Briar waited for the other shoe to drop; for this stranger to lunge, to spit something foul her way she'd have to beat his ass for, for someone else to creep from the woodworks for an ambush, to ask her for a favor. There were only so many reasons she could imagine a complete and total stranger fumbling stiffly up to her, or, even, to approach at all.

But... what's this?

Just a simpering man after his woman; Briar's countenance twisted into frivolous amusement, a grin lighting her features.

Have a little lovers spat, huh? Or maybe y'pissed her off bad-bad and she's done with you?

Or maybe something tragic, something less funny. The possibilities were endless, this of course Briar knew, but imagining him as some kid fresh into hormones chasing some tail was so much more pleasing to her own ear.

Ain't seen anyone, but I can fill in for her for a night if you're just looking to blow off steam, she tossed back, teeth bared in a grin that could've been serious and flirting or entirely mocking. Truthfully, it was both -- it was usually both. In the same way, she could've been talking about fighting or fucking.... and, in the same way, she meant both. Either! Whatever worked, frankly -- and, if all else failed, she was watching raptly for his reaction just to see what awkwardness bubbled back out.