[ the way Kaveh's shoulders release tension is interesting. Reno notes it, idly, and folds the information away into the part of his mind that observes things like that as a matter of habit—reading the room, reading the people in it. he's not on duty here, but old habits die hard. ]

Habit, probably. Picked it up when I was—thirteen, fourteen?

[ although he hadn't smoked such nice cigarettes back then. handrolled mostly, probably only two-thirds tobacco and the rest of it something unmentionable and disgusting. but what scant tobacco there was in those cigarettes was enough to give Reno a habit that would last the rest of his life. ]

Sometimes I think about quittin', but then how would I look cool and mysterious standin' outside a bar in the middle of the night?

[ his grin is just a little too wide. Kaveh's question is a hard one to answer—Reno doesn't know how to explain the feeling of being alone in the middle of a room, of watching a party unfold around you and feeling, still, like you're standing in the penumbra at the edge of someone else's light. ]

Midnight would kill me if I smoked inside, probably. [ blame it on the habit, again. ] I love a party, though. And this is a good one.