Mel was feeling pleasantly warm and fuzzy inside, thanks to the alcohol, and it seemed that her grin had become permanent. In spite of her somewhat rough-and-tumble appearance, she was a fairly happy drunk. A bit silly, and perhaps unintentionally terrifying given her "condition," but fairly happy. The snake-woman-thingy seemed to get it.
"No, thanks, I have my own gla--"
Mel froze suddenly, her milky-green gaze swiveling toward the door. Nostrils quivered as her mouth suddenly salivated, a greyish-green tongue moving to moisten her dark-tinged lips. The overwhelming smell, the sweet, cloying scent.. The zombie's hand actually shook as she snuffed her cigarette, downing the last of her bottle of whiskey and cracking the fresh one the kindly lamia had brought to her table.
"Someone's bleeding out there," she murmured, licking her lips again and trying hard to ignore that familiar urge that delectable aroma always seemed to arouse.