[right][h2][color=999999]Lost in Translation[/color][/h2][@silver21][@Stanifly][@Auragreedia][/right]

[color=808080]The man looks at Sirpa. His mouth opens, closes. He looks down at his hands. Back up at her. At Morgan. At Teresa. Something uncertain passes over his face.

A glass hits the table with a clink—whiskey, neat, amber in the light. Another follows, something pale with a silver shimmer swirling through it. A third, lavender and fizzing, a lemon slice on the rim. The employee sets the last in front of the man: dark, still, swallowing light.

[i]"Way I see it,"[/i] she says, [i]"what's there to lose? Either nothing changes and you stay here, or something does. And maybe you won't need this place anymore."[/i]

He stares at the drink. Then, slowly, looks up.

A nod from the one without a voice—or is it that no one's listening? Small, hesitant, but there.

The track ends. Another begins—just as loud, just as relentless, though not quite the same.[/color]