[Heather can't cook, in any real sense of the word, but she can mix a mean drink. She's also firmly in a particularly tricky mindset where she's both embarrassed at all the fuss and too giddily excited to do basic things like, you know, ask before she leans over to pour an additional shot of booze into Mystique's cup and squeeze in a fat wedge of some small, pinkish citrus. The tart and slightly spicy tang of it bursts into the air around them, bright and tingly, before she drops the peel into the glass as well.
If Mystique doesn't object to drinking something that contains fruit recently squeezed by someone else's fingers, she'll find it's fucking delicious.]
I like the silver, [she says, as conversationally as if she was invited to give her opinion right from the start.] It's beautiful with your shade of blue.
no subject
If Mystique doesn't object to drinking something that contains fruit recently squeezed by someone else's fingers, she'll find it's fucking delicious.]
I like the silver, [she says, as conversationally as if she was invited to give her opinion right from the start.] It's beautiful with your shade of blue.