Between the pumping bass and what tastes like remnants of strawberries and vodka on her lips, whatever the male was telling Yoobi seemed to fly right over her head. This doesn't at all stop her from laughing anyway, a little more than buzzed(read: understatement of the year) and feeling quite glad to be reciprocating some undivided attention at a bar this late when the weekend is so close by. She was almost certain he was repeating stories from earlier, weaving sentences that didn't quite make sense just to stall for time as she steadily becomes more intoxicated from having had one too many sips of too-sweet cocktails in too-tall glasses.

A distinct buzzing steals her attention however, sitting up fully to stare at her lap in mild astonishment. She stares for a few moments at the clutch resting on her thighs and then back up at whats-his-name, his features clear only because he was uncomfortably close. "Why is my bag making that noise?!" spills from her lips in less syllables that it would normally have, slurred together albeit her efforts of shouting it over the music. Her remark is brushed off with a lopsided grin that tugs the corners of her lips upwards to form one that was similar in appearance, thoughts of vibrating purses long forgotten as she shifts on the bar stool to fully face the other again. Whatever he whispers in her ear coaxes her to down the rest of her drink, giggling not because of coherent words but the way his breath tickled her neck.

But the handsome stranger didn't seem to care, and perhaps she would have if she was sober on any other night. Problem was, she wasn't - at all. So it didn't seem like she was about to snap out of it anytime soon.