As they started walking, their footfalls were silenced by the thick carpet that mantled the restaurant's flooring. However, everyone in the restaurant stared at them as if they were meek prey among a flock of predators.
Their clothes might have given their ranks away. To Lance, they looked like mid-classers. But probably the higher echelons in the dining partition knew something they didn't know.
Or maybe the way Lance walked, groggy, and stupid. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own, unsynchronized and misdirected. Due to this, he had several bumps against Damian.
Lucky for the kid, Damian walked firmly without any hint of disarray. Lance's mind challenged every detail that his eyes registered.
"A drink perhaps," The bartender offered a shot glass, half full, on his counter, of white translucent liquid. "I suggest you drink this."
"What is this for?" Damian asked on Lance's behalf.
