Leah had heard through the proverbial grapevine about how Evan had suffered a self-inflicted wound when Carnegie Hall had fallen. It gave her a warm feeling inside, knowing this would add fuel to the fire that was their verbal sparring match the next time they would meet. Her dislike for being around him was the sole reason she hadn't been intentionally seeking him out. Tormenting him about this would be apt payback for the time he'd laughed at her for "letting" that idiot teenager shoot her in the foot.
All she was waiting for was the perfect opportunity to bring it up. One more snide, malicious remark from him and off would spout her retaliation. As stubborn as this champagne bottle was being, it wouldn't take a very strong insult to get her to go off.
Leah was just about to chuck the bottle angrily over the side of the roof when the sound of metal thudding against concrete brought her to attention. She looked from the bottle opener to Evan, whose back was turned to her once more. This wasn't the Evan she was familiar with. The Evan she knew wouldn't have been so generous about sharing his goods, let alone a means of consuming said goods. Instead of turning his back, the Evan she knew would've crossed his arms and watched smugly every single second that she spent trying to get the bottle open.
Leah dropped her eyes back to the bottle opener, then cautiously leaned forward to grab it. Any second now, the man would turn around and either snatch back the bottle or the opener. Any second now. "At least I didn't try to gut myself with my own knife." Granted, it was a weak retort to his taunt, but she needed to regain some of her dignity.
Still recovering from his moment of charity, Leah proceeded to pry open the bottle, letting the cork shoot up into the air. White froth spewed from the mouth of the bottle. The woman thrust her arm out so as to avoid some of the splash. It was a messy way to open champagne, true, but the explosion had her feeling triumphant.
Smug and, admittedly, a bit happy with her accomplishment, Leah drew a big sip from the bottle. "They don't seem to enjoy being headless, either. Fucks up their whole day, I think." No, this wasn't going to turn into a pleasant conversation. Things like that didn't happen between her and Marchand.
Leah hummed her agreement to his statement, allowing herself to relax a bit and enjoy the alcohol she'd snatched right in front of Evan's watchful eyes. The bubbles tickled her nose, bringing a tiny smile to the woman's lips. This definitely wasn't the cheap stuff she remembered drinking. It brought up flashes of memory from her brother's wedding, and the toast she'd given to the happy couple. She found herself staring at the ring on her finger, a trinket she'd nabbed while out looting a while back. She didn't wear it often, especially when she was expected to traverse through streets filled with zombies, but she'd liked the look of it and the way it fit on her finger. It was a slight reminder of better days long past.
Evan's voice broke through her reverie. Blinking, the blonde's gaze flicked up to the man's face, then back to the ring. Her brow creased at the unidentified emotion in Evan's voice. "I found it," she answered, a bit defensively. Her gaze swept over him again. "You're lookin' kinda pale, Frenchie. Can't handle that little bit of liquor?"