Some days Gordon felt like he ran a damn saloon the way people flounced in and out of his shop and flat. Still it was only Ester and to him, she was mostly harmless. He'd brought his typewriter upstairs from the office below to work on something, caught up in the story for once. It had been a while since he'd had good flow and of course somebody would choose tonight to stop by.

Then again, he'd been at it for hours, his hair decidedly ruffled from running his hands through it; his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was ever the picture of a man on a mission, that thankfully allowed him to work in the comfort of his own flat. "A drink would be good." He'd already had a glass or two, maybe three of whiskey, but it took quite a bit for him to feel anything more than a delightful buzz, which he did have and was starting to fade. "What's got Christobal's knickers in a twist this fine evening?" He laughed, lounging back in his leather chair to pass her a raised eyebrow and a quirk of a smirk.