"Anywhere you want to go?  Even nowhere?"  Perched atop the table's edge, Rathe managed her tequila and cigar in one hand, alternating to give each opportunity to numb her thoughts, while she motioned Dustin forward with the index finger of her free hand.  Her accent was becoming thicker by the moment, though it wasn't entirely clear whether she'd finally found her happy place or whether she'd simply stopped giving a shit.  "Chiudi quella cazzo di bocca e baciami."  Even as Rathe beckoned Dustin forward, her subconcious rang feelings of deja vu, though her mind had been so thoroughly fucked that it hardly seemed to matter any more.  What mattered was the damned compass, which she resisted, and the map, and a familiar feeling.