"I always look good," he shot right back, a blatant lie if there ever was one. The stereo jumped to the Pistols, finally, and Punk couldn't help a nasty little smirk when 'No Feelings' pushed its way into the room with them. Let Goth do her feminine mysterioso shit. He, at least, had the music tonight.
Punk filled his own glass to an acceptable level -- the brim -- raised it to salute Goth, and knocked the whole thing back with a growl. He bit back a gasp when the booze burned down his throat, but his eyes didn't water and he could still give little sister-thing dirty looks, so that had to be worth something.
"Never say that again," he warned, pointing accusingly at her with the empty glass. Slamming it down onto the counter, he moved around her to the rangetop. "You sick little freak."