In truth, York can't really complain about anybody coming into the bar stinking to high heaven. Everybody stinks. York hasn't had a shower in at least five days, and her hair is lank, a little greasy, and she's sure she's got to be pretty fragrant by now. But somehow, an equally-marinated pubescent teenage boy smells so much worse. York barely wrinkles her nose, though, and she gives Marco a sort of grim smile.

"Maybe if I were in a worse mood, but trust me, kiddo, I'm not that cruel. Nothin' worse than a hangover during a water shortage." York rubs a glass clean with a barely damp cloth, leaning against the bar. It's not like she'd forgotten about the other day. She's glad to see that Marco made good on coming to see her, and it's just as well that it's not too crowded tonight. Everybody here's already drunk enough not to care what they're talking about anyway, she figures.

"Besides, bourbon doesn't taste nearly as good when you're coughing it out your nose," she adds, a little wryly. She gives Marco a good, thorough look. He doesn't just look unshowered and grubby like the rest of them. "So how's your week been, huh?"