Arla snorted in a most unladylike way and adjusted her glasses when she squinted at the label. "God, no," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "I'll drink just about anything but this stuff is shit. Isn't mine. You better not drink a lot of it, you could get ether poisoning."
Disregarding her own advice, she took another gulp like a practiced professional. Vodka wasn't her booze of choice----especially cheap vodka----but it would do. The only trouble with cheap vodka was that if it was old, there was a little problem with ether... something that Arla had figured out the hard way a few months ago.
"I take my chances, though. I figure... with the amount of stuff I've survived in my lifetime, it's not very likely that I'll be killed by a bottle of vodka. I'm a survivor. It's what I do. --In fact, I survived so well that I can't... actually... let go of this bottle right now." She paused, looking down at her right hand. "I didn't die, I just got held underwater with my gills closed up while a few bajillion volts were pumped through me----but I didn't die, I didn't even end up a vegetable... I ended up with a few short-circuited muscles and synapses." Really, she wasn't normally this talkative, especially with a stranger, but it just kind of spilled out.
Backtracking, she set the vodka down on the table and used her other hand to try and pry her fingers off of the glass. "It's not technically mathematically more likely that I won't be killed by cheap vodka, but ... given the pattern of my life ..."