"If I had a penny for every time I heard that one..." Twenty-four years in America, and Raff's Irish brogue was just as thick as it had been the first day he'd set foot on its shores. Not that he was trying all that hard to get rid of it; he'd met a lot of people that were real suckers for a good accent, and that lot of people seemed to think that his was one of them. It certainly went over with the fans, just his own little something that set him apart from the rest of the vampires out there making a name for themselves.
And here he was with the perfect opportunity to do just that. He wasn't nearly as inebriated as she was, but he was working on it. He'd gotten a handful of pills from some bloke in a back alley between the show and the after party—he hadn't asked what they were and he didn't much care as long as they got the job done. Wasn't like they were going to kill him, no matter what he mixed. Wasn't much but the sun that could do that, and that was a long ways off. He'd crushed them up and dissolved them into the drink in his hand and between the alcohol and who knew what else he was finally starting to feel... something, at least.
"It'll be more than your cherry in a minute there," he cautioned her. He could probably get to her before she actually tipped herself over the railing, if push came to shove, but that would likely end in some sort of compromising position and with his luck, that would be just the moment her big brother decided to step out and check on her. Normally Raff wouldn't much mind one way or the other, but he was liking this whole band business. He'd like to keep at it for at least a while longer.