[Her voice has a compelling rasp, and a touch of old Lauren Bacall. Richie finds his curiousity piqued — female voices were much, much harder to adopt, sure, but he's apt to hone in on the quirks all the same. There's a few he can pull off, and those he can't he can twist around into characters invented for radio.

None of that is quite so important now. His own smile broadens mischievously when she bats the ball back into his court.]

I'll pump the breaks all you like. It did fine for the tortoise, didn't it? [He turns briefly, snitching a small bottle from the pass behind the bar. Surely the bartender won't mind, since he's busy trying to rattle payment out of a lowlife in the corner.]

You ought to up the ante. Tell your guy to take a shot of this.

[He dangles the tiny glass bottle by the neck. The label reads "Tobasco".

His grin can only be described as shit-eating.]