She may consider herself a stone-cold bitch, and she's certainly harder than a lot of the self-righteous pretenders, so certain in their moral superiority that they're generally intolerable. To Drifter, she's just fine. Genuine to the core, but still as vulnerable as that giant china doll aesthetic looks. That's how he reads her, and yeah, he's not always right. But at least his judgement currently makes him more inclined to like her for what she is.

A monster. Just like him.

He picks up the glass offered to him and raises it with one of his patented wry grins. He's all teeth and steely eyes, and it's playful the way that a cat is playful before it decides to scale a leg.

"Trust, me, sister. My heart wouldn't stay stopped for more than a few seconds before I got torn apart at the atoms and put right back together in working order. Comin' back? Fresh start, every damn time."

Still wishes he knew where those damn scars on his cheeks came from.

"Well, you oughta always have more than one set on surveillance anyway. Me and my crew? We ran a bunch of heists. It's more important to keep an eye on the surroundings. You can train one or two to move real quick and clean a place out. But it don't matter if you don't got eyes on all your exits, you dig? But even if you'd had a stack of helpful look-outs, I still woulda come down."

He takes a drink from the cup. "Wouldn't want you to have to get dolled up in the more literal sense at the ball."