Okay, Delta didn't actually know what was funnier: Persephone's CD having been owned by a fucking bible-basher or Bianca only just realising how funny it was. "Hell, if she was still around I'd go with you. Like fuck I'd pass up the chance to witness the kind of psychological damage inflicted by ye goode olde crisis of faith." Those that lost their faith or at least had their faith fucked with were kind of boring in the aftermath from a demonic empath's point of view. She knew this because she'd listen to them drone on. And on and on and on. She had to wonder what it felt like at the time, and not just because faith had always been the kind of thing that Delta had absolutely none of. Her other reason was that it was just really fucking funny. "In fairness, you're more like model-height, B. Aren't supermodels like 5' 9?" She really wanted to tilt her chair back and put her feet up on the table, which would be a bad idea for two reasons. The first being she'd either draw attention to them by being told to put them back on the floor again and the bartender'd realise Bianca was an underager, and/or they'd get kicked out. The second being because she was not sober enough to just tip back and split her head open. Yeah, painting the floor with black blood would just look awesome. Well, she thought it actually would, just so long as it wasn't hers. "You should see the new chick at the morgue. She's about five foot and kinda scared of me. Which I'd understand if I'd given her a reason." She paused, having totally forgotten that anyone had been called short to begin with. "Whatever, all in good time, right?"
"I'm 5' 4 and it's been a long time since I played with bugs and bugs alone. And I went to the Symes. Wanted to raise a corpse and leave it in the living room after I went round." One big mouthful of whatever was in her glass. "Cushions on the sofa embroidered with prayers and shit. Gross." Her expression probably said it all. And that all was likely 'ew'. "And oh my god they were too fucking nice." Really. Next time? A corpse. In their living room. Although at some point in the very distant future, someone was going to dig up that part of Lake Michigan and think it was some kind of weird-assed burial site. Or demonic ritual - then they'd be half right. "If it makes you feel better, I had no thoughts regarding you being a legionnaire. Because thinking about a chick who looks only a litle older than my niece being my grandmother is weird enough without the procreation part." Delta's hand waved any and all thoughts of that nature away from herself. When Bianca returned, she nodded somewhat reluctantly. "You've got one hell of a set of pipes on you." What she wasn't going to say was that Persephone was right. She wasn't going to hate the great-grand, she was going to hate either the alcohol or the fact it seemed weirdly easier to drink around the demon. Had Bianca been here to hear the enabling and excess parts of the conversation? Flipping her mirror out, Delta raised an eyebrow at herself and slid it back. "They're better when you can't tell which direction I'm looking anymore." She probably shouldn't be so cavalier about them since hey were in public, but she was drunk and, well... didn't give a shit. "When I need a fix. Holler if someone drops dead or a fanger walks in. Better yet, feel free to dispatch someone while I'm gone." Because the moment Bianca brought up the subject of lifespans, Delta didn't feel like taking part in that particular strain of the conversation. She had the right song as well. "No jazz," she called over her shoulder, sticking her tongue out. It wasn't until she got to the karaoke guy and received the most what-the-flying-fuckeried look ever that she remembered what she must look like. What the fuck ever. They were contacts. That was her argument. She even went to 'remove' them to prove it before he finally handed over the book of music and she flicked through the pages, snorting when she found what she decided was the perfect choice even if it wasn't the right genre.