Pre-Game
"Grape juice?" Adam offered, holding a large violet bottle in both hands.
Lizzie swept her fingers through her hair, lifting it. Cool air brushed against her neck. With a sigh, she sat down on the crooked pink stool. "Hit me up, bartender," she said, gesturing for a drink.
She watched him select a medium-sized glass from the bottom row. It was cylindrical, decorated in a muted moss green hue. It reminded Lizzie of a childhood earring she had discarded after it rusted in a thunderstorm.
Adam poured the sparkling purple liquid until it reached the rim and handed her the glass. Lizzie cupped the bottom and brought it to her lips. She sipped gingerly, swishing it in her mouth, but her lips suddenly pursed, and her expression contorted. She swallowed with a loud gulp and clapped her hand over her mouth, Adam's eyes widening as he quickly set aside the bottle.
"It tastes like saltwater," she grumbled, wiping her lips. She aimed the glass at the nearest potted plant and dumped the juice. She could have sworn the tall fern shriveled in response, its leaves wilting closer to the dark soil.
Adam chuckled. "Well, maybe when Raz messed up Hollis' thoughts, it somehow screwed with her stash of non-alcoholic beverages," he suggested, reaching over his shoulder and selecting a flask of lemonade.
Lizzie snatched the cork when Adam flicked it off with his thumb. She rolled it between her fingers as he took an experimental sip. She rolled her eyes, watching him tilt his head and drink his fill with a sigh.
"Guess not all of the drinks have gone bad," she muttered, drumming her fingers on the oak counter.
"Your luck sucks, Liz," he remarked, and she sneered at him.
The salt still lingered on her tongue. She swallowed again, but the taste remained. The temptation to spit on the floor crossed her mind, but she dashed that idea when Adam crouched down. She leaned forward, observing his long arms searching for something beneath the counter, and she straightened her back when he returned with a stainless steel napkin dispenser.
"Well, that's way too fancy this hokey miniature bar," she said, plucking out a few napkins.
"Definitely out of place," he replied, looking over to Hollis and Norma. They continued observing Hollis' mental screens, the forms of Agents Nein and Vodello most prevalent compared to the smaller, muddled monitors.
She crumpled the napkins into a ball and turned her back on the others. Lizzie hunched her head to her chest and spat out a wad of saliva. She aimed her finger at the trash can, tossing the napkins away and accepting a glass of water poured by Adam.
"Here's to hoping that one doesn't taste like the ocean," he jeered, shaking a clear pitcher.
Rolling her eyes, Lizzie cocked her head and drank. The sweet taste of nothing cooled her insides. Sighing, she pounded the glass on a coaster, causing it to rattle.
He eyed her. A spark in his gaze alerted her to his immediate inquiry. "Hey, you good? Is something up?" Adam asked, and the corner of her mouth raised.
She waved her hand, dismissing his concern. Standing up, she nudged her hip into the stool and pushed it toward the counter. She brushed down the soft feathers on her vest and hooked her thumbs into her makeshift belt, fidgeting with the crinkling tape.
"I'm good," she said with a smirk. But her eyes drifted over to her sister, who continued smiling like an obedient chihuahua at Hollis.