Heather dislikes bars. Well, bars for other people. There are certain watering holes in Paris, and New York, where she can deign to be seen.

Heather sighs and slides into a seat. No wine, it looks like, and their selection of Scotch is a bit... lacking.

Sigh. Beggars can't be choosers.

"No, of course not, darling." She says, with a shrug, after placing her order. She looks at her companion. "Ar you old enough to drink?" She asks, curious.