Black. They're those briny Greek olives. [She picks the umbrella out of her drink between two slightly chewed fingernails (it has been a long, long day) and waves it at him.]

Don't put down umbrellas. Drinks with umbrellas in them are for all ages. All adult ages.

[She puts on her very serious law-abiding face, which slips to a smirk too fast to really have much of an impact, and downs another mouthful of her drink. Is there gin in this too, or is that just the rosemary? She can't really tell.]

This one. The other one's all gimmicks.

[This one's at least part gimmicks, she admits to herself, eyeing his smoking, half-melted glass -- no one is really going to drink anything that does that to plastic, are they? What's in it, nail polish remover?

Still, it's got her god's charm in the window. So she has a partisan favorite.]