A Swipe of a Brush

"I am certain that in your years among them," the bartender began, with a slow and knowing smile that suggestively lit up his face, "you have met a human whom you wished to be less mortal." England's breathe slurred. Fuzzy eyebrows knitted together and cheeks burning, he clenched the glass of scotch. Closing his eyes, he breathed a heavy rigid exhale as a painful wave of memory hits him with an absence of emotion that suggested an emotion to hide. "B-bloody wanker...."