Her first instinct is a middle finger and a fuck you, and maybe that's where she would have gone anyway except there's a puddle made up of all of Gideon's half-digested cocktails and she's pretty sure she smeared her stupid greasepaint so she's less of a grim skull and more of a rorschach test for drunken idiots. Any attempt at cool defiance is just going to come off as pathetic teen sulking.

This is enough like an apology to count and anyway, Gideon's accepted it's half her fault for forgetting herself. So she takes the glass and has a swig, swishing it around and spitting it out into the puddle before she speak. "Yeah. How about we start again, and you tell me what's worth stabbing over first, so I don't tell a joke that gets me a new set of holes in my chest."

She swallows some of the water this time and slowly gets to her feet, making sure not to touch Erin or look for assistance up. Thankfully, she's got a big ass sword and it turns out that in a pinch, a sword makes for a great support/cane. She'll be pissed come morning when she sees she's dulled the tip to shit, but that's future Gideon's problem and she has never once given a spit about what troubles await that version of her.