“I think the question you should be asking is 'what hasn’t?'” Ester volleyed back, with a smirk she would never have dared to Christobal’s face on this topic. Still, she adored the artist, as she adored Gordon and his little bookshop and the rest of her friends (- Ester gave adoration away rather lightly). 

The whiskey was already out, and Gordon had a glass easily refilled. Ester hunted down another and poured some out for them both (and shielding his gaze from the slightly larger helping she granted herself, conveniently being both waitress and guest). She let out a laugh as she passed him his. “I keep telling him he ought to do away with wearing knickers altogether.”

Gordon Gibson, on the other hand, was rather more an imperturbable, impenetrable sort, much more difficult to rattle. (Ester kept a good ways away from him if she suspected a bad temper, but she knew enough of his capabilities to say that he was not the sort one wanted to upset.) He looked a little ruffled here tonight, but Ester fancied it was a good dishevelment. “And you?” She enquired, eyeing his tousled hair and loose buttons and then the latest page in the typewriter for a swift moment. “Looks like you’ve been hard at work.”

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