Re: quicklog -- steph/dami: stephanie's loft.
Baby bird, I haven't vomited while drinking since I was fifteen years old. I've got years on you, don't even start. [The laugh made her narrow her eyes. This was her home, she could kick him out in a second if he poked at the right bruise. And he was bound to, wasn't he? Damian was deft at sniffing out what hurt someone most, and while he mostly just did it to be a little shit, Stephanie wasn't in the best place. Everyone could tell just by looking at her. Her poker face? It was atrocious.
She swatted at his hands as they reached forward, taking the bottle back once he was finished pouring himself too much of the amber colored liquor.] Imagine if you were still a twerp. Oh, wait, you are. [She poured heavily for herself, too, three fingers to sip on and soften the edges she was growing quickly. Shaking her head, she bit back an apology at her bristly nature of hers or the amount she poured. But, she just shook her head. Instead, an eyebrow rose at him, a small, teasing smirk flashing.] You're smoking now? [She could smell the remnants of the cigarette on him, lingering and wafting off of his discarded leather jacket. Flounder, who felt he wasn't getting enough attention, went over to his mom and butted his head against her thigh. Rolling her eyes at the dog and at that failure of a charmed smile, she leaned over to rub his snout and scratch behind his ears. And then, she grabbed her drink and held it up for a cheers.] Here's to Gotham. And how fucked up it is.