Re: Gotham: Russ & Imogen
She'd tried too many things to choke. Not whiskey, but enough strange things that her palate was accustomed to oddities, and she was used to strange food and drink. Campsites and hostels and open doors, and she'd learned to be grateful. Grateful meant not spitting up the saki or making a face at the slime of oysters.
His comment about God was absorbed during that last sip of whiskey, and she finished things off like children without did. Nothing left behind, and she looked around the bar until her eye settled on a woman in the rear corner. She was dirty, and she had missed the notice of the barkeep. The woman's shoes were holes, and she looked strung out. Imogen slipped off the barstool, after that handshake that was soft and gentle on her part, and she walked up to the woman and gave her the few loose bills in her pocket. The whiskey and lemon drop made for an uneven gait, but not much at all.
She turned back and returned, back onto the barstool again, and she smiled. "That was God. Even if she goes and buys a drink, or finds a dealer. It's an opportunity, and that's God." She smiled at him. "I guess that makes this a church. Buy me another?" She had no money left. It'd been scrounged up by playing her violin on the corner when she'd arrived, and it had just all traded hands. She'd no qualms about asking him. She'd no pride to her name.