"Enjoy." She was too distracted to think about getting any enjoyment about watching him drink the whiskey. Instead, she was almost halfway to the bar the second the word was said.

"Oi!" She shouted again. "Shut th' fuck up, all of you!"

"Go fuck yourself, Red!" one of the patrons shouted back, obviously way too drunk.

Skip said nothing. Not at first. Instead, she threw something. The first thing she could lay a hand on. It didn't hit him -- it wasn't supposed to. Instead, it hit the wall with enough force to be heard.

"Get the fuck outta here! Y' got ten seconds. If y' don', that's gonna be a bottle meetin' your face 'fore I drag you out!"

Even drunk, the man seemed to know better than to argue with that, and he slunk out like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"That's what I fuckin' thought," Skip muttered as she went to collect the plastic that had chipped off her mobile phone, its screen shattered all to pieces. "Fuckin' bastard. Broke another goddamn phone."