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After puttering about near the counter Silco meets him, a foggy glass of something clear dangling from his fingertips. In his other hand he holds a long pin, the kind topsiders use to keep fancy hats from blowing off their heads in the wind.
Vander raises a brow. “Should you be drinking if you’re gonna be the one doing this?”
“Not for me."
“For me?” Vander’s voice takes on a strange throaty quality from his position. “Hard to drink when you’ve got me on my back.”(Silco pierces Vander's nipples.)