"That's what I meant, yeah." This time she stubs out her cigarette for good -- it's barely more than a butt, she has more -- and turns, her legs dangling over the arm of the couch. She could sit like a normal person, but where's the fun in that? (Also, wings...)

"Do you want anything? A drink or something? I've got..." She pauses, gazing vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. Steph probably does not want a beer. Nor does she probably want a mimosa. Megan would like a mimosa, but fuck, effort. "Pop, I think. Juice at least." The subject change is not her most graceful, not that they ever are, but that's about all she feels up to talking about on that for now.