The glasses jump and so does Gideon, snatching her hand back to reach up to grab her sword, but there's a problem here, and it's that she's sitting down and also she's drunk. So getting her sword also means standing up which means discovering that she can't just jump up like that, which means falling over the back of the damn booth and into the next in a tumble of robes, iron and flesh.

She's up again in a moment, confused and disoriented, moving entirely off of the instincts honed from regularly getting rocked by an especially clever and nasty necromancer. Even with her body struggling through a haze of alcohol, she does finally get her hands on her sword and strike a stance, breathing heavily and deeply as she tries to make sense of what happened.

And here she thought things were going fine. Should have known better. Would have never gotten so sloppy on the Ninth.

"Yeah. Sure." She spits out, the mood thoroughly murdered. Gideon's had enough of girls who want to pull her guts out and also her stomach's aching after doing a flip. She doesn't lower he sword, but she does carefully get out of the booth and start making her way to the exit before she yarfs right here and probably gets a knife in the ribs for the crime of throwing up near Erin.