[She refrains from telling him that working as a waitress for as long as she did at a pub had taught her that the ones that refrained from belching were usually the ones that ended up tossing their cookies pretty early in the evening, since that isn't exactly a situation she wants to conjure up. Knowing her luck, it would just mean she'd end up throwing up later (even with her accelerated metabolism).]

If you did that, I'd probably just end up falling out of my chair laughing.

[At least it would mean a lift in her mood -- although Alistair's already helping with that. It's easy to isolate yourself and forget that there are people here who have offered her support, even if she hasn't taken advantage of it earlier to keep herself from getting this bad. While they walk, she thinks up some small talk.]

Most of the time I've been in a bar has been spent serving drinks. It's almost weird to come to the place here and just -- order stuff.