tuatha
"You. Are. Pretty." He made vague hand motions along with his words, nearing desperation. Her amber eyes danced mischievously.
"Monsieur Patrick, je parle anglais. I speak Enlgish."
"Oh." He shrugged. "So you'll get dinner with me?"
He pulled himself out of bed slowly, feeling every muscle moaning in protest at the new action after fourteen hours of rest. Memories of the prior night came rushing back as he dragged himself across the room to the bathroom-- his sympathy for the robot faction had risen greatly, if they felt like this everyday.
"Wow, you even move like the too now!" came a voice from the bed.
It rang in his ears before he could even move, filling his chest and rattling his teeth. Grinning, he adjusted the dial and turned to face her.
"Try the F major now, Jeff!" Jeff grinned and complied, letting the chord resonate in the cluttered room.
"I like it."
He sat quietly in his chair, the glass in his hand. John raised the glass to his lips-- but no, his hand shook, and suddenly he was left with a lap full of whiskey. A voice from behind him spoke.
"Still trying to hard, John?" Her voice was cutting. She was still there. As usual.