[Fingers clutch the flute of his glass and he barely nods in thanks. He fights to remain unannoyed but in the end he purses his lips and offers a frustrated sigh. Long has he preferred to observe people from the outside; this is far too intimate. His mind is made up in a second:
He intends to leave this bar on his own two feet - and so his glass is set aside. But a flash of something twists his face.]
no subject
[Fingers clutch the flute of his glass and he barely nods in thanks. He fights to remain unannoyed but in the end he purses his lips and offers a frustrated sigh. Long has he preferred to observe people from the outside; this is far too intimate. His mind is made up in a second:
He intends to leave this bar on his own two feet - and so his glass is set aside. But a flash of something twists his face.]
Wait. What do you mean, that sort?