Charlie took another sip of her beer, regarding the newcomer with a somewhat suspicious eye that descended from watching the game reluctantly - somebody new, in her territory, that would never do. Regardless of the fact that she herself was still pretty new, but he was newer and that made him a prime target. Though whether Charlie would go out of her way to do anything to the poor guy was still something that was under consideration. She almost cracked a smile at his issue with the bar's notoriously named Johnny Burger, her face remained stoic. The hate for Rod Stewart made a brow rise, though, because there was no love lost between her and the 70's singer.
"That guy's hair looks like a rat's nest," she commented off-handedly. "I know it was the 70's, but damn." Like she was one to talk, what with Axel Roses' recent venture into cornrows, but she'd defend Guns 'n' Roses to the death. Her legs were a little spread, back hunched and leather jacket still on - she was lax to remove it when away from her apartment, perhaps out of an unconscious fear that someone would steal it or ruin it, or whatever. Charlie would never cop to having anything that meant something to her. Her boots rested comfortably on the floor, one hand clutching her beer while she waited on her sandwich. The guy looked like he was in pain - whether that stemmed from a hangover or some other reason was beyond her knowledge and caring, though she had to wonder how many bars he'd stumbled through before ending up at this one. She could remember nights (and days) like that, though, as before, it'd been years.
"Though anything's better than that Lady Gaga shit. Seriously, fuckin' tranny attention whore."