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──── ' come for the prosthetic eyes, stay for the attempted genocide ' ──── [CH. IX] ✦ ˚
"then what am I here for, huh? emotional support? like a dog?"
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"I THINK YOU SHOULD take the bottle."
Ophira's ears barely picked up the sound of the anonymous driver's voice for a moment, too occupied in the motion of forcing yet another mouthful of straight whisky down their already burning throats. Their slender hands fluidly shake the frame of the bottle itself, already having consumed around three shots worth of whisky in the hour-long drive back to the apartment complex. They were occupied for a moment, feeling the booze splash up the walls of the silhouette of the bottle.
Finally, their eyes snap upwards towards the tall seat of their unknown escort. Ophira's lips deeply twitched, as if they took offence to that statement alone. "I wasn't taking it in the first place."
"Take care, Madame."
The anonymous man didn't acknowledge their rather drunken statement, merely glancing in the rearview mirror. Even with a pair of darkened shades covering all of his eyes, it was obvious that a sense of amusement glimmered behind the frames.
