[ Lustre: He's prettier than you, charming and graceful. The kind of man the world wants to open doors for, and here you are, washed out and still smelling faintly of old fear-sweat and stale smoke. ]

Mm. More often than's good for me.

[ She toys with her straw, spinning it between her fingertips. ]

And you're sweet, to say that, but I think we both know I look like what the tide dredged up. I'd do something awful for a shower.