WIP Wednesday

Mobius clenches his teeth and holds up the amber liquid in the glass, swirling it. “How much time do we have?” Loki shrugs. “Maybe an hour. Maybe two.” Mobius throws back the drink. It’s a really nice aged scotch. He’s not sure it’s real, it might be a mirage or a conjuration or whatever it is the god does, but it’s tasty, woody and sweet with a warm burn. He smacks his lips and sets the empty glass back on the bar so he can cross his arms and take in Loki.