Candy was still thinking of the message she had received this morning as she walked into the bar, and the look of concern her daughter had had on the holocomm.<em>“Hey, Mom, it’s Janice. I’m just calling to let you know that Karl had a serious accident. His mech cockpit armor had a design flaw or something and a shot during a match crushed his leg. But he’s going to be okay—he’s stable and awake and everything, they’re going to fit him for a prosthetic soon. He... well, he said that you shouldn’t come because he would refuse to see you. I’m sorry, I really tried to talk him out of it. If you need to talk about it at all, please call me.”</em><br/><br/>The worst of it was, Janice had sounded more concerned about how Candy would handle it than the actual accident. Maybe she was right to—some days Candy felt the effort of keeping her shit together was not worth it. All she knew is that for now she need a drink or five, and the time of day didn’t much matter.<br/><br/>The intrepid reporter went straight to the bar, briefly noticing that the bartender was a very attractive redhead. Candy had not been with a woman since she was a teenager, but if she had been in a better mood her interest might have been piqued. As it was, she just sat at the bar looking dispirited and ordered without preamble. “Scotch, neat.”