Don't flinch don't flinch don't-- Back still turned, Dahlia hesitated for a split second--well, shit, did I get caught already?--before tipping her head toward the bartender. All that remained was that languid smile peeking out from beneath the hood of her sweatshirt, still terribly overdressed for the warm, yeasty heat within the Cat. Perfect picture of innocence, right there. Not a hint of guilt. Definitely not the look of someone thinking about pocket whiskey. Or causing trouble.
"Whatever do you mean?" Dahlia asked in her lazy drawl, feigning ignorance, eyeing the bartender and deciding whether if she recognized him or not. Looked new enough, at least. "Here to drink, juss like e'rryone else. You gonna ask me what m'havin' tonight or not?" She puts on a pantomime of a friendly grin, all teeth, no humor. "Bad fuckin' service, s'what this is."