#cp red

He will have to remember to ask this time: Why, of all things, a cheap poser-bar? It is hardly the sort of establishment he frequents with anything resembling regularity in the first place, and on the few occasions that he does go out, he would never be caught dead in a place this run-down. Not that he's ever really thought about what being stuck in his own mind would look like, of course—but now that he's here, he knows that it is entirely wrong and not at all conducive to facilitating the level of reflection it would seem is expected of him. Surely somewhere cleaner, for starters. 'Thought I told you to remember to breathe, Gale...' Ah. The little miss-know-it-all migraine finished rebooting. Right on cue. 'And what's your point?' he says, donning his best monotone. 'Only that you clearly decided there was more important biz to be done than breathing,' Chevy smirks, as she takes the seat next to his. Gale sighs. However long he flatlined for, it really wasn't long enough. It clearly did wonders for her, though, because she does not lose her cool over his stray thoughts this time. ... He really hates how lovely she looks bathed in the deep red still intruding through the windows, hates how familiar it feels to have her lean in and steal the cigarette burning between his fingers, and most of all, he hates that, in spite of all she's thrown at him tonight, he still can't help but smile. He knows damn well she's just a memory of a memory of a memory, but right now, when she's not all riddles or rage, it is almost like that's really Chevy—and that was never going to leave him unaffected. 'Hmm. No,' he says, unable to stop nostalgia-fuelled playfulness from claiming him, 'no, that doesn't sound like something I'd do.' Little does he know, as he leans his elbow on the scratched counter in friendly anticipation, that he chose wrong. Again. Peace-time is over between them, and the end is announced proudly with a shard of ice straight to the gut: 'Yet here we are, suffocating on your self-righteousness.'