"It won't be itching for much longer," she replied with a grin, fingers wrapping around the shot glass of liquor. Slamming it back, she swallowed it all in one go and replaced the glass on the bar, sliding it toward the bartender. "And now, I'll have a beer. What he's having will be fine."
Because honestly, Charlie wasn't a huge beer drinker. Oh, she'd been known to tie on a few back in her day, but usually the beer was the chaser for the shots. Tonight, however, she was going to stick with the beer. She wasn't aiming to get trashed fast. Not exactly the point of a bar crawl.
Her gaze traveled over his own scar, eyebrows rising slightly. "Impressive," she commented, taking a swig of the beer as soon as it was placed in her hand. His looked like a bullet had caused it, something which Charlie couldn't relate to, really. It was damn hard to shoot someone who could raise the temperature around her to the point the bullet would explode before hitting its mark. Not that she was complaining, though.
"So," she asked after another swig, "how are you finding life in L.A. so far?" She figured a little light conversation couldn't hurt. Nothing personal, or about where he'd come from. He'd have to open that door. But a generalized question regarding his transition wasn't in poor taste, right? At least she sure as hell hoped not. It had been a while since she'd done much mingling with others, though, so she couldn't say for sure.