Re: Juliet & Ophelia
Juliet was judgmental. She knew it. Snap decisions, quick assessments: it made her an asshole, but judgment was gut instinct, and gut instinct was alive, and fuck people who liked nice-and-dead better than 'a dick, but alive'. Her gaze slid up, over pressed cotton that looked expensive - Juliet didn't know fashion if it bit her in the ass, she bought the cotton tanks worn skin-tight beneath her shirts in packs of ten from the late night grocery store. Expensive and polished. Money. The kind that didn't scream, just sighed discreetly from Fifth Avenue.
Strong drink though. Juliet's mouth was flat and inscrutable until she saw the drink. It twisted, the lips curled first before the eyes lit, and a kindle of warmth in so much deadpan.
"You need a day to drink it, you need something stronger." A complete lack of embarrassment; her drink order didn't need to come with a glass. Juliet's gaze slid upward, the ceiling, the bar, she took in the crowd and Ophelia without remark, and nothing but the faint twitch of muscles to say she was taking any of it - or all of it - in.
"I heard this is a good place. And I like my drinks strong enough to argue back. Cheers," the glass slid over the bar, and Juliet's fingers closed around it, chipped black and an incline of head to Ophelia as she lifted it.