Alistair had never been terribly fond of the destruction of his personal space. On principle, the artist so often kept to himself, taking little interest in fostering those interpersonal relationships with his coworkers or those clients beyond what was required out of necessity. He had few friends in college - though they too were all but lost when he returned to Sacrosanct after the completion of his degree. He relished in that personal space, and in the silence it provided him, his own artwork near requiring some sort of quietness to come to its fruition. The very sensation of that arm slung over his shoulder made Alistair pause, his emerald eyes near narrowing ever so slightly as his head shifted to stare at the woman that so hovered over his shoulder, glancing down at the artwork sprawled upon that page he presently was staring at. He was unprepared for the woman's sudden insistence that he join her in her overindulgence of that beverage. His eyebrow rose ever so slightly as she continued to inform him that she had little to spend her apparently vast wealth upon and yet, for the moment, he said little as he snuck that sketchbook from the table, folding it close only to securely place it back in the protective embrace of his messenger bag. It was with some hesitance that Alistair accepted that drink, his order placed with the awaiting bartender before the artist near demanded she stopped her insistent leaning.

That clear shift away from her so seemed to make his point as the woman sat down in the chair next to him, the man more than capable of ignoring that roll of her eyes. For a long moment, Alistair watched her as she took a particularly large swig of her drink. How very well he understood her drunken tendencies. How many times had he attempted to lose himself at the bottom of a bottle, to forget those less than favorable memories that so assaulted him? Alistair was not usually one to concern himself with the affairs of others - the man certain he would regret that inquiry that so left his lips as he inquired just what was the cause to the woman's visible distress. His eyebrow rose at that narrowed look she gave him and yet, Alistair was hardly the sort to be daunted by a hardened stare. That glimpse of disgruntlement, however, hardly lasted very long before it was replaced with a saccharine sweet simper, the very sort he could see through all too easily. "Let's see, you're so drunk you can hardly walk in a straight line, you're buying strangers drinks because you have nothing and no one to spend your money on, and your getting wasted on a Tuesday evening." An almost challenging look crossed the man's own emerald eyes, as if he was daring her to tell him just how wrong he was when both knew otherwise. He watched as she brought her glass to her lips, quite clearly stalling in some effort to avoid that inquiry that so brought the girl to such a state of distress.

She was saved, however, by the arrival of the bartender and his own ordered glass of Whiskey. He said little, however, as the woman provided the man with her own now empty glass. Really, she shouldn't be further indulging at yet, he supposed, she was hardly his problem at the end of the day. Her statement only caused his gaze to shift back towards her, though Alistair hardly joined in on that mock laughter, the man merely staring at her in a stern sort of manner. He was, admittedly unsurprised that it was the supernatural that so seemed to afflict her. Frankly their kind, and what he suspected was too her kind, seemed to bring little else than trouble - things Alistair had very little wish to be involved in. It was with a soft sigh upon his lips that the boy so leaned upon the palm of his hand, inquiring with yet another question he was sure to regret. "And what did you cat do to you?" He watched as she fell silent, those thoughts so clearly afflicting her far deeper than she wished them to and yet, that moment was almost fleeting before her gaze turned back towards him.

Her desire to change the topic was almost desperately obvious and yet, Alistair supposed, for now, that he would allow it. A small shrug crossed his shoulder at her observation and yet he remained silent as the young woman continued, insisting she was certainly not going to set the thing on fire. "Frankly I was more concerned of you spilling your drink on it....or throwing up," Alistair commented dryly, both options surely less than favorable when it came to the sheer importance of that notepad within his bag. Her sudden inquiry caused his eyebrow to rise again almost skeptically, the woman quickly insisting that there were no strings attached to her offer before presenting him with....was that supposed to be a smile. "Are you trying to....date me?" He inquired, altogether baffled by the woman and her drunken mannerisms. That sudden inquiry of his work however, perhaps one of the few topics Alistair ever spoke of with any real enjoyment and yet, the vagueness of this one merely prompted yet another shrug of his shoulders. "Whatever my clients ask for." He responded, pausing before adding in an almost careful manner, "Right now it's a logo for a website for a popular book series." After all, part of his work required a certain level of discretion, at least, until said project was launched to the world at large.