Allegra was seldom the most organized person in the room.
Hell, sometimes she barely made the top in a crowd of eight.
But give her a job, a mission to follow, a target to hit, and...well, things changed. She poured, she stirred, she started a debate about what "properly" meant in a properly built Manhattan, settled a not-quite-yet fight about Fernet-Branca and Branca Menta, and tested four of her experimental specimens on the unwary.
By the tenth empty bottle and hundredth cheery "'ello, mate" grin, Allegra was kind of wishing for a barback, though. Her insides were still vaguely queasy from last week's attack. Plus Elpis had been unnervingly quiet since Allegra's "return". It smelled like something to worry about.
Worry later, snapped her inner Hemingway. Now, you've got a crowd to water. If she couldn't drown her own stress in alcohol she could jolly well sink someone else's.
"Brandy, VSOP." Allegra smiled, head tilted at her (fourth) most charming angle. "Not that I've got much against the classics, but sure you won't try something a little more off the charts, mister?"