Jude had seen plenty of alcoholics walk through the door. Generally, this wasn't their kind of bar. The liquor was good, true. But there was ambiance. People came to talk, chat, find people. It was a distraction from the grim business of getting drunk for the sake of it and most of the drunks in town preferred a little less conversation with their booze.
Still, he raised eyebrows and nothing else at the epithet 'kid', oddly charmed even as she cradled her beer as lovingly as ...well, he didn't really know what, but it was certainly the greedy-demanding concentration that Jude associated with a certain kind of patron.
"I'm all talk," he said, without emphasis or laughter. "Flash-bang. Smoke and mirrors. Everything is up my sleeves." And then he grinned. Jude hadn't pegged her as anything yet: pegging was dangerous. It suggested you knew enough based on an outline, a suggestion of who someone was from their opening gambit, and then you could dismiss what was left of them. Jude was smarter than that.
"Why, you looking for a cork-screw?" Innocent and deadpan, and he smacked one down on the bar, with the palm of his hand.