Dahlia scoffed, a soft pfft of disappointment. "Right, right," she said. "Betcha save all th'good ones just for 'em real moms, yeah?" She reached over to pick up the corkscrew, turning it over in her hands. With the alcohol burrowing further into her veins, it was simply something to fidget with, now that she lacked a glass to nurse (or demolish, in her case).
Her lazy gaze followed the bartender's, landing back on the patron she'd only just glanced at before--a woman, she realized, unoccupied except for a phone in hand. Probably waiting for a friend or "friend" or something.
See also: kinda cute. Dahlia gave her the once-over, and wasn't terribly discreet about it. "Nah," she replied, absently. Much like someone who didn't concern herself with unimportant things like dental problems due to dumb teenage-esque displays of prowess. Which, she wouldn't have worried, anyway. Like every other bone in her body, it'd take a lot more than just a bottlecap to chip her tooth.
Feeling the eyes on her, the patron looked up from her phone and glanced her way. Dahlia, in return, flashed those teeth with her perfectly wolfish grin. Couldn't look less innocuous even if she tried. "I mean, I'd prove it t'ya," she carried on, half-lidded gaze flicking back to the bartender for a moment, "but I don't do that shit for free." No, good tips only. Or, sometimes, just for the uncomfortable looks it garnered from particularly meat-headed patrons. A lot of dudes apparently found her ripping caps off with her teeth from mildly phallic-looking bottles very threatening, for some reason.