And there they were. Just when he'd started to get bristly. (Not literally. Thank Christ; he should get at least a couple weeks more out of this particular prescription before someone jerked his chain and dragged him back to the bowels of Cerberus for another round of guinea piggery.) It wasn't that Sera was late. They weren't. The comfortably discrete rooftop bar the two of them had started to make a habit of was just ever so slightly more crowded than Virgil had come to expect, and... the fact that he wasn't as fine with that as he'd like was, frankly, fucking aggravating.
But. A little actual company would make all the difference. Definitely. "And a happy Friday to you," Virgil raised his first drink of precisely two, lounging back in his seat as his not-therapist glided on up to the table he'd staked out, nicely away from the thick of the evening's action. It was easy enough to explain away why an extra ordinary psychologist for extra ordinary clients would be hanging about with him; the only extra ordinary thing about Virgil Rusk, so far as anyone needed to know, was his work, and Sera simply had extra ordinary taste in suits. Simple. Unlike whatever had set Cerberus buzzing, the past few days. "I hope you haven't been anywhere near as busy as the rest of the roster? Couldn't tell you how many times my goddamn schedule's been fucked absolutely sideways by all this scrambling." That's certainly what the most recent slate of missions felt like; not that Virgil was privy to the details, or wanted to be. Though, if Sera happened to share any of their always-keen insight into the matter - well, he'd listen, naturally. Like a good whatever-they-were.
@godenvy
