no subject

( maybe if there was still a shred of sympathy in her, she'd feel something for him. anything, beyond the fear and the growing distaste. even being this close to him is making her skin crawl. she prefers to deal with sane people whenever possible, but — cassantine's been a warzone for longer than she's been alive. war breeds trauma, trauma breeds insanity. she's adapted to that, too.

she takes the newest shot of tequila and knocks it back. her smile's back to being flirty and jovial, the mask hammered firmly back into place by a steady hand. )

So, where were we? Before that untimely interruption.