“Rocket scientists,” Fitz sighed as he followed Skye, “do not rely on coordination of the feet. Hands maybe, but in general we’re standing still, or just um, walking.” He stopped when they reached wherever she wanted to go, but he was not going to start moving at all until she would. “Now getting drunk, I can do that.”
“Rocket scientists,” Skye said, stubbornly, "should not correct me, even if I’m wrong.”
It was only when yet another classical piece came on she realised the plan had to be altered. “You know what? We’ve held up great and are skipping straight to the drinking. I’m starting to feel like a war veteran.” With that, she motioned to the closest door with a nod, grabbing a bottle off the conveniently placed table before she made her way out. She didn’t go far, the hallway was quiet enough to talk while the faint sounds of the music booming from the speakers made it feel comfortable. Skye sank down onto the floor with a small sigh, legs folded under her. “I still can’t really get used to this. Living in one place.”
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