The whole room was drowned in a dim light that reflected in the glass and crystal bottles in the shelf at the back. The pianist played a soothing jazz that made the whole atmosphere feel like the two people talking at the counter were in a film noir.
The man with amber eyes looked at his glass, half-filled with a golden brown liquid two ice cubes, with a longing expression on his face.
"Do you know how long it takes to for this one whiskey here?" He asked, rounding the drink inside the crystal glass.
"The same time you took to get where you are in the Union, I guess?" The man with white hair and light brown eyes answered with a chuckle.
"Clever, Reinhardt, as always." Maximilian raised his glass to him, as if toasting to his cleverness.
"I should be." Reinhardt retorted, sipping his own whiskey. "Or else I wouldn't be alive in this hell that the world is becoming."
"Any news from Hollowood?"
