"Nah, I ditched him. He was bein' a big pill." Clearly Shrieky should feel honoured that she decided his attention was more worthy of her time than that other dude. He's nice enough so far anyway, so she's going to take this as a decision making victory.

She slams her next shot before starting on her beer, which she takes a lot slower because she is just sober enough to remember that mixing hard liquor too fast is a recipe for puke soup. Her feet are dangling inches from the floor -- she's rather short, even in her ridiculous heels -- and her wings are opening and closing in a gentle wafting motion, resulting in her taking up a lot more space than she ought. "And yeah, I guess so! They don't really have to until something shitty happens to them, though -- like, they get turned into something not-human and then whoops, pee ess, everyone is totally a jerk all the time to them, wah wah suddenly everyone cares about like, prejudice and stuff. It's, like, ironic, or something." Or something.