Not a question— barely even an assumption; he remembers vividly the unsubtle heat of Hades' blood, pooling bright against the flat of his tongue, oh-so-sweetly stinging the corners of his lips with a headier boldness, like cardamom. Or cinnamon. Or—
Something else entirely. Something far too impossible to describe by any measure of mundane taste.
Still, he sets the glass he's clutching down atop the desk (albeit somewhat reluctantly), and reaches to take up its not-so-tampered twin, giving it a decent swirl to let it stand some sort of fighting chance— presuming it's lacking the additional secret ingredient.
no subject
Not a question— barely even an assumption; he remembers vividly the unsubtle heat of Hades' blood, pooling bright against the flat of his tongue, oh-so-sweetly stinging the corners of his lips with a headier boldness, like cardamom. Or cinnamon. Or—
Something else entirely. Something far too impossible to describe by any measure of mundane taste.
Still, he sets the glass he's clutching down atop the desk (albeit somewhat reluctantly), and reaches to take up its not-so-tampered twin, giving it a decent swirl to let it stand some sort of fighting chance— presuming it's lacking the additional secret ingredient.