"You're new," Sam said. It wasn't a question. When you were always on the outside, looking in, you got really good at paying attention to what--or who--you were looking at. "First one's on the house."

She offered the model the bottle.

"Just don't burn a hole in your throat or something."

It had taken Sam a long fucking time to get used to the kibbutz-like nature of the clown rodeo they called home. She was used to barter systems. Boons were more or less the sole currency of the Kindred. But the idea of just...doing shit for one another? That had taken a lot of practice and patience.

Sam wasn't the one to explain it to new arrivals. She was actually fucking terrible with the n00bs, usually.