"You're getting sloppy."
Roth's long coat billowed as he walked to Travis's desk and threw a heavy file down, then walked to the bar.
"I am not," Travis says, still pinching his nose. He has a bad hangover.
Roth fixes two glasses with drinks before he hands Travis one and then sits opposite him, legs crossing.
When Travis takes a sip, he chokes and throws an incredulous look at Roth. "Trying to kill off my liver?"
"You're the one nursing a hangover, so it's already dead, I presume."
He doesn't say anything, taking another sip before putting it on the table in front of him and sitting back.
"Say, why are you nursing a hangover?"
"Got too overexcited," Travis says sarcastically, as he wills his head to stop hurting. "You still haven't told me why you are here. It's first light."
"You never asked."
"I know."
"Your manners deteriorate with how you age, Travis."
"Uh-huh," he says, sitting up and taking the drink, gulping it all down at once.
