[ as he tips his glass against his lips, he takes slightly more than a sip. the saccharine, faintly chemical taste of coke is one to which he's grown accustomed between this time and his first time in eudio. one of the earliest lessons a sailor learns is not to be picky about his choice of drink. the drinks he's had in this city, strange though some of them have seemed, have been by and large improvements over the drinks of his time ( which have on occasion included stale water, raw eggs, tobacco, and gunpowder ). his drinking partners here also tend to be improvements over those in his time.

he may not understand the culture surrounding the martini, but it seems to suit roxy somehow. for a brief moment, he's distracted by her fingers around the base of the glass stem. his gaze returns to her face just in time to catch the sight of her tongue between her lips. that, as it turns out, is even more of a distraction. he raises his glass once again to hide the way his mouth curves at the corners.

as he considers the answer to her question, his eyes wander to a distant corner of the pub. in light of recent events, his sense of time has become a little fuzzy. he taps his fingers on the side of his glass, counting the months, before glancing at roxy. ] Nigh half a year, if I recollect. The last weeks was spent at sea, exploring the small islands that be surrounding this one, and the like.

[ after that, it gets even fuzzier. he went to sleep one night in his small boat; the next morning he woke up on his ship. ]

Since then, seven months have came and went. It's like as I blinked, and by my blood, here I be, back in this strange place.