@voxmichele
“Sweet, thanks. I’ll take it,” Michele said gratefully, catching the drink as the guy slid it over to her. She took a long, experimental sip. It was fruity and delicious; probably stronger than what she usually drank, considering the sweetness masked the taste of the alcohol. But if she didn’t drink anything else tonight, she’d probably be fine. Besides, who was going to yell at her? Certainly not Kosmo.
“I bet you could rock the fruity drink if you wanted to,” she offered the guy. “It’s pretty good, you sure you don’t want it?” She smiled around the straw.
If there was one thing Dorian could appreciate about shadowhunters, it was the fact that it took exactly none of his moderately attuned senses to know what they were. The thick black lines of ink that poked haphazardly out of her clothing were advertisement enough. He sized her up over the rim of his glass as he took a sip, but otherwise didn’t seem to care. A little angel blood never bothered him, as long as they didn’t mistake him for something that went bump in the night.
“I try to watch my sugar intake.” He might look pretty good for over four centuries old, but Dorian was under no delusions that this was forever. Besides, with no real supernatural advantages in his human form other than heightened senses that lingered even after a shift, he had to make sure to take care of himself so he could still fight even without teeth and claws.
… but a little couldn’t hurt. “I’ll take this bit.” Without asking permission, he reached over to snag one of the cocktail swords with a few pieces of fruit, chasing his next sip of whiskey with a blue-stained piece of pineapple. “Cheers.”