Actually, the outfit screams 'I only just remembered not to drink and try riding my niece around on a chopper.' Which she would have said, but not every female owner of a chopper or even a regular motorbike wore leather pants that hugged so much. Many wore things like... jeans or something. Well, so what. Delta wore pants like that. She was halfway to dead, she was going to get the attention when she damn well could, even if she didn't actually want it. The situations that rose from the latter were often kind of entertaining. Like that time she had to bail out of her own apartment over the balcony and into the apartment below because she was being 'stalked'. Or was it because she'd pissed someone off? More to the point, did it even matter? No. She knew how she looked and hey, the lookalike had gone and let go of her hair. Awesome. Plucking her shades from the top of her head, Delta set them down on the table and shook her hair out, letting it fall where it pleased. Because alright, it was one of the physical traits she definitely took pride in. The next being her figure. As a rule, if her chest wasn't practically busting out of her top there was something wrong. She just stared at this chick as she took a chair.
Maybe she should have ordered a drink that came in a bottle; broken glass had gotten her out of bad situations before now. Who cared if it got her barred from a karaoke bar? Ignoring the fact there was a thing about this girl and it was getting under her skin. And then the subject of Sierra came up and Delta immediately up-ended her glass, tipping the rest of her whiskey down her throat. "Yeah," she caught an ice cube between her teeth and put the glass down. "Too bad." Said with an 'aw, diddums' pout that she really didn't feel. Somehow she doubted the sincerity behind anything that was being said. It might have had something to do with being an empath. It might have also been because this girl wasn't even trying to sound sincere. She wasn't lying, though. Leaning back, she hung her arms over the back over her chair and clasped her hands behind her. "Hear you 'bout the kids." Which was as much of a concession as she was going to make right now. Especially when now she was being told about when her father was born, and-- 1978 plus 5; dad was 36, so... what, 1947? Is she shitting me? Pulling her hands out from behind her, Delta stretched an altogether insincere smile onto her face. "Yeah, well, the only picture of my mother I've ever seen was unfortunately timed and the other side of my family wasn't big on pictures." Speaking of unfortunate timing, now was an excellent moment for her to touch up her lipstick. The mirror from her jacket pocket not only provided a wonderful view of matt red lipstick, but also the slightest line of black on the wrong side of her eyeliner. Whatever. Her eyelashes would cover it up for now. Or something. If it was noticed, it was noticed. Like she gave a damn. "And leave damn the straws at the bar," she added to mystery-chick's order, flicking the one she had been given across to the next table without looking to see if anyone was sitting at it. "So, Grandma. Got a name or at least an explanation as to why you look only a few years older than your great-grand?" Otherwise, she was strongly considering leaving and dragging Bianca with her.