[ Oh shit. The easy veneer drops away instantly, giving way to a notch between his brows and a loose jaw as he takes that in.
Massacre. Two hundred years ago.
He sits with it for a long moment - too long a moment - entirely unequipped to offer any kind of comfort. Finally, a brief lift of two fingers lands a full, unlabeled bottle of the same liquor they're drinking on the table with a thud. ]
Sorry.
[ For asking. For what happened. It can't mean much in the face of that, coming from a near stranger, but it's clear he means it. The word catches in his throat somewhere, emerges roughened somehow. ]
no subject
Massacre. Two hundred years ago.
He sits with it for a long moment - too long a moment - entirely unequipped to offer any kind of comfort. Finally, a brief lift of two fingers lands a full, unlabeled bottle of the same liquor they're drinking on the table with a thud. ]
Sorry.
[ For asking. For what happened. It can't mean much in the face of that, coming from a near stranger, but it's clear he means it. The word catches in his throat somewhere, emerges roughened somehow. ]