@aworldbreaker continued.
“ hmmmm ? ” her voice feels odd, like it doesn’t belong to her. ( which, in and of itself, is not necessarily an odd concept to syd, but still. ) faraway. floaty. she braces an elbow on the bar, rests her head on a leather gloved hand, and turns to smile WINNINGLY at him. that always tends to shut him up, even when he’s right and has earned his gloating. and he is, of course, right. she knew better, but hey, tonight’s A GOOD NIGHT. and they haven’t had many of those recently.
his eyes, sydney thinks, are the bluest things she’s ever seen in her life. every time she looks at him, it’s like she’s seeing his eyes for the first time all over again. it takes her a second, lost in those goddamned eyes of his, to realize he’s leaning in, and he’s making a wisecrack.
she can feel his breath on her mouth. it’s so shockingly intimate it makes her want to scream.
she inhales, long and slow, like she can taste his breath in the air, and then SNORTS, inelegantly, at his comment. “ what ? ” she starts, her voice low, sarcastic, dry. “ you feel like seven minutes in heaven with ol’ dale over there ? ” her thumb jerks out, perpendicular to her forehead, towards one of the few other patrons, a heavyset man on the other side of the bar in a solid set of overalls that look like they haven’t been washed since ‘98.
she wants to say THANK YOU FOR BRINGING ME HERE and she wants to say FUCK OFF, both of them in the fondest of tones, but she can’t settle on one, and her brain feels like it’s working overtime just to get enough air in her lungs, so she just settles for a half hearted sort of glare, and brings her free hand up. with some concentration, she makes a fist, extends her pointer finger, and jabs it at him, the leather barrier between her fingertip and his nose still stopping an inch away from his face. ( old habits, and all that. ) “ you’re drunk too, ” she accuses, though she’s NOT ENTIRELY SURE it’s the truth.
