Please, you may be a garden of roses for the other senses, but your face is long enough, I do not need such a mental image. [ Taking the proffered bottle in one eager hand, she disentangles the other to feel up the side of his neck and give his cheek a proper pat before setting to work on the cork. ]

I do not think could not say. By this point, I have surely lost all taste for the stuff.

[ After all, her nose may be good, but it's been deadened and accustomed to nothing but the sober scent of smoke and ash that permeates the realm. As soon as the cork comes loose, the whole plethora of scents strikes like a punch, sharp but sweet and delightfully new again. It isn't entirely without a pinch of enthusiasm that she takes the glass and carefully splashes a measure into the bottom half of it, before passing the bottle off. ]

You deserve a proper toast for all this, Richie, this deserves savoring, but you will excuse my impatience, [ she says softly, before knocking back a healthy swig, her brow furrowing at the ill-remembered twinge of alcohol before almost laughing into the drink. Red or white, cheap or exquisite, it doesn't matter. Compared to smoke and ash, it tastes incredible. ]