Scandal finds its way into the knit of his brow, shadowed by you shouldn’t have incredulity. He meanders over to peer directly down into it, cup in hand for him to drain -- he immediately has to stifle a cough, and clears his throat. Smooth or not, it’s clear the majority of his evenings don’t start with whiskey in a cup.
no subject
“Well, with your permission.”
Scandal finds its way into the knit of his brow, shadowed by you shouldn’t have incredulity. He meanders over to peer directly down into it, cup in hand for him to drain -- he immediately has to stifle a cough, and clears his throat. Smooth or not, it’s clear the majority of his evenings don’t start with whiskey in a cup.
“What are the letters?”