300+
The burn. It raped his throat and then settled in his stomach with a warm buzz. It took a stomach laced with iron to keep the mass amounts of vodka down and happy. His had never been so ecstatic. He did need it, but when the King did not take the bottle and spoke those words Heath passed the cup over the bar top with a deliberate shove. The glass scrapped across the wood with an inappreciative voice and once it rested before Jac Heath filled it to the brim, and then some. A small amount fell onto the bar, and yet Heath cared more about the words that the King spoke then about the loss vodka. He had said it himself, and yet when the collie spoke the words they stung deeper then anything he had ever heard in his life. Why? Jac had every right to own such a thing, and yet Heath felt like the drink was revolting within his jut. The urge to cross the bar top and feel flesh against claw and teeth boiled among the vodka, but Heath kept his eyes calm and focused on the daze that he would soon be feeling. But still he could say nothing else on it.
“She was pleasant.” Heath assured him, like he would care. The bottle hit the oak and Heath let his eyes grace the red tinted male. He was shadowed in the dim like of the bar. It would have been dark if the lights worked, and now it was even less. But they eyes were keen to the dust atmosphere and Heath tried to see him for what he was. And why he was so loved. Focusing on the topic at hand Heath let his voice rise again, “But no longer a member.” He knew because her scent no longer lived in Ruri’s home.