Re: At the tables: Cat and Graves
She rolled her eyes again, because, hello, she could pull off stud if she had to. She didn't want to, but she could. In fact, she wasn't at all elegant and graceful female sitting at that table, and she was mostly in possession of the sort of petulance that graced the face of hipster boys on magazine covers. Anyway, she looked terribly unimpressed with his humor, and she looked away when he said he wouldn't be doing a town-wide survey. Ignored, because this was clearly the best way to mete out punishment.
Her gaze was still narrowed when the funeral guy offered his explanation, and perhaps a touch of fear could be located easily in olive. Because, you know, scientists, and she'd thought them safe surrounded by all these people. "Come on. Who are you? Are you Dane's? Eddie's going to kill you, you know," she said, drunk and slur and cocky. She didn't run, because Cat didn't run. Scientist or Dane, Cat was done running. "Or Reece can fry you. I've seen him do it," she asserted, deliberating staying as calm and as lazily-postured as she could manage.