[attr="class","tbbody"]perhaps in the morning, when sobriety hits, she will piece it together. for now, her mind fills in the gaps of heat, of flesh, of the warmth of another. her own nerves are present and nonexistent; she is unaware of her heart pumping, unaware of the sweat.

she sits on the question. thalia, she who is not important, has asked her her plans, and behind that, a question of intention. comic rubs her thumb over a fingernail, her other hand going to her drink, bringing the drink up, taking a sip. the whiskey sour now seems so much sweeter than it ever was.

"you know," she starts, eyebrows arching, "i have an unfinished crossword at my apartment a few blocks from here." one of her hands is resting under her ear, elbow on the bar, attention at thalia.