#falsemirage.

one of the few perks that came alongside employment beneath the kingpin of zaun was after hours access to the last drop. leizu was partial to a drink on the odd occasion — though not when waves of crashing, squawking patrons that reeked of sweat and stale liquor filled the bar to the brim each and every night: leaving almost no room to breathe or even think. years of putting herself in unsavory social situations for occupational purposes has long since steeled her to the idea of conversing for enjoyment.

a maroon painted finger absently traces the rim of her cup, chin perched heavily on the palm of her hand with a melancholy sigh that seems to echo throughout the barren room. she relished in the tranquil lull of silence as dark eyes flicker across the marred wood of the counter. even when the door behind her creaks open and a heavy thud of boots approaches she remains static — there were very few people who'd show up this late, considering not many were permitted the luxery.

sullen features quirk into something a little more . . . fake; sour look softening, pursed lips parting to take a drawn out sip of her drink. there were appearances she had to keep up. just as she'd suspected, sevika stalks up to the bar, surly expression seemingly more prominent than usual, to slip behind it and pour herself a drink with practiced ease. her hand reaches for a bottle leizu had come to realise was almost strictly reserved for silco's right - hand. neither say anything, scarcely acknowledging one another until she catches two fingers rubbing at no doubt aching temples from her peripheral.