#idante

Sama had reset her watch when she landed in New York, but she still kept doing the math in her head, converting the time on her wrist to the time in Geneva, the time her body was used to. It was 3pm, which meant it felt it was 9pm, well past the time Sama usually put pleasantries to bed and got to work in the privacy of her apartment. But here she was surrounded by strangers, people who wanted to talk to her about Richard and expected her to be polite and sad. It was all so performative, and while Sama could perform with the best of them, she’d been awake far too long to still be putting up with this sort of nonsense. 

So she found herself in need of something to get her through the rest of the wake. She needed, and she couldn’t believe she was thinking this, something to take the edge off. Normally, Sama liked the edge. Not in the way an adrenaline junky did, but she liked when tensions were high or a topic was important or she was coming up on a deadline. Today was different, and she wasn’t as concerned with the why as with the fact of it. What mattered was, just then, she didn’t want to feel like a live wire. 

Sama had been offered a drink more than once because she needed to ‘chill out.’ Such offers were universally met with disdain, mainly on principle, but now it felt like a good idea. She’d thought it a wise decision when Mrs. Tristan established a dry wake, but she was beginning to reconsider. A solution presented itself when Sama caught sight of Dante lingering at the edge of the tables. 

She made her way over to him with the hard-eyed and quick stepped air that left no room for interruption. “I know you have a flask.” She slid into the seat next to him and held out her hand. “Share.”