The gaggle of ponies at the table silently watched the two of them, politely, but somewhat menacingly, waiting for them to wet their lips. Isabelle’s VIP seized his drink and quickly knocked back a healthy gulp before slapping it down on the black wooden table. She reached for hers more carefully, and took a delicate, feminine sip. Maybe it would be best to play up the fiction that she was just a decoration, and not actually a fighter at all.