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Briefly, she forgot why she was going this to begin with. For all of one, beautiful moment, it was just this bike, the moment and the feeling, the wind, the dull hum, racing pulse --Â
It was all she ever needed. It could get her heart racing every time, made her senses sharper and amplified every color, more satisfying than any drug Ryker had ever taken (and, she had tried many). They produced effects that felt like imitations, shadows. Fake. And Ryker wouldnât settle for fake, and why would anyone really if the real thing was so close?Â
Ryker nearly stopped breathing as she cornered at 70mph with her knee just barely skimming along the pavement, shifting her gears and accelerating to catch up with Q. That opportunity comes to her as the slow build up of cars ahead gives her the edge - breathe, duck, weave - slipping in between cars and reveling in the feeling of pushing ahead and leaving behind a world that forced itself to slow down. Driving in the wrong lane always felt so good, never mind the agitated car horns that Ryker was all too glad to leave behind. She just twisted her throttle more, pushing the dial further to the right.
Up until that point, she was nearly caught up with Q, and maybe she would have had the chance to actually beat him if it werenât for the sharp sound of sirens behind. Ryker did not anticipate Q to take the alleyway that would risk damaging his beautifully flashy car.
âLittle shit.â She laughed softly, mentally mapping out a path of the alleyways to ditch the police. They werenât always the brightest of sorts, and she knew the alleyways as well as she knew the taste of her own blood. But she doubted at this rate, there was any chance of her winning.Â
A few sharp cornerings in the back streets and alleyways later, Ryker doesnât have the goal of the intended finish line in mind. Instead, itâs a quick stop for a coffee (Starbucks, because she couldnât help but love the name, more milk than actual coffee and lots of whipped cream) and the most diabetes-inducing muffin she could find (because god only knows how much good it could do to skinny little Q). By the time she actually gets to her original end destination, sheâs a good handful of minutes behind and Q is already there, standing with a cocky smile.Â
She came to a sharp stop and tugged of her helmet, an amused smile playing at her lips. âItâs useless to be a God when youâre speaking to a nonbeliever.â Reaching for her coffee, Ryker took a long sip out of it while throwing the small brown bag with the diabetes muffin in it. âBecause I donât keep thousands of dollars on hand at all times, letâs just call it an IOU. I specifically picked out that muffin for you, so be grateful.âÂ
é˛č˝ (reckless) | q & ryker
 âUsual route, you sure âbout that?â He grinned, it was no secret their usual route was well suited to his outlandish car, although if even the slightest bit of traffic hit the roads sheâd have the up. Didnât mean he wouldnât ramp it up, Q might drive out in the sticks usually but if it called for it heâd happily weave through traffic, driving on the other side of the road never hurt anyoneâthat was until there was oncoming traffic. Heâd been lucky that thus far the worse accident heâd been in was a spin-out, screech of brakes and an incredibly pissed off local hollering at him for driving on the other side of the road. Apparently a shrug and a smirk wasnât enough to get off the hook, but a wad of cash slipped into their back pocket was.
 The clock struck thirty, the revving paved way and his foot released the clutch, if the beast was roaring before she lurched into action with a hollering scream, a second behind Ryker but that was more down to his reflexes than the car herself. He smirked, another gear change and he was ahead, leaving her behind in his dust, or more accurately flames.
 He hit the first corner harder than heâd intended, not that he was ever overly cautious, pulled up hard on the hand-break and with a little bit of luck intermingled with skill drifted the great hulking beast round the sharp bend. Scarcely out of the corner and he was already accelerating, tuned to the teeth it only took her a little over two seconds to reach 60, he was pushing her harder than that.
 Streets blurred into nothing but streaks of light, had to swerve around slower moving traffic with a heady rush of adrenaline, sounds of their horns already off into the distance by the time he paid them notice.Â
 This was better than any drug, better than the oblivion a drink might provide him, dare he say it better than even a night in the arms of a lover.
It was pure, it was adrenaline soaked into his bones, soul.
 Nothing could stop him now. Not even the inevitable sounds of sirens, mismatched eyes glanced up into his mirror to see the flash of lights. âShit just got fun.â
 âSorry Ryker little diversion.â
 He made a hard left, down a narrow alleyway that nearly knocked the mirrors off his car, sent a poster flying off the smart-tech wall to his right. His diversion cost him precious seconds, that he inevitably made up, but on the plus side it didnât take much to lose the cops. Which mightâve astounded him but Q was far too busy celebrating his double win, heâd pulled up at finish line with a screech of tires and a slight plume of smoke but she was no-where in sight. He still had a smug smile plastered across his face when he slipped from the car, cigarette between his lips to sate his other dirty habit.
 âBow to your king, waitâno scratch. Not a king, Iâm a God.â
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Ryker tugged at a few strands of her hair that had fallen out of her side bun, annoyed. Something as simple as punching a drunk shouldnât have really caused her hair to fall out of place like that, but at least it wasnât that she had done badly enough that loose strands ended up being yanked away. Now that would have made her mad, and reminded her of the time she was losing a fight, and she had watched a single strand of one of her red hairs float in the air in front of her. That had been the breaking point.Â
She twirled the loose hairs and carefully tucked them behind her ear, figuring she would fix it later. âI never thought about it like that. But, then again, I donât think Iâve ever been in a situation where Iâve had to use a screwdriver for anything else but taking out screws.â His observation amused her a little, for he was more or less correct. Guns were plenty fun, but why let bullets do the work when she could do it herself?Â
âAlso, itâs Ryker. So, what can I call you?âÂ
heâs half watching, a sidelong observation, and itâs not much of a âfightâ, the man barely able to stand on his own two feet and words barked out wholly unintelligible.  in fact, the petite woman probably did him a favour.  unconsciousness will deliver a sweet relief from the aftermath of the vast amount of alcohol so obviously imbibed - staggering, stumbling, passing out in a gutter.  perhaps heâd even be out long enough to sleep through the crippling hangover. Â
perhaps thereâs a flicker of a smile. Â the slightest quirk of lips as the drunk hits the floor. Â itâs a solid, single punch. Â crisp. Â exact. Â clean. Â
regardless of the target and his current âstateâ of inebriation, you can still make a mess swinging with a lack of skill.  and heâs seen more than enough âmessesâ.  more commonplace than anything else in night city.  exuberance, over eager, over confident and underskilled - whatever reasons.  there was always⌠a mess.
not here though. Â an unconscious drunk in a bar where barely a night would go by without another brawl breaking out wasnât something wholly uncommon. Â heâs sure that the punch was quite entertaining to others too, but when it was obvious that there would be naught to follow the first last of fist, and the bulk of the other falling like a felled tree, most seem to return to the intense ruminations to be found in the bottom of whatever glass or bottle they were clutching.
however, thereâs an arch a brow at the â âhim over thereâ.
he does have a name, if she cares to ask for it. Â but he prefers not to be referred to as an object and spatial reference.
well, he hopes the bar-tender at least feels some sense of obligation to the offer. Â
âscrewdriverâŚ?  you seem to have a running theme.
implements capable of stabbing people.â
a dry play on words, yes - but she doesnât seem the type for slapstick.
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Ryker looked up at Vi and had to try her hardest not to smile too much. âAw, Vi, you wound me. But itâs probably better that you donât remember who I am.â It probably wouldnât be the best of things to be remembered by someone as dangerous as Vi, for it would probably mean that she had been unlucky enough to be placed on her bad side. She seemed like the type of woman who couldnât care less about other people, and if she did âcare,â it was only just to hate them.Â
She raised her eyebrows briefly, questioning. âNo oneâs invulnerable. Everyone has a weakness, and Iâm sure you have one too, Vi. Makes me wonder what it could be.â A light laugh removed the potential threat of her words, because it wasnât as if she actually cared if Vi had a weakness. But it was certainly an interesting thought to have.Â
âYou seem to know a thing or two about loved ones. Maybe, at one time, did even you have one too?â Now that was a thought. At one time, very long ago, Ryker had loved, once. But that was another lifetime ago, and it was a love that she had easily given up for the sake of freedom and the life she lived now. So, maybe it hadnât meant all that much to her to begin with.Â
Maybe.Â
Vi shot her a sour glare but didnât say anything.For a few moments she was standing silently. This would turn sour, Vi could tell. She was admittedly unprepared to deal with the consequences of this fateful meeting, butâshe would live with her actions ( like always ).She smiled,stretching the skin around her mouth.It had been one of the most difficult things she had ever done. But she had no trouble with faking emotions. She stepped closer, close enough to be sure that she could see her superior smile. So, she raised her chin, gazing down at the other woman with vague disinterest.
Vi was not a fool; her world was not filled with joy and gratitude.Sure, on a larger scale, it was healthy to have people out there you cared about more than yourself. She knew that. But then there was the abject fear you would lose it.ââThey say possessions own you. Not so. Loved ones own you. You are forever held hostage once you care so much.ââ
 âA fascinating question, girl â perhaps we may even explore it more in depth soon enough.â She clasped her hands behind her back, tilting her head slightly as she observed her again. âItâs funny: I hardly remember you.And yet you make such observations.ââ
ââIâm not lonely.Iâm perfectly happy.ââShe let out a sigh heavy with disappointment.ââMany people are afraid of being alone. But it made me feel strong, free and invulnerable.â
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i just like drawing my trash ocs from rps⌠.. .. look at Ryker wearing a stupid little crown thingÂ
i w a n n a s e e h e r g e t b e a t u p s o m u c hÂ
c:Â
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Is it wro-wrong that I think it's kinda fun
When I hit you in the back of the head with a gun?
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It was kind of typical, actually. Ryker never understood the point of lowering your voice if you wanted to be intimidating. No one could hear you and someone would have to, almost comically, lean forward and ask, âUh, mind repeating yourself? I canât hear you when youâre mumbling.â She never understood the point of the obvious stares that meant judgement. Of course you were being judged, everyone did it every second of their lives. But Vi was something else, had something else about her that made things that Ryker wouldnât have considered just a little intimidating a whole different thing altogether. She always wondered what could spark something else just a little bit more than the dead cold inside Vi - but surprisingly, Ryker thought she saw it. If not just for a second.Â
âI wouldnât say friends are entirely useless. Friends are, at least, loyal. Associates can be easily swayed, and enemies? I suppose that depends on whether you want to love them or hate them.â She shrugged, smiling faintly. âWhat am I here for? Well, I was going to ask how you liked the new merchandise I sent over a few days ago, but you seemed awfully lonely standing around here on your own.âÂ
Something flashed in Viâs eyes â the first real show that she was something not quite human,not quite whole. ââYouâre mistaken.I wasnât threatening anyone.I was actually trying to be a good citizen.ââ She moved closer, lowering her voice to a soft whisper. Despite the deadness, the coldness, present in her gaze, something resembling mischief sparked. She glanced her over, gaze slow, steady, and above all, searching for just what use she might prove to her.ââYou havenât heard,ââ She turned away, but paused for a brief moment to continue.ââMy enemies donât swim, they float.Friends are absolutely useless.Theyâll only bring you trouble.What do you want,Ryker?And please try not to disappoint me.ââ
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âWell, whatâs been keeping you from exploring? Cityâs full of things to do, especially if you know where to look.â Silently she debated about whether or not she should get another drink, for she did have to drive herself back. Ryker was reckless, but not stupid. But she still waited for the day she could do whatever she wanted and fuck all to the consequences.Â
Ryker raised her eyebrow at the last sentence. âDonât, or wonât? Because itâs one thing if you actually canât, but another if youâre trying to go for some âstrong but silentâ thing. Doesnât it get annoying writing everything you want to say all the time?âÂ
Not new, exactly, but I havenât had a chance to look around before recent times. Grey nodded to her offer, sure heâd eventually need a new set of blades - they didnât last forever, after all. His were still the same ones heâd hidden shortly before his trip to the hospital, and they werenât doing all too well after a year of just sitting there. Thatâs correct; I donât. Couldnât was more accurate at this point, though there was nothing physically wrong with him, but he didnât think that mattered much to this stranger.
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âOh, aw. I thought I was doing a pretty good job.â She wasnât actually that upset, and hadnât really tried all that much to hide her presence. Ryker had been enjoying watching Vi pace back and forth with an expression on her face that said it all. It would be unwise to cross Vi in a mood like this, but Ryker had always wondered with it would be like just to push her buttons a little.Â
Just a little.Â
âYouâre not going to make any friends threatening people like that. But lucky for you, I can swim.âÂ
 With a cold expression on her face she paced around impatiently.Her mind was still flicking through murderous thoughts.It had been a feeling more than a noise that had given the other away, but that was more than enough.( Shadows were filled with energy.Just like the darkness had a special taste.) ââBack away from the water or  you might drown.ââShe turned her head away, gritting her teeth .
ââŚOh and you arenât as sneaky as you believe yourself to be.â
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character aesthetics | the bad girl
âShe wants wreckage, she wants scorched earth, she wants broken glass.â
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The entire thing is actually kind of funny to Ryker. The man who was once slumped over and she considered more or less dead was now very much alive, but from the way he was acting, she was sure it wouldnât take all that much to send him back to being unconscious for she was sure that, while âaccidentalâ murder was okay on the streets, a bar was another matter entirely. She really didnât care all that much though about the knife that the drunken man was now waving around. It was cheap and so there really wasnât any need to retrieve it, but Ryker was starting to get annoyed by the shouting. âNah, I think Iâll take care of this. It was my fault for missing, after all.âÂ
In a few steps, Ryker crossed the bar and grabbed the wrist of the drunken man brandishing the knife clumsily, twisting it away from her. It only served to cause more slurred curses and a swing of a fist that Ryker easily sidestepped. âShut up, old man, itâs just a tiny cut,â she sighed in exasperation. Sure, she was annoyed, but Ryker was more pleased than anything else. The faint smile on her face twitched in amusement as a single punch to the jaw was all that it took for the drunken man to shut down again, although she had to be just a little mindful of punching too hard. Knuckles reinforced by steel could do much more than just render a person unconscious.Â
The man crumpled to the ground, and the annoying shouts immediately went quiet. Ryker is sure that more than one pair of eyes are on her at the scene that she had more or less caused, but barely gave it any notice as she picked up the knife from the ground. What had, for a second, been fun, turned out to be a little less than interesting. Taking down drunk men wasnât much of a challenge. It was, for lack of a better word, boring. If it wasnât a bar, maybe she would have played a little bit more instead of just going by what would be most efficient.Â
Ryker leaned over the counter and slid money at the bartender. âSo, letâs make that another bourbon for him over there,â jerking her head a the other man she had promised the drink to, âa screwdriver for me, and some money for you to spend on something nice, hm?âÂ
after seeing the previous throw, heâs not in much doubt that she couldnât make the shot.  it had been casual, but accurate, a steady fluid motion to plant the first knife snugged up against the one heâd thrown.  barely a thought toward effort - speaking of inherent skill, rather than âtrying too hardâ.
the second throw - however - ends up slightly worse for the man at the end of the bar
â and thereâs a marginal ponderance of purpose there.  unless the first throw was a fluke, she didnât - have to - miss⌠unless⌠perhaps⌠she wanted to? Â
so then, has he found a macabre little rabbit?
all doe eyed and innocent - at first glance.
but, perhaps, with sharper claws than padded paws might first suggestâŚ
âŚof course - he could be wrong.  and it could have been a genuine errâŚ
he rather hopes it wasnât.
apparently the âdead manâ isnât quite dead.  at some point, the âpointâ nestled and grazing against flesh musch have caused enough of a sting to rouse him.  suddenly rumbling - drunkenly - to life ( ish ) and yanking the blade from the wood ( with his injured hand, so clearly not dealing with a genius here ) and gesturing while barking out a few choice profanitiesâŚ
âwould you like to retrieve your knife? Â or would you rather i did?â
itâs a small offer, for the entertainment provided.  but heâs not about to bluster in uninvited - like some machismo, testosterone inflated knight in⌠more than slightly tarnished armour.  in fact.  thereâs a second hope in the offing - heâd rather like to see how she handles this.
âand same again. Â thank you.â
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âAm I going to hell? Probably. Aw, come on, donât give me that look of pity. I think Satanâll probably welcome someone like me with open arms. Doesnât he want people to sin? It doesnât make a whole lot of sense why heâd want to punish people.
âAnd before you start calling me a Satanist â what a joke. Religionâs just not for me. Has too many rules and expectations, and thereâs probably some kind of unofficial contract that you have to sign to be a part of that. Come on. No one needs that in their life, and certainly not me. Â
âHonestly, everyone is so concerned now about, what is it - the eternal soul, and all that, but really you have got to be fucking kidding me. You all spend way too much time thinking about whatâs going to happen long after youâre dead and rotting in the ground to remember that this here, right now, is what youâre living, so shouldnât you make it good? Everyone seems to keep forgetting about actually enjoying the moment and life the way it is right now. Iâd say that Iâm sorry to not have any interest wasting my time getting gray hair trying to be a saint when I can live every waking second of my life loving being a sinner. But Iâm not. I canât imagine a single day I donât love breaking every rule I can, and when I get that bored one day, I have plenty of weapons in my arsenal to chose which way I want to die.
âI think a knife would be more intimate, but a shotgun might be fun too. But maybe itâll be rocket launcher some how. Hey, at least it means Iâll definitely go to hell if what youâre saying even has even an ounce of truth.
âYouâre really wasting your time trying to convince anyone in this city to covert to any type of religion, so, hey, Iâll do you a favor and give you some advice: stop trying. Youâre not going to have any luck here, and especially not with me. Are you telling me that you enjoy living by a moral code when you could just have the freedom to do whatever the hell you want? I swore to myself that the next time anyone tries to tell me what to do, Iâll cut out their fucking tongue. Iâd hope theyâd die from blood loss, but if they choke somehow on their own blood I think that would be a lot more fun. And, to let you in on a little secret, I think it might also be interesting to know what the tongue of a person who doesnât quite know how to shut up might taste.
ââŚAw, donât worry so much, you havenât pissed me off that much. Yet.
âYouâd feel differently about living by someone elseâs rules if that was all you ever grew up with, and Iâm sure if you were given even the slightest sliver of a chance to escape that, youâd take it, even if it was by the hand of the devil. I donât know why some people would run for something like that - for comfort of knowing that youâll go you a âgood placeâ when you die, you say? Youâre forgetting the point.
âIâm living life now. And if you play your cards right, youâll get to live a pretty good life now. And thatâs all I really need. You keep trying to threaten me, as if having a good time was a crime. If it is one though, Iâd say Iâm enjoying my life as a criminal. So, congratulations, you just wasted precious minutes of my life I could have been - I donât know, actually enjoying something.
âIf you know whatâs good for you, youâll keep walking and not waste any more of it.â
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Maybe the guy had a sore throat or something, Ryker thought as she read the words printed on the tabet. At least his handwriting as decent, a fact that made her almost annoyed. Her handwriting was neat solely for the reason that it had been forced into her, and it had been one of the few habits that she still hadn't quite yet expunged. "Ah, are you new around here? Well, if you ever need an upgrade on knives, I think I could hook you up with something good," she said, frowning slight as she saw that she had finished her screwdriver. "And, do you not speak or something?"
True, but still. Iâve been looking around Night City, thatâs all. I figured I may as well go everywhere. At least that way he could meet all sorts of people, even if it wasnât in a place he had any real reason to go to. Beyond that, there were less people in one bar than there were on the streets, and he didnât have to deal with the crowds quite as much.
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Of the few things that did stick out in Rykerâs mind about the constant lessons in history back when she was little miss Meifeng, it was that war could make countries economically successful. It was an ironic kind of cycle, but a similar kind of idea could probably be applied to herself. The more people wanted to fight, the more they wanted weapons. The more they would pay for them, and, as an added bonus, she could sit back and watch how the city fell apart. The idea of it made her grin a little as she noted the fact that, yes, Q only had one gun now.Â
She was actually kind of fond about those guns, as they had been a set of custom ones that had taken a bit of work to get right. They were alright, as far as guns went, and considering how good technology had gotten, those Uzis were more or less behind all the better things that were more capable of killing. But was always under the impression that Q would never part with those guns, and found herself actually surprised by the news. âPassed on, huh? Hope theyâre in good hands. I always did like the little Lady. Talk to me after you lose, I think I can hook you up with something good. Just probably nothing too big, as your skinny twig of a body probably wouldnât be able to handle it.âÂ
With a grin, Ryker walked back over to her bike, adjusting her gloves. This was what she needed, something that could at least get her blood rushing again, even if for a few seconds. âFucking born ready,â she said with a laugh. She pulled the bike off its kickstand and slid slid onto her bike with comfortable ease. A glance at the time.Â
2 minutes to the half hour.Â
"Letâs say âgoâ at the 30, alright? The usual route. See you on the other side.â With a smirk, she shoved on her helmet and started up her bike as naturally as breathing. A flip of a switch, ignition, button - god yes the hum of the engine.
1 minute.Â
She had to breathe just to take the sensation in, and keep her excitement just under control enough. It had been far too long.Â
As her clock changed from 29 to 30 --  a flash of adrenaline, turn of lever, pedal, throttle -- and she was off.Â
é˛č˝ (reckless) | q & ryker
 âYeah, been racing out in the sticks. Clearer out there.â Easier to dodge the police if it came down to it, which Q was partially thankful for given heâd go down for more than just reckless driving if caught. He was a fugitive, not quite a cell-break, that hadnât hidden himself all that well. Gone back to the same old life heâd always had, same places, same people, to an extent of course. The police might have their hands full with bigger matters than a fixer breaking his parole but undoubtedly theyâd catch up to him eventually. Especially if he kept up his habit of shouting from the roof-tops who he was and what he was doing. For an information broker heâd long forgotten the art of secrecy.
 Q snorted, âI ainât dooms daying about jack, the worse the city gets easier it is for me,â there was a pause as he contemplated what mightâve appeared to be a deep matter, brows pulled downwards. In reality Qâs mind was largely devoid of any deep meaningful debates, though he was passionate when it came to cars and there his knowledge for once blossomed. âHey, I might need ânother beauty,â to which he was referring to the gun pressed to his hip, singular now that heâd passed on one to John.
 âLady has been passed on, need something to replace her, Iâm thinking something big.â Which, in Qâs mind translated to a rocket launcher. Such a weapon in the hands of a fixer was a disaster waiting to happen. If Ryker allowed him to get his grubby hands on one, or encouraged it, then sheâd be partially accountable for the city going up in flames. So much for the city getting a new start of the new year. Mismatched eyes were wide in his excitement as he jumped from weapon to weapon, getting progressively more outlandish as he went, no longer was he dwelling on rocker launchers. Instead he was envisioning giant fantasy weapons that belonged firmly behind the TV screen.
 âI ainât gonna be upset, gonna be two-fucking-thousand up,â and no doubt smug beyond belief. That was if he won of course, he was a better driver than most in the city and had winnings to prove it. But Ryker was just as fast on her bike, if not better skilled, Q was quite simply reckless and unafraid to push the limits.
 âCâmon, so we gonna do this or not?â
 Heâd already turned away from her, slipping back into his car and pulling the door shut behind him. Left the window down half way so he could flash her a conceited little smile, it wasnât all that little in reality. He tapped the gas lightly, enough that the beast of an engine revved, not quite enough for the flames to spark again.
 âReady?â
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B-E-H-A-V-E never more
You gave up being good when you declared a state of war
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âA glass of water that you could pretty much have gotten for free either way - knife thrown or not. Alright, whatever floats your boat.â Ryker shrugged watching as the bartender slid a simple glass of water to the man. âWhatâs the point of being at a bar if youâre only going to drink water?
Just a glass of water - like I said, I donât drink. His smile was tentative, unused to this sort of ordeal. The thought that a display of what he took to be a survival skill was enough to garner a free drink on any occasion was surprising.
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