Natasha purses her lips as she stares at her glass. "I can't figure out if you mean that as a regret or a gauntlet." Not that it matters much, either way. Of course, things can always be both. Most of a person's life can be regret, mixed in with other emotions and motivations. It has a special way of leeching into things.

In the time it take for Iona to get her second drink, Natasha has slowly and evenly downed the contents of her glass, and filled it again. This time, Iona's doesn't look the slightest bit smoky. That one will have Nat puzzling for a while, she's sure. She's never been a big fan of things not making absolute sense. She has the skills, out of necessity, to move on even when they don't. Doesn't mean she likes it.

She holds up her rocks glass, four fifths full of vodka, and spares a moment to wonder if you still call it a rocks glass when you have no ice in it. Another moment for her to decide that it doesn't really matter, so she doesn't really care. Then she angles herself ever so slightly toward Iona. "To shitty days, and the survival of same."