[ emma doesn't shrink away from him like she would have in the last week. she'd spent those days as if he'd returned to his previous state of solidity, like he'd go right through her if she dared get close again, but in reality, it had been a defense of sorts. it had all been to avoid the possibility of showing more of her hand than she meant to. with the warmth of the alcohol in her system, however, her response to him is far less guarded, what with the way so much tension just slides from her at the gentle touch, how it puts her at ease. tentative, light, but still contact after going so far out of her way to avoid it.

she glances at him sidelong, a faint smile almost tugging at the corner of her lips. ]

I hardly see a single charmin' thing about my unsteadiness, Faraday.

[ but there's no ice in her words, no real argument. she ought to have a seat if she's going to wait the alcohol out. ]

Though I reckon I'd be liable to actually lose a finger if I tried to finish my meal at this moment.

[ knives and alcohol seemed a terrible mix, anyway.

so, with a touch of stubbornness that's more for show than anything, emma sits back down at the table, peering expectantly up at faraday as if to say, 'good enough?' ]