Re: log: dylan & max
"You just got here," she reminded him. Well, not really, it wasn't really a reminder. It wasn't even a dig for information, because she didn't think he meant this world. She assumed he meant the hotel in general, and she still didn't think of this as the world. Maybe it was her time on the outside, but real was still out there, where there weren't musty hallways filled with doors. A more introspective person might have started to question which reality was real, but Max wasn't that person. She thought in bullets and targets. She wasn't about tangents. She believed what lived and breathed in front of her, and that was about it. If the hotel was a big, meaningful statement about the universe, well, that statement was completely wasted on her.
She nodded at the bartender, and she held onto her own amber on the rocks and waited for McKendrick's to get placed in front of him. She toasted, but it was with a wry smile. "What are we toasting? Our time in hell, or or our return to it?" But she drank; she didn't sip. It took a lot to get her wasted these days, since booze was her current version of a sleeping pill.
"Me? I'm too old for this shit," as she indicated the world outside the door with her now-empty glass. "But home wasn't much better." Dhaka, it went without saying, had been ass.