Re: Gotham: Russ & Imogen
He'd gotten used to Vegas after years of open skies and stars you could count off while you cooled the hell off after a fight made worse by being contained. Vegas was light the whole fucking night long, and people awake and no stars up ahead, not where you could see them and now he'd gotten used to Gotham smog, thick and yellow and the only thing Russ thought about it was it fucking wrecked paintwork faster.
The whiskey was warm on the way down even if came cheap in the glass, and he curled his dirty fingernails around it and tapped along to some guy singing out over steel strings how much he hated love like it wasn't a pussy thing to do at all. It wasn't Vegas but it was close enough he was comfortable, like a pair of jeans bought worn-in and Russ was two-down mellow by the time the dandelion-fluff haired girl headed into the bar and he put creased-green down on the sticky bartop to say 'one more' without bothering with words.
The girl had a clear voice and he heard that order exchanged over bad music and the buzz of a TV playing sports no one was watching and the look on the bartender's face said mixed anything was a surprise around here. Russ craned his neck back over his shoulder and saw Little Girl Lost staring back at him.
"Don't think he knows how to make it," he said, dry as paper and the plastic leather of the stool creaking as his weight rolled back over the center instead of the bar. "What the fuck is a lemon drop anyway?"