The torrid sun had finally slinked down behind the horizon, allowing the more lucifugous of society to be out and about.

The three of them were in a bar. It was disgusting, a sleazy sort of place you wouldn’t find good company.

She was sitting at the table, lips painted bright red. Tom was sitting across from her.

“This drink,” she told him, “is divine. Positively ambrosial.” Tom shook his head at her word choice. She always pretended to be fancier than she was. Reveled in it.

“Where’s Ben?”

Ben arrived just then, shirt untucked and blood leaking from his nose.

“Oh Benjamin,” she declared, pouting at him. “You’re ruining my imago of you, you know.”

The bar was always teeming with fights, and Ben was currently participating in one of the more enthusiastic melees.

Tom chucked to himself. “A bit of a tyro at this, Benny?”

“No,” she cut in. “A hobbledehoy needing his mother to scold him.”

Ben raised a split brow. “You’re my mother now?”

She smiled. “Oh stop. You know I’d make a terrible mother.”