the evening of september 15th, up against the bar of knock five times with @scofflawed
what does drinking on a monday matter if the booze is illegal every night of the week? given the liquor was outlawed anyway, delysia had rationalized on her way to the speakeasy, the social conventions associated with drinking it on specific days no longer mattered.
and by the not insignificant crowd found within knock five times, it seemed plenty agreed with her.
the worst thing about wanting to be noticed is that sometimes you are: standing pretty and alone up against the bar, when the heat of another’s arm crosses her own, delysia momentarily mistakes it for the kind of attention you want to turn into rather than away from. hugo.
“oh. it’s you.” her mouth takes a shape a little too deliberate to be the pout she’d learned in childhood, and she deliberately drops her gaze from the bootlegger and fiddle preemptively with her purse. “well go on, if you’ve got something to say to me you may as well get it over with. i’m not in the mood to clown around with you tonight. i just want to tip a few and be left alone, alright?”