[ Someone's come to say hello, Jack, and she hasn't quite decided if she'd rather you be vaguely pleasant or downright awful to her when she does. When Betina comes calling, it's with that bright wintery smell of evening air on her, draped over with the haze of already smoked cigarettes and the very faintest trace of something tannic like whiskey.
In her hand is a wine glass with a modest pouring of merlot (from her own kitchen, not the party downstairs; pleasant or unpleasant she's loathe to offer Jack something as detestable as box wine). When she saunters over, she offers it to him silently, the corners of her mouth turning upwards and her eyebrow raised as if challenging him to refuse her first olive branch of the year. ]
no subject
In her hand is a wine glass with a modest pouring of merlot (from her own kitchen, not the party downstairs; pleasant or unpleasant she's loathe to offer Jack something as detestable as box wine). When she saunters over, she offers it to him silently, the corners of her mouth turning upwards and her eyebrow raised as if challenging him to refuse her first olive branch of the year. ]