Ahhh, well... [ Sighs Asra, leaning his head back, raking a tawny hand through his hair, exposing the column of his throat for a moment before shaking his head. But something about the hard shine in his eyes when he straightens is as good as a knife-glint of a smirk, wickedly sharp, exulting in his own victory even though he's so straight-faced that someone who didn't know him so well might have been strung along for the act, ]

I guess you really can't help being wrong all the time!

[ That's where he breaks, right there, laughing and touching two fingertips to the rim of a shot in Julian's row to slide it toward the taller man. ]

Drink up, doctor! Kettles like that do exist; my parents had one. It yelled at me after I... yelled at it to boil faster.

My mother had the same hair color I do, by the way; but long, and straight, like... like moonlight stretched along a perfectly-still lake.