Fiction: A Fictional Narrative

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Christopher threw his head back, letting the slow burn of the whiskey take its hold on him. Blinking he slammed the glass upside down on the counter and snapped his fingers. The blonde, a tall, five foot seven, laughed and padded her way to him. "Remember that promise I made you a few months ago, hmm?" She tsked her tongue, a glass bottle in one hand, pointing with the other. "Hmm...huh. You'll 'ave to remind me, love." His words a bit slow, almost caught between slurred and just mashed together, the blonde leaned on the counter, resting her weight on her elbows. A blonde curl tickled Christopher's arm as she poked his left bicep. "No mocking me accent, love." She winked, her thick, Welsh accent flowing with her words. He groaned and faked a frown. "But I totally nailed it!" She rewarded him with a loud, snort filled laugh and giggle sound. "We made a deal on the amount. You hit your amount--" she held her hand up, making a peace sign. "Two shots ago. Your cut off, baby boy." She patted his head, grinning. Christopher rose an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. According to the Medical Doctors in the Diabetes field, you should have no more then one to three, at a maximum, shots at a time in a 24 hour period.

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