She is calmed due to the fact that he doesn't seem to notice the red flush that has suddenly made its grande display on her cheeks and the color soon fades as the conversation moves forward.

The barkeep returns to the pair of them, offering another fill of whiskey for the tipsy blonde, but she must decline politely. "No, thank-you." A subtle, pearly smile is given to the man before she turns back to her company as he now responds to her earlier spew of vivid emotion upon her history here with the city. "That it is." She nods in agreement to his statement, remembering all of the old, worn down venues she used to photograph at when she was nothing more than just a freelance photographer. The career path she has taken now still places her in line for some old-timey areas and yet they must always be where the bride chooses - sometimes vintage does not win over modern in that battle. If she were given more time from her day, she may have given a second thought to picking back up on her photography as a hobby, but little time is spared for the hard-working woman that Rose is. She enjoys her job immensely and yet she wonders if there will be a day when she can get a solid weekend off; though the flexibility of her vacation time is fabulous on the other hand.

She perks up again at his remark toward his reasoning for coming to the city - tracking down an old friend - though she can't say that she can be of any help. Most of the clientele she caters to is of the feminine variety and the majority of the men are smart to stay clear. "Well, here's to hoping you will be reunited." She lifts her glass and finishes the final swig of her drink, knowing full well that she should have just left it at one, but she was never rude enough to brush off another person's generosity. It's a shame that she was such a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

"So, you and this friend go pretty far back?" A gentle smile is given as her light, southern accent flows in a lyrical manner from her lips. Most people describe southern accents to be very melodic and yet there are those who can stand anything but. Rose has always suppressed her own accent while she has been living in the city so that she can dodge what ridicule may come from it, but she finds herself slipping back into that southern drawl when she becomes all too comfortable.

She is nothing less than interested in Erik and what company he brings, but this unfortunate circumstance has her slowly spiraling out of control. She finds herself needing to keep an arm propped against the bar to stop her head from spinning, all the while trying to listen to what he has to say. Damn that second drink. Oops, look here, now she's gone to cursing. One glass of whiskey was all the poor blonde ever really needs. "I'm sorry for my.. clumsiness. One drink suits me just fine, but I am a fool if you get more than that in me." Her hand flies to her mouth suddenly, a light laugh expelled from her lips as she realizes how raunchy her words may have slipped out at the end. "Please.. don't let my diminishing manners turn you away. Maybe we can meet again on more sober terms." She tries to recover from her never-ending fall to embarrassment and the inevitable rejection at the end of the night.

Nothing a few hours of watching 'Friends' and sleeping until noon the next day won't fix. And maybe some self-loathing. Perhaps a ban from all things alcoholic for a while.