( His hand curls around the glass, focusing on the weight of it for a moment before he lifts it to her in a toast. Then he knocks it back.
He's usually of the opinion that vodka tastes like cough syrup--his palette is decidedly undignified--but chilled as it is it slips smoothly down his throat. The buzz isn't immediate, of course, but he's waiting for it. )
no subject
He's usually of the opinion that vodka tastes like cough syrup--his palette is decidedly undignified--but chilled as it is it slips smoothly down his throat. The buzz isn't immediate, of course, but he's waiting for it. )
So. Can't sleep, or expecting a guest?