Re: Near the Entrance
"Jameson Reserve," he said, "or whatever's in the bottle labeled that. I'm a little surprised a place like this has such a thing, but I'm just going to go with it." He looked back across the bar, somewhat nosily checking in on the former companions he'd left behind. He was pleased to see them deep in their cups, well enough occupied with whatever conversation had taken them over; now that fences were mended at least to some degree, Samuel could brook no interruption of this long-awaited, remarkably affable conversation.
He leaned against the bar, sipping at his dwindling whiskey, making a valiant effort to ignore the fact that he could still feel the warmth of her hand in his. Rather than focus on this, and on the quite conflicting things it brought to mind, he simply tossed back the last of his drink with unnecessary zeal, then slid the glass back toward the bartender with a soft press of his fingertips. "You know, if you drink enough, this almost sounds like music." He smiled, sidling the slightest fraction closer to her. "I can't imagine trying to dance to it, but I guess with the right partner all things are possible, eh?"