*digs a few bills out of her purse and lays them on the counter to cover the half-finished drink she ordered, then slides off the barstool simply to escape your touch*
*fixes you with as cool a glare as she can muster, though her warm winter coat is still draped over her arm* The faster you run, the bloodier the fall. *moves toward the door, sounding stiffly formal when she speaks again* I think I'll meet my party elsewhere.