[ just for injury reference: burns run across his arms and hands - both ice and fire, and a few specks on his face, but they're bandaged up by now. and there's the various bruises from being bashed around, raccoon eyes deep and dark. not to mention the deep, red strangulation marks. there are those.
[ there's a slow nod back before they turn, doing as asked. it's quick, efficient work, ice in a glass and whiskey poured from a top-shelf bottle with a heavy hand, something smooth and easy before they also prepare an ice pack wrapped up in a bar towel.
they'll slide him both, leaning on the counter afterward. ]
Pretty sure this bottle's my favorite. [ idle conversation to fill the void, because it's better than asking a broken man "how are you" when you know the answer. ]
Yeah. Far as I know, souls don't disappear permanently. It's just that nobody know where those ones are right now. The Angels and God are looking into it. [ a pause. ] It's not a permanent loss. But that doesn't change that it happened.
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he'll go to sit. ]
Long day.
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Long weekend. [ they are not going to ask if he's alright, but they are looking. ] ... can I get you some ice for the bruising at least?
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Maybe in a glass with some whiskey ... ?
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they'll slide him both, leaning on the counter afterward. ]
Pretty sure this bottle's my favorite. [ idle conversation to fill the void, because it's better than asking a broken man "how are you" when you know the answer. ]
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... You have all said their souls are damaged, but perhaps remain somewhere?
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[ so this may or may not make him feel better. ]