The Green Fairy. Christian rubbed his eyes and stared. He leaned his head back and tried to remember. Absinthe hadn't been on his list of things he'd drank today, he was sure. The Ritual -- he would have remembered that. He was pretty sure he would've remembered that. But yet, there she was, the green fairy, in all the glory that Toulouse had described to him.
In Montmartre, he'd never seen her despite the absinthe-soaked nights with his Bohemian friends. They swore she would come... Why did she come now?
"You're late," he said, then looked into the cardboard box he'd carried with him to the bench. There wasn't a bottle of absinthe here, either. Wine, though... He reached into the box and pulled out a bottle that didn't have a cork. It screwed off. Breaking the seal, he considered drinking straight from the bottle. It felt strange doing it in public where everyone could see...
But looking around, he only found the green fairy. And she, doubtless, wouldn't mind. The end of the bottle tipped upward, then.