𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐄.

truthfully... i have nothing left in life, so i've made peace with throwing it away.

“Why, yes,” he replied, coming to a brief stop the moment they reached the landing. An office was situated at the corner of it, overlooking the busy streets below. “While people might think establishments like ours only give priority treatments for people with --

Duh. My treat. You probably don't have anything better to do.

Yeah. I guess. You should come get coffee with me.

“That's what we call a trade secret,” he asked, stepping through an opening between counters before motioning her to follow him. His office is at the upper floor of the establishment (calling it the ‘second floor’ would be an insult to the establishment as it implies that --

“I believe we still have some of that Bond No. VII in the back,” Mel instructed one of the Concessionaires; the emphasis on the word ‘seven’ was intentionally heavy. “I have a feeling our client would appreciate that one in particular.”

They just do. That's what they're trained for.

It might be, at first. But once our Concessionaires tend to you, we promise you'll feel right at home.

If you see the glow of our sign, step in. You are always welcome. Matter of fact, we're expecting you.

He stares at her for a long moment, expression deadened. "The discipline? Unfortunately not. That you pay a hefty price for, woman."

He notes her little temper tantrum, finding it semi-interesting. Must be the lack of nicotine making her grumpy. "I don't care. That's why I'm giving them away. It's not a habit for me ... I have discipline."

"You're blaming a stranger for your lack of resolve?" A quiet 𝘵𝘤𝘩 beneath his mask and a small shake of his head. He leans back against the bench, large arms spread across the back of it. "Pretty pathetic, don't you think?"

She was probably right. Something turned his stomach into a knot —- a chill up his spine. Banner rubbed at his arm. “Yea, alright, alright.” He’d follow behind inside, keeping his distance from the front desk.