[Ginia holds still as her hair is touched, a slight sideway glance, a raise of a brow. Her posture tenses slightly, relaxes a little as Vandii pulls back. She's used to people invading her space, sometimes enjoys it when its on her terms. Not so much when she's trying to read someone.

The empathy bond is an interesting thing. She's realized in her time here it's exclusive to contact between the Displaced. It's a connection she's avoided as much as possible, but now Ginia wonders if she can leverage it her way.]

Your prosthesis, your height. I'm still impressed by the height. I'll have to take your word on fake limbs though. Can't say I'm in a rush to replace the ones I have right now.

[Nor can she afford to stand out. But if she could, there's the appeal of something more functionally ornamental.

Their drinks arrive, two trays of six shots a piece, salt and lime slices a plenty. Ginia wets the back of her hand and sprinkles salt on it.]

Cheers.

[Honestly, Ginia's never really enjoyed tequila shots that much. Too messy, too much of a production. But it's a crowd pleaser and her masochistic tendencies enjoy the burn. Ginia licks the salt, downs the shot, and bites into a slice of lime in a practiced motion.]