"You are and you do," Morag agreed good-naturedly through a strand of cheese, which she thumbed into her mouth. Her mother would have been appalled -- but what good had come of all her knife and forking and elbows off the table? She licked her thumb for good measure, as if in some moral victory against social conditioning. The food was settling wonderfully in her stomach, and she helped herself to another piece after gulping down half her beer. It had gone straight to her cheeks, pink from fresh scrubbing and the flow of intoxicants, and she relished how warm and comfortable she'd become in the span of a mere handful of minutes.
It was in this relative comfort that she felt free to scoff -- a half laugh that rolled off her tongue easily in trusted company. "I'm not being modest." It was almost embarrassing how quickly the murderer had been found. "It's like she wanted to be found. Using her own bloody wand..." she shook her head.
"This is the break. And then I've got a mountain of paperwork to sort before Monday." She turned on her stool to consider Sally with an impish grin that didn't make it above her cheeks. "That's what rising stars really spend all their time at. Scaling parchment."
"Anyway, tell me about your work, you flatterer." And she was more than a little pleased.