no subject

[ it is late, or it feels late. time is meaningless here. he pours her something better than he might someone else. and he refills his own glass as he meets her eyes across the bar. when he brings his glass up to drink from, she'll notice that he only has a bandage across his palm now instead of wrapped around the entirety of his hand. the bruises on his face are fading into nothing and when he lifts his other hand to lean on the bartop, his comms device is strapped dutifully around his wrist. ]

Or early, depending on your perspective. [ he answers as he sucks whiskey off his teeth. this is the only room on the ship that feels familiar, so maybe that's why he's set up camp here. ]