[ She hears everything, but Nea, Melinoë, focuses on the forensics part. Where before this was plain fun distraction, her focus has now shifted, and it's the drink that escalates everything. The Goddess would have been interested based on that fact alone, but her mood alteration pushes it into sheer jubilation border-lining obsession. Fuck a refil, she wants to know more, and with a spin that fans out ebony silky locks, Dulcinea returns to Damien and their table, eyes a-glitter. ]

You're forensics? 

[ Her hands are clasped and she looks ready to crawl into his lap, only there's the leg, so that eliminates straddling, and she's left there instead with a minor obstacle. Which is overcome by simply crawling onto the table. Close enough. Mindful of the leg, of his junk, Nea gently rests her feet between his limbs, the skirts of her dress splayed out along the top of the table, dripping between them. If only her abilities were working, because then she could smell the death on him, could taste it. ]