She hesitantly indulged in another gulp of her drink, face pinched as she clung lightly to the stranger's history. Her drink--a French Connection, as per the menu-- seemed far from it's romantic, sweet, namesake. The bitter spice of brandy tickled her throat, and the art student fidgeted, stalling her drink by sliding it around on the coaster. Twenty bucks is twenty bucks. Asami took another sip.

Perhaps the man wasn't as classy as she had assumed him to be. Yet, Asami maintained her chic composure, and even mustered a laugh at his commentary about convenience store restrooms. "Pretty expensive place to be drinking, don't you think?" she murmured, eyeballing the vaulted ceilings from under her bold eye makeup. 

All her life, she'd been adept at reading the feelings of others around her. Her therapist claimed it was a trauma response, and Asami simply went with her word. The bartender: tired, irritated; the man to the other side of her: heartbroken. The disheveled man across from her, however...

She came up empty.

"I'm here for extra credit," she admitted, after bowing her head in acknowledgement of his comment, a silent [i]thank you[/i]. Perhaps he had hit on her, but she was entirely used to it. Despite his haggard appearance, she doubted that he'd be capable of anything while stuck in a wheelchair. "I'm not really part of the show, but..." she trailed off, thinking at how she'd spent the last several hours trotting around in her dress. Running errands, finalizing seats. Asami'd even spent a good hour on her knees, holding back the hair of a stranger who had her face buried past the rim of a toilet, the poor girl wracked with anxiety. All for a passing grade, which is what she'd have to settle for in Branwell's cutthroat class. 

"The teacher's kind of a [i]hardass[/i]," she groaned, teeth grit at the thought of her professor's stubbornness. She twitched the drink coaster along in front of her. "People online tell you that all you gotta do is ask for a little grade bump and most of your teachers'll help you out but," she rolled her eyes, "not [i]this[/i] guy. And I've been here since noon taking care of all the little details, hoping [i]maybe[/i] he'd take notice but now he's probably off canoodling with Jean-Paul Gaultier and the paparazzi." Her watch angled towards her face, and Asami scrutinized it with narrowed eyes.

"Shit, it's nearly time," she quipped. "Would you like help getting to your seat, Mister, er...?" The young woman tilted her head, her expression softening into a saintly smile.