"Bullshit," Hagar snorted. "You're just screwing with me." She prayed he was. Hope had nightmares enough to keep her awake at night without bad karma floating about in the crisp, humid air of their creaking home or creeping under the mattress like nits. "Talk like that, I should cut you off 'fore you lose the rest of your goddamn mind. Might need what's left of it for the rest of the night." Barring that, it might come in handy when next the Chets made a grab for a piece of their land.
The Pulse had complicated ownership; now anyone with a big enough gun could come in and take what you had. All the more reason to keep on the lookout for trouble, defend what precious little was won and suspect everyone else of nefarious intentions. Wariness was the only way to live anymore. Not the best, not the one that made for peace and restful nights, but the safest.
"Can we get another drink around here?" Mouse's voice rose to a pitch, his body twisting as he held up an empty glass. "If you're done flirtin', girl..."
Hagar liberated another bottle from beneath the bar and uncorked it with a paper-thin smile. It was all she could do not to spit into it. "Comin' right up, lover." To Lot, she added: "What was that about us bein' superior?" She didn't wait for an answer. Entertaining Lot was easy to do -- she respected the title and liked the man -- but serving patrons like Mouse was part of the job. If not for them, there would've been no tithe to pay to Lot and their relationship, such as it was, would've gone proportionally less pleasant.