Re: Gotham: Russ & Imogen
"Like sushi and curry," she said of tastes acquired. The heat of curry, unfamiliar on the tongue, had taken a long time to love. They'd been in London, and the rain had fallen every single day, but her mom loved minding the gap and staying behind the red line. Sushi was California, and they'd gotten to speak quite a lot of Spanish there, and she'd drowned the little fish in spicy mayo until she learned to love their crisp bite without submerging them in an ocean of coral.
She picked up the glass, and she swished the amber liquid against the glass that would never been completely free of fog. She swirled again, and then she drank the whiskey in sips. She wasn't one to chug it back, even if it was easier. Tiny sip after tiny sip, and the sips grew larger as the burn grew numb against the back of her throat. She held back a cough, and she snuck the lemon drop between, little shot glass in her free hand and a sweet intermission.
"God's everywhere. Even here," she said with certainty, as if it was as sure as breathing, as sure as the whiskey that was making its way down her throat again. An experience to add to the rest, and her entire life was experiences.
She put down the nearly empty glass, and she held out a hand to shake, fingers instrument-calloused and the memory of dirt beneath her fingernails. "I'm called Imogen."