Re: By the Bar
Silver was an advocate of expression. Emotions broiled and simmered when left too long unrealized, and the acid would eat away at a man until there was not much left of him. Silver had seen it happen in the field and at home. It was not in his nature to be confrontational with his emotions, however. He sure as hell wouldn't be a very good spy if he was.
So he put a hand out to steady Felicia's shoulder as she teetered on her stool, withdrawing it only when she returned happily to her drink and the conversation. His expression had compressed into a faint frown, and there was mingled concern and a sad decay of irritation in his eyes. It didn't have anything to do with Felicia, but there it was.
He looked down at his drink, lifted it up and took every appearance of swallowing some down without actually letting it past his lips. Common tactic. Good spies are sober spies that everybody thinks is drunk, and old habits are hard to break. "I was a little involved. She had stopped by there before." He didn't know why he was saying it, but he wanted to talk, and no one was listening. "I didn't want to tell them that. You know how it goes."