Fray shrugged her shoulders and tilted her head, narrowing brilliant blue eyes at the cup in front of the guy who must be taught to never, ever call her 'darlin'' ever again. Ever. "Dunno. What'd you say to 'em?" Mel took a sip of hers and swallowed, and thought about what she'd said. "I asked for a medium coffee. Black. S'all I said. Maybe they think that's regular, and this is whatcha get when you say 'black?' I got no ruttin' clue."
She smiled a little. Wow, this had brassed the guy off, hadn't it?
"Course, it might just be that the last time they pulled that with me, I hit the chick behind the counter." Mel shrugged, and winked. "Don't call me darlin', okay, we'll get along fine."
She slid the cup toward him and took his, looking at it, eyebrow raised. The gesture was clear-- trade you, if you want. She could use the sugar, after all. Mel extended her right hand, black fingerless gloves and steel-colored fingernails hovering over the table for the guy to take. "I'm Mel," she said. "Or Fray. Not," she said, raising both eyebrows and smiling, "darlin', no matter how cute the accent is."