Re: front steps
"I endeavor to always be helpful," she assured him of providing him with his name, her smile still firmly in place. She looked up at the house, which was even impressive to the girl raised in a Manhattan penthouse, head tipped back for a few seconds before returning her attention to him. His flippancy about the cigarette's propensity for cancer development was met with a roll of her cornflower blue eyes, because people could be so stupid about smoking. But she wasn't going to lecture, because she didn't know him well enough for that, despite indicators otherwise on her phone. Sometimes she wasn't totally logical, and it felt weird to think she was good friends with someone who she needed a picture to recognize.
Well, that was, until he said her name. Her attention became more focused, then, and her face lit up with the turning cogs of intelligence, and she reevaluated the situation before her.
A few seconds of perusal more, and she joined him on the step, head still turned so she could look at him for a bit longer, arms resting on her knees and her arm against his. "Different how? I think I'm younger than I'm supposed to be, but I didn't provide myself with much pertinent information about my own age and situation. I probably didn't want to mess with timelines." Which she also said smugly, because that was way smart. "You're younger than you should be, too. It's in my notes." That said, she ignored the vodka and plucked the cigarette from between his fingers. She flattened the cigarette beneath expensive booties, and then she took the vodka and read the bottle label, nose scrunched, before she handed it back. "At least the quality of the ethanol you're imbibing is decent."