Lyra can't decide what donut she wants, like, she thinks strawberry-lime, but nutella's awesome as well, and then there's the sprinkles and the overly-sweet (perfectly sweet) and very-pink icing and just, decisions are hard, but wine is wine. She sits up again, sets the box down beside Rosario's, takes a sip of uncomplicated wine, and eyes the box. The pink looks gray in the moonlight, the chocolate looks so black it'd piss of Anish Kapoor. "Imma have to let fate decide," she says, closing her eyes once Rosario's taken her choc glazed, and sends her hand in blind. Fate's kind; she comes up with a powered sugar, but then, fate was always going to be kind when it came to picking donuts. "Awesome, your girl rocks a powdered sugar mustache, mmph," she adds, appreciatively, as the next sip of wine packs a herbier punch, fighting with the sweetness of the donut like her palette's the arena. "That's good," she swishes it around her cheeks, assessing. "$5.80? Noo, $6.20?"
Things feel good, as they settle into something familiar, but there's something in the air or wine or sugar that hints at something excitingly different tonight, and that's pretty great too.