“There are far more horrible ways ta fall. Down both ways.”
He drank, always quiet, allowing the familiar burn to ensnare the sensations in his throat. The make of the merciless instilled into him that want of challenge, that aggression and increased it tenfold—as such a tiger should be—but it was for that very reason that he, too, preferred not to dwell into such aspects as comfort. Even in mannerisms, the icy hoarfrost remained hidden, averted, in the face of a real provocation. Tigers were better hunters in light of a surprise, anyway.
"I mus’ wonder, then, by yer own words’f ya do find blackened lungs more cruel than th’ silvered words’f a snake tongue…”
“If I didn’t know any better…” Hakuba started, a sneer of his own coming to his expression as he raised his glass to drink. So much for the hiatus. Ah. “I’d think that you were truly worried about my well-being. You leave my tongue out of this, and the blackened lungs… honestly, a cigarette here or there isn’t going to hurt me. Not truly.”
Nevertheless, he sighed as he pulled the opened package from the inside pocket of suit jacket, slipping one of the sticks between his fingers and pulling it out to look at. Quite the pair, the liquor and cigarette.
“Do you mind if I~?”