no subject

[ Naturally, Flynn wastes no time at all nudging his way up to the bar like a man on a mission. He doesn't like the pallor of her skin or the pain on her face, and having a task, any small thing that may help, is—well. Flynn hates, he thinks, to feel useless. It itches along his skin like scratching fabric, jolting him into action. His fingers tap on the bar surface while he waits, and as soon as he has the glass in hand, he whirls with a "thanks!" called over his shoulder and hurries back to her, determined. ]

Here—the biggest glass I could get, and it's cold. Let me get you a stool, while you drink that!

[ If she's going to protest too bad he's already hurrying away to do that too ]