"Graying. Bald spot. Old," Faye replies, ticking each point off on her fingers with no small amount of smugness. It's not that she actually minds the age, nor that she has anything against a receding hairline. Jet was worse off in all of those areas by far, and came across as nearly twice his age sometimes, but she still adored him in her way. But getting a rise out of someone she doesn't even know, that's amusing in its own right.

Pressing her knuckles against her temple, Faye looks the man up and down, the anklet on her boot shifting. "Craps," she decides, arching a brow. "Or poker, if you have the time to spare."