Lots of things to notice, to listen to here. She's picking up on a few things, one of which is absolutely something she's noticed a few times before, and, well. Holding off on that for the immediate moment. The second is that he really does seem to like the sound of his own voice, but it's in a way that doesn't really strike her as... pompous or anything. More like he has a lot of thoughts that are all colliding all at once and if he doesn't get them all out then he may explode.
She's familiar with the sensation.
Instead of commenting on it, though, she makes little more than "mm" every so often until he offers her the flask. She grabs it out of the air with reflexes that seem just as unnatural as the throw, but she's already revealed her own little secret so that's less of a big deal. Before opening it, she frees up her own hand by flicking her cigarette across the alley with a little less strength behind it and watches the red extinguish into a tiny trail of smoke as it hits the damp ground.
There's a moment there like she's debating whether she wants to drink something that someone else's lips have been on, but that's more a learned response from the past couple years at home than anything else. Deciding it can't be a bigger risk than anything else here, she opens the flask and takes a respectable drink from it. She handles it like a pro, frankly, not that that's something to be particularly proud of. Vodka has never been her poison of choice, but she supposes that asking someone who's offering free alcohol if he can turn it into Jack is a little presumptuous.
She finishes, caps the flask, and hands it back, then finally speaks up. "Thanks. And you know, there's something on my mind that I think I can ask you. Now that we're friends and all." She doesn't wait for a reply, but, like, why would she. She pushes off the wall only long enough to rotate her body so her arm is pressing against the brick instead. "So my big question is this—and it's, like, more of a question to me, I guess. But it's the kind of question that has its own answer."
From this position, it might be easier to see a few silver lines etched along the metal of her arm, but if he recognized it as the melody to a heart-crushing A Day to Remember song by the piano roll alone, she'd be shocked. "Just how much of the Fueled by Ramen discography are you planning on quoting to me before I stop letting you get away with it, Gus?"
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She's familiar with the sensation.
Instead of commenting on it, though, she makes little more than "mm" every so often until he offers her the flask. She grabs it out of the air with reflexes that seem just as unnatural as the throw, but she's already revealed her own little secret so that's less of a big deal. Before opening it, she frees up her own hand by flicking her cigarette across the alley with a little less strength behind it and watches the red extinguish into a tiny trail of smoke as it hits the damp ground.
There's a moment there like she's debating whether she wants to drink something that someone else's lips have been on, but that's more a learned response from the past couple years at home than anything else. Deciding it can't be a bigger risk than anything else here, she opens the flask and takes a respectable drink from it. She handles it like a pro, frankly, not that that's something to be particularly proud of. Vodka has never been her poison of choice, but she supposes that asking someone who's offering free alcohol if he can turn it into Jack is a little presumptuous.
She finishes, caps the flask, and hands it back, then finally speaks up. "Thanks. And you know, there's something on my mind that I think I can ask you. Now that we're friends and all." She doesn't wait for a reply, but, like, why would she. She pushes off the wall only long enough to rotate her body so her arm is pressing against the brick instead. "So my big question is this—and it's, like, more of a question to me, I guess. But it's the kind of question that has its own answer."
From this position, it might be easier to see a few silver lines etched along the metal of her arm, but if he recognized it as the melody to a heart-crushing A Day to Remember song by the piano roll alone, she'd be shocked. "Just how much of the Fueled by Ramen discography are you planning on quoting to me before I stop letting you get away with it, Gus?"