Wesker snorted lowly - more breath than anything - lip twitching against the lip of his glass. A salad. Both of them to their airs then.
Taking a long drink, he considered her question. Likely, she expected some heartfelt confession - lost loves, dear friends, childhood homes.... Wesker had had no such things to lose. And even if he had, he wasn't the weeping type. (And the slower he swallowed, the more he imagined what the wine was supposed to taste like. The flowery description from the menu blooming sluggishly across his leaded taste buds.)
"Fresh air," he said finally, stroking the stem of his glass with the pad of one gloved finger. "The same recycled air after four years wears on the back of your throat. Like a unquenchable thirst."
no subject
Taking a long drink, he considered her question. Likely, she expected some heartfelt confession - lost loves, dear friends, childhood homes.... Wesker had had no such things to lose. And even if he had, he wasn't the weeping type. (And the slower he swallowed, the more he imagined what the wine was supposed to taste like. The flowery description from the menu blooming sluggishly across his leaded taste buds.)
"Fresh air," he said finally, stroking the stem of his glass with the pad of one gloved finger. "The same recycled air after four years wears on the back of your throat. Like a unquenchable thirst."