It was like having cartoon angels on her shoulders.
Do it. Don't be a wuss.
No, Charlie, it's wrong!
Back and forth went the bickering in her mind, which painted a smirk of sheer amusement on her face.
The newcomer, another Charlie didn't know, was obviously dealing with a hell of a hangover, if there was any indication from his voice. She'd never been good in dealing with anyone telling her what to do, if her prison record was anything to go by. And making a guy puke wasn't going to get her arrested. Besides, the woman was starting to stoke her ego, as much as Charlie had one - something told her it would be so much more fun to open the jar. You know, shits and giggles and all that.
"Fine," she replied to the woman, though her eyes were on the man, dancing in a teasing manner. "They're fucking dead organs, it's not like it's gonna jump out and bite me." With one quick motion, she turned her attention to the jar (now positioned between the three of them), placed a hand on the falcon's head, and twisted the cap off and up - a small bit of cloth poked out of the wide mouth, linen that the organ had been wrapped in. It was almost kind of anticlimactic. There was something of a sickly-sweet smell, like perfume and sweat mixed together, but nothing attempting to climb out of the jar like Thing from the Addams Family. Glancing at the woman, Charlie held out her hand for the camera.