He's feeling the booze pretty hard by now. There's a few shots left, and right now the tequila is buzzing more in his head than Zarathos. Dangerous territory. And then Lyta? She's even more intoxicating than the tequila.
"I've always wanted my own fallen angel." he whispers back with evil intent.
Even out of it as he's getting, he's good enough to nearly run the table, leaving just the eight ball by the time he misses. That'd be three more shots of tequila, Lyta.
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