08-26-2008, 03:30 AM
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_____What kind of liquor it was didn't matter too much to Laurel, it was really just the way that it felt sliding down the back of his throat. It was something that didn't taste all that great at times and frankly anything that one tasted sweet and refreshing had gone stale and bad long ago. But that aside, that first swig was the thing that took the bait in his book and a long smile spread the length of his muzzle smoothly. One hand held the bottle while the other put the unopened bottles into the box until the task was done. Then that opened bottle found itself caught between his sharp teeth as he lifted the box and ventured down the stairs, stepping on the door that they had knocked down weeks ago with the least bit of worry that it would go sliding from its jackknifed position.
_____He had no more set the box of liquor in the wagon when someone spoke up from within the store—a voice so familiar that when he looked up he regarded her with nothing else than surprise—and then he smiled. “I don't think I'd call you a demon,” he answered just before taking another drink. “Maybe a flighty little blackbird, but not a demon. The stuff in the box is booze. How's your arm doing after that whackjob sling repair we did?”