everyone is out to get you. It wouldn't hurt to try a thank you for helping once in a while."

She'd finished her labels by the time she got done lecturing him, pushing back from the small desk in his trailer. "So, the way I see it, I can help you through filming your first show, which is much different than a film, or you can continue to be surly and untouchable, and we can be miserable these next few months. I wasn't hired by you and won't be fired by you either, and unfortunately for you, I finish jobs I start."

His move. She's not planning on leaving because he's acting like a dick.

[hollywoodbountyman]

"Bless all that's holy, the lady doesn't want me dead." He remarked, but he wasn't backing down or away from her. She'd come too close to being in the crosshairs of his gun and the enemy, and for some reason, she didn't seem to think it was a fucking problem. He needed a drink, and if he'd still had hair, all the gray in it would be from her and her piss poor ability to not act first.

He reached for her without thinking, gloved hands settling on her upper arms to keep her still for a breath. "Songbird, I'm happy to finish whatever fuckin' gunfight you start, but for fuck's sake, don't keep put yourself in harm's way for anyone. especially me. we clear?"

He studied her closely. She had to understand how stupid it was to keep putting herself at risk like that, didn't she?

"And don't call me a salami stick. Ever again." He finally cracked, coughing through a laugh so she didn't get too much satisfaction. "I'm fuckin' jerky, if anything." He let go of her, running a gloved knuckle across her cheek. "And we shouldn't even be comparin' people to food unless you're goin' cannibal on me."

If he changes the subject, he'll stop looking at her like the moon rises for her. He's not trying to get shot next.

[bellemcrte]

"oh, so you've thought about it? that's concerning, cooper. honestly." she smiles despite herself. they'd work it out every time, wouldn't they? "jerky it is, though ethically speaking humans could be food. but we aren't talking about that before you get ideas and need a little snack."

she was tempted to let him change the subject. truly. she was going to let him get away with it. the demons, however, demanded she push the issue. "i mean it, coop. i'm not going to implode at the slightest hint of danger. you can't wrap me in bubblewrap and expect me to make it through this world. i can, as much as you don't want to accept it, take care of myself."

"besides, i'm not the one with the few extra holes." she has a point, and he knows it.

they're in a safe place, for now. she's stepping out of his hold with a placating smile. "and so you know, i wasn't trying to start a fight back there. it just happened. it isn't my fault they dared me. i can only put up with so much before i have to prove a point. and you didn't die, so i'm not exactly sure why you're bitching at me about it."

"but since you brought it up, cannibalism could be seen as a solid choice for population control, but you'd have to go for vault dwellers or you're just eating radiation people snacks." she shrugs. someone has clearly thought about this at some point.

[bellemcrte]

we love fallout dena, because she can be as chaotic as she wants to be? she does well with people who are a little less morally guided, and i love that for her.

the thing is, she's a great travel buddy/companion for other fallout muses if they want to take the fafo route. other than that, she's this off her rocker tiny thing who may be a little trigger happy, and she's definitely going to ask, yeah but did you die during wasteland adventures.

we live for the little chaos demon and will support more adventures with other chaos beings in the fallout universe.

[bellemcrte]

I’ll be here later, so like for memes.

[mcflymemes]

PRE ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue to help set up already existing relationships between your muses and give them past scenarios to reference, adjust as necessary

CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS

we were only kids back then. we didn't know any better.

you promised me we'd be friends forever.

you've changed quite a bit since i saw you last.

how are your parents doing? will you tell them i said hi?

i've known you for years, and you haven't changed a bit.

you've always been like this.

remember the last time this happened?

sure, i made a lot of mistakes, but so did you.

do you remember how we met?

you always stood up for me, no matter what.

i've always had a lot of love in my heart for you.

when i was struggling, you were always there for me.

I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY

i thought i told you to stay away.

you've got a lot of nerve, showing your face around here again.

i really don't want to see you again.

you're supposed to call and warn me before you show up here.

there's never going to be a "next time."

this is the last time you show up like this.

last time i said i never wanted to see you again, and yet here you are.

you can't just show up here unannounced.

you remember what happened the last time you showed up.

every time you show up here, shit hits the fan.

you're putting us all in danger by showing up here.

don't you have somewhere else to be?

ROMANTIC FEELINGS

i'm sorry, but i can't stop thinking about you.

after the time we spent together, you've been on my mind.

can we discuss what happened between us?

the last time i saw you, you were going to say something... and then you stopped.

did you mean it? any of it?

i wish we were still together.

would you go on another date with me?

it's hard to deny how you make me feel.

you've always had an effect on me.

i can't stop thinking about the way you look at me.

GENERIC "I'VE KNOWN YOU FOR A WHILE"

do you remember what you told me?

i can't believe this is happening to us again.

the last time this happened, we were better prepared.

i tried calling you a hundred times, but you never answered.

this was never supposed to end like this.

didn't you see my text?

i know you better than anyone else.

you can't lie to me. i can tell when you're lying.

you're making "the face" again.

you promised me you'd stop doing that.

[wineworshipped]

Awwww. That’s what he gets for relying on easy games: he never said they spelling his name, after all, just a phrase to win it. Gilded Thread. A warning and an observation, if one maybe a little too enchanted by its own bullshit to serve fully in either capacity. The game’s over, and the poor little thing doesn’t understand what she’s won—so Dio leaves the napkin set aside rather than guide her official answers into place.

“Aww, that’s a shame.” He pouts and leans forward, his chain in his palm. His brows are pinched in faux concern, his voice pitched up with play-pity. “You that drunk would’ve been right, and might’ve gotten extra lucky.” His voice drops back down into his natural register as he adds, “Maybe we should order you another shot of tequila and sit on those last couple of letters for a bit. I mean, you solved it, right? A thread, gilded or guided.

“And that’s—genuinely funny, in a roundabout, cosmic sort of way: I never even considered one of those, but they’re both true for you now, aren’t they? Huh! Which way do you identify, gilded or guided?” Dio taps his lip as he considers her situation for a moment: she’s won hangman and half-won bullshit, but for both Fate and chess they’re still well-matched. Probably. If Dena walks, both games come to a temporary pause—but unless this meeting is all that Fate demands of them (which is never the case), they’ll just keep meeting again until the tapestry is done with their portion of the weaving. Maybe his best next move is to spin the board and let her play with the full deck for a bit, to mix some metaphors. It’ll at least keep her there.

“How about, since you’re so much smarter than my game, I give you a taste of just how far your winnings could actually stretch? Just so that temptation to write me off as a bad bump in the night disappears for both of us. I’ll save you time on your theory and let you know the issue is with your fellow man for free—the problem of hunger could be solved and itself solve the problem of food waste, but where there is opportunity there is also the greed of man to exploit it. Yada, yada, yada. Sell someone else on the idea that you’re an altruist: we’re all hedonists here, baby!” He smiles and laughs, all teeth and a youthful sort of delight. It makes him luck puckish, and de-ages him some despite the deepening of his laugh lines. He does so loves to belong.

He doesn’t usually like showing off like this without a little more provocation, however, but hey—he’s coming out of semi-retirement, he’s a little bit rusty, and before he can even really stretch back into things Fate’s yanking him back into the grand design. Cut a god some slack, huh? Especially one with a reputation for dramatics like him. He lifts a finger to his lips and looks just over her shoulder. “Shhh!” The scolding shush is far louder than it had any right to be, seems to echo and grow over the bar and then the dance floor. Everything and everyone slows to a grinding halt, perfectly frozen in time. There aren’t many places left where he can do this: unfortunately for Dena, the bar that he owns in Boston is one of those rare places. The fogged-over windows of naXos block out the night, freezing time in a bubble inside of the bar. He can’t hold this indefinitely anymore—but he can steal quite a bit of time, especially here.

“There we go! All the time in the world to ask those six questions of yours without missing a song.” It’s not all quite true, but it’s true enough.

[bellemcrte]

"You can't be serious. Gilded or Guided Thread." She says, and at least she won't be losing her trust fund over it. "That's cryptic and a little ominous." She finally looks up, squinting at him in question. He stumped her. She didn't know how to answer that. Was she gilded or guided? She'd never given much credit to Fate, so guided seemed wrong. But to be gilded? Neither worked.

"I'm many things, but gilded and guided aren't part of the descriptor list." She breathes, pushing back from the bar to stand. She did say if either were correct she'd be going back to that very dance floor and dancing the night away. She isn't one to break her word. What would he do stop-

Everything? That shouldn't be possible. He shouldn't be able to stop an entire night club by shushing it.

It makes sense now. Persephone and Naomi didn't leave her. She's just too drunk and dreaming now. It's all been a dream with a stranger she hasn't actually met. That made logical sense of it all. Did she feel asleep? Later's problem. Did she know how to get out of the dream? Not really, but playing along made sense. Maybe it was time to stop drinking altogether.

Except she knows she's not dreaming. She knows whatever the fuck it is he's done is real, and that human panic was all too ready to take over.

"Ah, I get it. I'm clearly fucking insane or I'm dreaming or I'm being punked, because there's absolutely no fucking away everything stops because you said so." She snarks, eyes roaming a now frozen naXo. "Two questions. That's all I'm willing to invest right now, because I'm going to have to schedule a visit to the batshit wing before dawn. And, well, you've actually made it possible to get out of here without being hit on the whole way, so thanks for that, I guess. Nice clear way out to my grippy sock vacation. Very kind of you."

"First, who are you?" She says, and she's walking around the bar. Sue her. She'll pay for the bottle, she isn't a fucking thief. The stopper is out and she's pouring a shot with the countertop between them. Dena studies him for a moment, slams the tequila with a straight face, opens her mouth (and immediately closes it), and pours another one for good measure.

New goal for the night: blackout drunk (good luck with that, princess, you can outdrink the best of them and have never been blackout.)

"Second, what the hell are you? Dream creation and weird fantasy are both acceptable answers to that one, by the way." She was going to take the second shot, but she thought better of it and pushed it towards him. Bottle it was. That seemed to ease some of the natural fight or flight. "Fuck all knows with my daddy issues and penchant to start shit, weird fantasy would probably be my luck."

[wineworshipped]

Gods damn. He’s fucked with her one too many times already; when she calls out his undrained glass, he has to laugh, dropping his head. Alright, alright! When they know, they know—and he’s not on the hook for “exposing humanity to the maws of the divine.” Dio almost drops the act, but Dena keeps going and he realizes, belatedly, that she thinks it’s a power play, and it’s in that moment that he also remembers she’s quite drunk—a fact he’d almost forgotten, tied up in all of these many games as he is.

Cleverness, see? Always his downfall. Pretty eyes and a sharp mind. Dio laughs when he’s called out, realizing they are now, in fact, playing four games: hangman, bullshit, mental chess, and whatever game Fate’s playing with them. Is anyone winning around here?

“And here I thought beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and not just skin-deep. You’re right about pretty women. I haven’t gone down once because of a pretty woman. But this is at least time number two because of a clever one.” Dio winks and picks up the offending wine glass, holding it up in the air between them. “Three D’s: there, there, and there.

“And half-shit all around, sweetheart: for one thing, I’m bored with the response, but it’s hardly swooning.” To the best of his recollection, it’s never been swooning, despite cocky lines to the contrary. “But don’t take it too personally, huh? I’ve made a habit of downplaying my—significance, was that your word? No—importance. I’ve made a habit of downplaying my importance outside of certain spaces. You know how it is, right? All good pretenders do.”

There’s a sense now that he isn’t speaking only of himself, eyes locked on hers, dragging her in. The music grows distant, muffled by the weight of a truth shared by many. “You’ve got exactly one place where you don’t get to escape into the facade of your own making—the place that made you. Usually, you don’t get to be the same person when you’re there as you do when you’re anywhere else. I own who I was when I’m there.” Dio leans back and the music rushes to fill the space he leaves when he does, the spell breaking, parted seas joyously reuniting.

“But nobody here really knows who that is, so why spoil it?

“Besides, the truth’s important to me,” he admits honestly, cautious to leave his wine sipped from and not drained this time as he hides it away to keep her attention off it. Certain things require deception, making honesty a luxury he revels in when he can. “One T,” he adds, pointing on the page.

_ _ _ D E D T _ _ E _ D

X: O (1/6)

“Y’know—you’re the first person to point out the sweet tooth thing. Never really thought of it that way. I know you said not to bother pointing out when you’re onto something, but you’re onto something there. Maybe I should get a therapist, look into that. Or maybe you should, for noticing that,” he teases. It’s cute that she thinks he’s got the in on whatever the grand plan here is when he’s just as much a pawn in it as her. …mmm, maybe more of a bishop or a knight, all things considered. Still just a piece in the game, not a player, but not exactly a pawn, either.

“Besides, for all your talk about me winning, you’re the one pulling ahead. Whatcha gonna do with your questions? I mean—you’ve got this figured out otherwise, right? Be a shame if you wasted them all fact-checking puzzles you’ve already solved.”

[bellemcrte]

Two right and only half full of shit? Was it her birthday and she forgot? She's studying that damned napkin like it grew a second head. He'd said no O. Gilded Thread? Guided Thread? That made absolutely no sense for a nickname. It couldn't possibly be. Still, she'd put her entire trust fund on either being right. And boy, did she love being right.

"G." She's going to guess it, to be sure, because those were the rules laid out before her. "If your special magic phrase is guided or gilded thread, I'm going to save my questions, make my way back to that dance floor, and disappear into the crowd."

"If I'm wrong, I'll still have one more guess, given I only used four letters. G, I, U, and L, and that's only if none of them are right, but I'm going to be gracious with myself and say for sure at least one of them is." She is going to need a lot more than water to get her brain turning over properly. "I'm not guessing A or H yet. So, it doesn't count. Unless it is Guided or Gilded Thread, and if that's so, I'll take my prize as promised."

She settles back from the paper, meeting his gaze and somehow sinking. Everything shifted further and closer again. Whatever she'd been planning to say; what she'd planned to counter, slipped for a moment. Long enough for her to notice, to be sure, but not long enough to call him on it. Something else she'd blame on the alcohol if she sits and thinks with it.

"What will I do with my victory, huh? I'm pretty sure I get six questions with full honesty, boss. That's powerful stuff right there. I could, in theory, solve world hunger with your help, and there'd be nothing you could do about it." She won't. Truthfully, she wasn't sure what she'd ask him. Part of her liked letting him dwell among the shadows of her evening; a nameless face who'd offered her a game and conversation.

The rest of her? Much too curious for her own good.

"It's like you said, you like keeping your importance to a minimum, and that, I won't take from you." She quips, fingers drumming again. "I could, if I won, ask you just who you are and how you've managed to keep everyone at a distance from us from your presence alone, but that seems like it would ruin the fun of the evening. There's no promise you'll ever see me again after tonight." A fair assessment. She travels with a company along the east coast. Boston, New York City, Baltimore, and many more in-between. Such is the life of a principle dancer.

"It's almost a shame, isn't it? That we all hide who we are to be digestible to people we've never met? And why should we do it? We may only be ourselves in that one place, but we're all guilty of preferring to be what others want of us." It was gone again. The music. The presence of anyone but him and her. She's pretty sure it's just the tequila and not actually possible for any of it to swim away from her like that.

"I've solved nothing, either. Your riddle, maybe, but I'm just taking note of the things I see. Shit, boss, I'm almost drunk enough to believe in divine timing and fate. The right place. The right pieces falling so I'd catch your gaze from across a sea of bodies and be the one you're entertaining until the game ends." She snorts at herself. "I'm not, though. That drunk, I mean. Me that drunk would've crawled into your lap and started making out with you by way of greeting."

[wineworshipped]

It’s a weak game, but it’s not like he’s looking to test her limits. Just Fate. Just a little. He rolls his eyes and makes a note of the correct guesses, letting her spin—impressed, really, to meet someone who could keep up with him in that department. It’s been a while.

“Well, I appreciate your willingness to things the slower and more interesting way. E’s right.” He shows her where to mark it down on the paper herself—it’s a phase he wants her to remember, something best done if accomplished in her own hand. She talks while she marks the answer down, and he listens with a smirk. She’s a clever girl—clever is dangerous for him.

“I thought about just leaving, if you got it wrong—but then that felt like punishing me for something you did,” Dio pouts—but she’s right. He could’ve demanded an answer per wrong letter or some such shit, but he’d chosen not to. Maybe he should have, but he’d already won—they’re playing the damned game, aren’t they? “O’s wrong,” he adds, drawing it in the graveyard for her.

_ _ _ _ E _ _ _ _ E _ _

X: O (1/6)

“Ah-ah! Don’t get it twisted,” Dio singsongs back, leaning in towards her and lightly tapping the end of her nose with his finger. “Vanilla’s a spice, Denie: nothing sweet about it outside of its smell.” Gods, he loves to be baited. The thrill is in the chase, the back and forth. No one’s made him feel so slow in an age; is it finally catching up with him?

“You know what they say: never do what you’re good at for free. I have access to the kind of things that would literally blow your mind, blondie—and I don’t mean that in the fun literal way. This time.” One slender finger traces the circle of the head in the stick figure noise before he taps it.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, babe!” he half-groans, half-coaxes. “Six questions is hardly going to satisfy a curious little thing like you. I’ll learn your price before the night is over—no matter who wins.” He winks and leans back, tapping the napkin again before reaching for his wine.

“Fifty-fifty: not the worst odds. Are we deviating from the vowels yet? Or is your plan to play it safe all night while running circles around an old man?” He’s not above throwing himself under the bus, after all. With exaggerated effect, Dio staggers back and clutches his like he’s been shot, sending an accusatory final look Dena’s way. “In the end, officer—it really was age before beauty! She killed the old bastard!” He’s making a scene—despite it, no one looks over. The bartender pointedly so, but it is as if none of the other patrons are fully aware of him.

The music thrums in the gaps between words, an ever-present flow through the conversation that seemed ever so slightly out of time, a half a beat or so ahead or behind of what should be expected. Dio’s eyes twinkle like broken glass every time the beat falters, his smile slow but infectious as it rebuilds.

“Take another shot. You’ve got five more bullets.”

[bellemcrte]

The Fates were a cruel bunch, when they wanted to be. Too bad Dena knows nothing about their design, even if she's resistant to their attempts. It served them right for meddling. They've chosen the most stubborn woman on the face of the planet and tried to get her to bend.

She'd do it eventually, sure. But she wasn't going to go to her knees without fucking around and finding out first. "I want to take a different type of shot. Let me tell you what I've figured out, hm? You tell me if I'm full of shit? Not if I'm onto something. That would make it all too easy. A game for a game."

Two games, then. Gotta keep it interesting.

"Statistically speaking, you've already won, and you know it." She points out, tucking a curl behind her ear. It is, after all, his stage. "Wisdom comes with age, or so they say. Beauty, like flowers, wilts and withers, and you seem much too smart to go out because of a pretty woman." Observant, this one.

"D." She adds, studying him for a moment before passing her now empty water glass across the bar. "And since we're on the topic of things I would love to know. I think you're playing down your importance of the evening for my benefit or because you're bored with the response you get when they do swoon upon you."

She'd been here plenty, and not once has she been able to sit at the bar in what seemed like a bubble of seclusion for this long without at least one person bumping into her or trying their luck. She's keenly aware of the berth everyone seemed to be giving them, and it strikes her as important, somehow.

"What's more, you've finished the same glass of wine twice and not once have you made a move to signal a bartender to refill it. Like they know you, or of you, well enough to know better than to let your glass go empty." Ocean eyes drift back down to the napkin, fingers drumming along to the beat. "Your anonymity is important enough to you that you want me to play for something to call you, when you could've given me any name under the sun. I wouldn't have known the difference."

"And T." She settles back from the bar, gaze tilting. "What's fascinating is the way you seem to always circle back to sweet things. Sure, vanilla could be a spice, or it could be an enhancement to sweets. Always added in small amounts to make the product better. Assuming you're drinking red wine and not some other atrocious concoction that looks like red wine, it's at least semi-sweet."

"You, sir, have a sweet tooth for finer things and you're of some importance to the establishment." She hums. "The question remains: what could you possibly want with me, if not stimulating conversation and- something pretty to toy with, because you are, you know, toying with me. I'm just too curious for my own good and want to know why."

"Give it to me straight, boss. Am I full of shit or just drunk?"