Re: Late-night intermission, at the bar: Sonya C & Jack P
She hadn't known enough people to know that they didn't infringe on each other where things were wider or more populated. The city was born to was big, an endless, greasy black, but she'd been sequestered away and her circle was small, so it didn't occur to Sonya not to be reminded of others when a few similarities rattled together like matchsticks in cardboard before her. She assumed they struck flame all the same.
Her smile wasn't Blitzkrieg bright, but she did let it smolder around the spark of cherry, matching his laziness with a languid, if bright-eyed brand of zeal. She was too young to pull it off, but she did an admirable job, all things considered. With the stem a wick between her lips, she kept fidgeting, sipping around the obstruction, hoping to warm her insides with sweet vermouth or words, whichever filled her up quicker.
"There's a carnival?" The question was dry. "A strip place makes sense, but a carnival—" Sonya finally removed the stem, not politely at all, and she curled it around the stem of her glass at the foot. Her gaze flicked from her industry to the man like a playful kick. "There must be a lot of... demand."
But, he asked where she'd come in from and she hadn't decided if she was going to lie or not yet, so she shrugged her bare shoulders a bit. She bought herself a second. "The town. I'm from a... stupid little place in Jersey." The proof was in the pudding—her accent hung on strong. Another shrug. "I know you're not native." It was a question.