She didn’t quite catch that she’d been cruel, but Domino wasn’t that way intentionally. Really, she wasn’t. It was just a bad byproduct of having been alone most of her life, being unable to see where the lines of cruelty could be for normal people. And she was beginning to think that this Johnny Cage was a normal people.
“We do. I don’t watch many of them, though,” she said, and her voice was a little softer, a little less sharp. Hell, maybe it was just the liquor hitting her system and she ought to quit drinking, but either way. “I’m not, uh. Well, you said people around here are from everywhere, right?” He had, so she kept going, but now she was simply explaining. “Where I’m from, I’m a weirdo, born and bred. So I don’t go out much. Is that what you do, is movies? That’s kind of cool.”
And it was, so that wasn’t even like, a pity statement or anything. It was just that all the people she’d interacted with over the last ten years of her life had been hookups, clients, colleagues or targets, and Johnny was none of those. Whoops.