"Hey, you're the one who wanted to share the blanket. If you're going to complain, you can just go sit over in the chair and freeze."
"I'm just saying that I didn't know I was going to have talons leaving scars on my ankles."
"You're such a drip."
"Watch it. I've got a cold. I'll sneeze on you."
"Fine," she said. "You're a post-nasal drip. Which come to think of it sounds sort of disgusting."
"Eat your soup and shaddup," I said. "I'm trying to watch this."
She sighed and looked at the television. "Fine. Just don't Buskirk the whiskey, Birdman."
"Excuse me? Buskirk?"
"Bogart," she said. "I meant don't Bogart it."
"Buskirk is the name of a city in New York. What the hell are you talking about?"
She kicked me again. "Just give me the fucking bottle, would you? Jesus. Pain in my ass, that's what you are."
I nodded. "Completely. Giant pain. Better get used to it, though. Serendipity."
She snorted. "Hardly serendipity. I generally lean more towards it being a gigantic bad karma debt."
"Always the romantic, aren't you?"
"Just give me the bottle and watch your precious cartoons, buddy boy." She took the Jack from me and pulled off a mouthful.
"I'm guessing, Muse, that since you're being a stinky poo at the moment that you're feeling better today, yeah?"
She stuck her tongue at me. "Bite me."
I grinned at her. "Nice to have you back."