"Maybe. Never did care much for organized religion though." His dark eyes moved over the angles of her face as he studied her, his voice a sarcastic drawl. He didn't want liquor right now, which was a first. A pill. Something that he could numb with. That was it.
"Katya. Russian?" he asked. It was a hell of an assumption to make. She could have been Yugoslavian, Baltic, anything other than Russian just from the same vicinity, but he wasn't caring about being politically correct right about now.
"No. Not long at all. Just...a week, maybe. Getting sick of it already. I can't drink every single day away. I can't fuck every single day away. So that leaves me with thinking." He looked back at her and laughed, a dry light sound. "Trust me, I'd rather be doing the other."