"That's tomorrow," Victor says, waving it off a little more loosely than expected to, but his hand is still steady when he pours one for Ciao Ciao, and another for himself, before lifting it:
"Na zdorov'ye."
The familiar toast rolling comfortably off his tongue the way English and French probably never will, even if they're much more fluid than his still stilted Japanese.
(He's picking it up, though, more and more.)
Clinking his glass against Celestino's and downing most of what's in it in one smooth gulp. It doesn't even burn anymore, or really taste much like anything at all, and he laughs a little when Celestino tries to emulate him, only to cough into his sleeve, eyes watering.
It's not that strong, is it? "Oh?" Innocent, as he tops them both off again. "Do you think you can keep up with a Russian, Ciao Ciao?"
"I think I can keep up with a play-acting coach," Celestino growls, but it lacks heat, and Victor only laughs, and lifts his glass again.
no subject
"Na zdorov'ye."
The familiar toast rolling comfortably off his tongue the way English and French probably never will, even if they're much more fluid than his still stilted Japanese.
(He's picking it up, though, more and more.)
Clinking his glass against Celestino's and downing most of what's in it in one smooth gulp. It doesn't even burn anymore, or really taste much like anything at all, and he laughs a little when Celestino tries to emulate him, only to cough into his sleeve, eyes watering.
It's not that strong, is it? "Oh?" Innocent, as he tops them both off again. "Do you think you can keep up with a Russian, Ciao Ciao?"
"I think I can keep up with a play-acting coach," Celestino growls, but it lacks heat, and Victor only laughs, and lifts his glass again.
"Okay! Let's see it. Salut!"