[ The first time Carla had a drink was when she was thirteen years old. Isaac Crew pushed a beer in her hands and told her to drink. She did so without grimacing, but told him it was swill. So he'd taken her to a party and let her taste a little of everything. She never liked any of it, not the taste, not the effects, and her disdain for drunkards eventually reached a plateau where she simply refused to be one of them. No one ever minded for long. She hadn't needed to be plied with drinks to convince her to take her clothes off, to use her mouth. She was never the one waking up with a headache and guilty conscience.
She hasn't had a drop since then. Has weathered all of the bartenders giving her filthy looks when she asks for water, all the surprised would-be suitors wondering if she's one of those types. And if it had been up to her, she wouldn't have broken that today, but the choices had been drink nothing at all or drink champagne. She supposes she would have survived until midnight, but a little had turned into too much and she's irritated with herself. She's also dizzy and feels unpleasantly graceless as she tries to make her way quietly back in to the warehouse. If she were sober, she'd have the sense to just take off her heels. Instead, she's teetering along and quite possibly lost on the way to her room.]
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She hasn't had a drop since then. Has weathered all of the bartenders giving her filthy looks when she asks for water, all the surprised would-be suitors wondering if she's one of those types. And if it had been up to her, she wouldn't have broken that today, but the choices had been drink nothing at all or drink champagne. She supposes she would have survived until midnight, but a little had turned into too much and she's irritated with herself. She's also dizzy and feels unpleasantly graceless as she tries to make her way quietly back in to the warehouse. If she were sober, she'd have the sense to just take off her heels. Instead, she's teetering along and quite possibly lost on the way to her room.]