I Like The Way It Hurts

Once her partial bottle was empty, the man removed another from his bag, popped the cork, and stuck it in the sand beside her. Cirrus blinked. How many damn bottles did he have in that bag? Maybe he did have a bit of a drinking problem over there. Still, she took the offering as what it was; a gift. The small woman lifted the bottle in a cheers pose, then took a drink before placing it back between them. Cirrus was small. There was no way that she could polish off this bottle by herself. So, if he finished his, he could have some of the one that he'd opened for her.

Her comment about him being sullen was met with a response about his drink and the woman gave her head a little tilt. "Wanna talk about it?" She wasn't usually the listening sort, but he seemed to need it. If she was going to share his fire all night, she'd rather not sit around with a broody man. There were things that could be done to improve his mood, but Cirrus needed to feel it first. Yes she was playful. Yes she was flirty. The mood needed to be struck, however.

The small fae lay back against a mound of sand on the beach, curling her tail up and over her pale hip. She took another drink, waving the mouth of the bottle in the gold marked mans direction. "You said 'not anymore' so I assume that your problem is indeed a woman. Am I right? If I'm right, I'll drink. If I'm wrong, you drink." Perhaps a little game would pull him out of his mood.

"Cirrus"