[Before that, and for a moment Rip thinks that yes, here it is, whatever she's come to say is about to be put into the open. Because of course he realizes the truth, that beyond the excuses there is a reason for Peggy's presence aside from Rip's taste in alcohol, which is no doubt matched by someone working at the bars. Not to mention that for all he knows, if she were truly after his liquor she might content herself to simply knicking it as Leonard Snart so often had.
It's still a bit strange not to have to worry about such things any longer. Strange, and melancholy should he let the thought linger.
He doesn't. Unknowingly he has this choice in common with the woman who provides distraction from the thought now, as she works her mind around words that seem slow to come out. In the meantime Rip pours them each a generous portion of the scotch, the amber liquid easily filling half the glass. While they hadn't been themselves, Rip is willing enough to bank on Miss Carter having an alcohol tolerance to match Lambeth's at the very least.
But she does figure out what she wants to say, eventually. She doesn't hate being here, and Rip looks up at her quietly, mulling over that curious little statement. Certainly there's enough to despise—those unspecified circumstances no doubt either of them could ramble off with ease, from events and manipulations to the disappearances of friends, and the presence of unfulfilled romantic fantasies.
There's a subtext to it he almost thinks he can see. She is there, after all. But Rip is not often a kind man, even if he does soften the blow by pushing her glass towards her.]
Re: action »
It's still a bit strange not to have to worry about such things any longer. Strange, and melancholy should he let the thought linger.
He doesn't. Unknowingly he has this choice in common with the woman who provides distraction from the thought now, as she works her mind around words that seem slow to come out. In the meantime Rip pours them each a generous portion of the scotch, the amber liquid easily filling half the glass. While they hadn't been themselves, Rip is willing enough to bank on Miss Carter having an alcohol tolerance to match Lambeth's at the very least.
But she does figure out what she wants to say, eventually. She doesn't hate being here, and Rip looks up at her quietly, mulling over that curious little statement. Certainly there's enough to despise—those unspecified circumstances no doubt either of them could ramble off with ease, from events and manipulations to the disappearances of friends, and the presence of unfulfilled romantic fantasies.
There's a subtext to it he almost thinks he can see. She is there, after all. But Rip is not often a kind man, even if he does soften the blow by pushing her glass towards her.]
What's kept you from hating it, then?