"Mary tell you already?" She runs a hand down her face, and then she huffed out a laugh. "I mean, have a seat, John." She looks like shit, and she really fucking wishes she could smoke in here. She sucks in a breath and drains the end of the glass she's holding, and sets down the glass to take the new one.

She's starting to go way past tipsy to drunk, and she doesn't care. She doesn't care about anything, right now. "Jax got stabbed by some guys on motorcycles and hit by an SUV, so I guess it's the same old, same old."

Sarcasm is the only thing that she can hide behind, her scarred hand pressing flat against the wood bar to stop it from trembling.