[His lips curl; in the face of every threat being thrust onto him, Takasugi only relaxes. Body folding forward, he puts his weight on the bar, balanced between both elbows. One hand plucks his drink from the counter, holding it limply near his lips.]
What do you think you'd find?
[A coin purse, surely, but he's not asking for such a mundane answer.]
no subject
What do you think you'd find?
[A coin purse, surely, but he's not asking for such a mundane answer.]