"Bourbon, straight?" she asked as she looked up at the woman, closer she probably smelled of funerary incense, too, or old graveyards. Death, either way you looked at it. She was still, under her modern persona and facade, a chooser of the slain.
"A double, I think, it's been a long week." and alcohol did nothing for her, but that was alright, too, she just liked the taste of things.
SigrĂșn was relaxed, and it felt good to be somewhere nothing was expected of her for a few minutes.