[I was afraid you'd gotten tired of the thread, or something. *insecure* I watched Cap2 just before replying last time, so Steve got more melancholy than I'd planned on, I was afraid you got tired of his Debbie Downer routine. Lesson learned, that, lol!]
"Well, yeah," Steve replied, rather abashed as he followed her over to the table, "and I did, but..." He shrugged as he placed his cup beside hers and grabbed the punch bowl. He leaned toward Marie and spoke softly, not wanting any of the other participants to hear. "I saw where she took that flask from, and I wasn't gonna put my hand up an old woman's skirt!" He'd felt awkward enough when he'd had to search her purse, especially with the way she'd been eyeing him the whole time; he was pretty sure she wouldn't have minded at all if he'd put his hand up her skirt, which was just one more reason he'd been uncomfortable at the very thought of it.
Sniffing delicately at the bowl of punch, he was pretty sure she hadn't actually managed to get anything in there, but it was hard to tell. He could smell now that she'd opened it that she had Sherry in the flask (and she'd definitely been sampling the merchandise, which every bootlegger and runner would tell you was bad business practice), but the punch seemed fine. It was hard to tell since Sherry was so sweet anyway, but he didn't smell alcohol in the bowl. Maybe a few drops, but not enough to affect anyone's liver or impair their judgment. It was cooking Sherry, for heaven's sake!
Omg, don't worry about it! <3
"Well, yeah," Steve replied, rather abashed as he followed her over to the table, "and I did, but..." He shrugged as he placed his cup beside hers and grabbed the punch bowl. He leaned toward Marie and spoke softly, not wanting any of the other participants to hear. "I saw where she took that flask from, and I wasn't gonna put my hand up an old woman's skirt!" He'd felt awkward enough when he'd had to search her purse, especially with the way she'd been eyeing him the whole time; he was pretty sure she wouldn't have minded at all if he'd put his hand up her skirt, which was just one more reason he'd been uncomfortable at the very thought of it.
Sniffing delicately at the bowl of punch, he was pretty sure she hadn't actually managed to get anything in there, but it was hard to tell. He could smell now that she'd opened it that she had Sherry in the flask (and she'd definitely been sampling the merchandise, which every bootlegger and runner would tell you was bad business practice), but the punch seemed fine. It was hard to tell since Sherry was so sweet anyway, but he didn't smell alcohol in the bowl. Maybe a few drops, but not enough to affect anyone's liver or impair their judgment. It was cooking Sherry, for heaven's sake!