Roland looked at the red wine on the white faux fur carpet. Thanks to the fur, the glass did not break but the contents still spilled, looking like blood seeping through fine snow.
He went to pick it up, but a waitress rushed before he could touch it.
"I got it, Sir." She said, moving quickly to take care of the damage.
He nodded, though still a bit spacey. "Thank you. And could I ask for a bit more champagne, please? Just put it in the tab."
"Of course, our esteemed guest. You are our VIP after all, you could ask us for anything."
He doesn't know what was so appealing to his fellow young law graduates about this 'Victorian-era' pub. For one, it's full of inaccuracies. And two….. What's so sexy about the time in history where a lot of people drop dead on the streets from disease and crime, unsanitary living conditions, and damn rats everywhere?
