ooc: urghh, my notifications are failing me lately.
"Charlie," Mike repeated. "Got it."
He took the bottle of vodka with a kind of ambivalent obedience, as if the woman were some sort of commanding God; he'd better take a sip, then. He believed that she would break his nose. He would probably believe most things she threatened, actually. There were some people you could just tell these things about; that was something Michael had learned out in the city, where a lack of perception could get you straight up killed. He might have been pissing a lot of people off lately, but he was careful about pissing off people that might actually destroy him.
"Thank you, ma'am," he told her, before taking a swig and offering the bottle back again. "You one of them ladies don't care for ma'am?"
It was just polite -- didn't mean anything at all. Mike had trouble understanding sometimes why women in New York seemed to scoff at his habit. Leah certainly did, but he dealt with her often enough that it was more of a hassle to stop using the word.