She's taken aback for half a second at the volume of his voice, raised more than most of the people she's ever interacted with. Generally, she's the loud one. The only one who cares enough to raise her voice. But she doesn't back down now, face flushing in indignation, because of course — of course he, like everyone else who's ever come across her, takes one look at her and assumes they know everything.

Why else would anyone paint a caricature of themselves? Shorts too short for the quickly dropping temperature, midriff left startlingly bare. If people are going to make assumptions, at least let them be predictable.

"Screw the money, you can have it," she says, waving a hand dismissively in the general direction of the races. "And if you want your pride, well, you know I cheated. You're really going to tell me that you don't see the difference between a game and risking someone's life?"

She takes another look at him, eyes dropping down and raising back up in an instant, gaze hard. "Or is that how little yours means to you?"