Nalia simply ignored Marcel’s baseless insult. She moseyed on over to the other side of the bar, pretending like there was something more important to adjust her attention to, only to look at her watch on her arm to check the time. In about a minute, should he stand up, the Everclear-strength shot should hit him hard, and fast. Doesn’t matter the tolerance level of the individual drinking it, Nalia loved giving this stuff to losers. She managed her hands on it when somebody from another universe opened up a distillery in the city and supplied the stuff to her. It was mild like top shelf vodka, but absolutely brutal like the 190-proof Everclear of Earth.<br/><br/>Lydia glanced over at what the stranger was looking at and saw Marcel peeking over at her every so often, noticing a glass in his hand. She shook her head and brought her gaze back to the man in front of her, “no need to trouble yourself. If he hasn’t been kicked out of the bar yet, then my sister is likely taking care of him.” She sounded sincere when she said it, but ‘taking care’ had a drastically different meaning knowing Nalia had about the same amount of patience for Marcel’s type as she did: none at all.