[ it's a mercy she's unaware of, a change of perspective even her dozens of eyes don't catch. his actions are so small, so precise, that someone like her - someone as awkward and clumsy as her - don't even catch the majority of them. instead she just listens to his words, calm and smooth and well-practiced, and interjects at the last bit- ]

It can't taste any worse, right? Alcohol is alcohol. [ it's a hilariously novice opinion, built on a sample size of the two times she's ever drunk with someone. but in her experience, it's not likely to change. ] You can mix it all you want, but it's still going to taste like nail polish remover. Just, well. Nail polish remover and orange juice. Or something.

[ she picks up a bottle of unlabeled tequila, rolling it idly and watching bits of sediment filter through. ]

What about this one? [ it's an innocent question, but she giggles and adds- ] Is this one safe for me to drink?