“My fabrics miss you.” Said nonchalantly, over a glass of scotch. Just two ghosts. Dealing with death. Liz hadn’t been the only beauty that had died that day…Will knew his company was now out of his reach. He’d lost connection. And perhaps that was a good thing. Maybe when Lachlan was old enough, he’d revive it, put a little fresh blood into it. That was what it needed. Fresh. Not old. Not ghostly.
“I hear you and Tristan haven’t left the bed since you kicked the bucket. Mazel tov.”
Again, said without affectation. He’s trying not to pine for the things that are no longer his these days.
the click of a tongue sounds a soft exhalation of yearning, neat whiskey set gently on top of the counter after a meager swallow. opposite her usual perch, she sits beside will –––– with someone else tending the bar for a change. the revival of will’s line had brought many benefits, both to the hotel& to the pair reclining in the lounge now, sipping scotch, & of those benefits, hiring waitstaff was among her favorites. it allowed for freedoms, such as the one will mentions. ❛ his presence has definitely eased my transition, to say the least. ❜ spoken on the bough of a laugh, lips thin to a quieter beam as she continues. ❛ –––– & what about you ? what has mister drake been up to ? ❜
