( her reply comes from between gritted teeth as hands attempt in vain to cover the patchy holes. when that doesn't work, kara tries to pinch the fabric together, which only serves to pull up her hem beyond acceptable heights. that won't do either. without a cardigan or a sweater to cover her, she's left simply exposed, and increasingly annoyed by it. )

You weren't supposed to actually hit me. ( a huff, a hand coming up to adjust her glasses from the corners; her arms cross over her chest in a pose that almost makes her look like an angry dad getting ready to deliver a speech. ) You owe me new clothes.

And free club soda for life, or... ( or what. she can't just beat him up, as much as she'd like to, without having to do a significant amount of community service in the process. not that kara's fundamentally opposed to volunteerism, but she'd rather not have to do it just to get out of the metaphorical red. an alternative punishment comes to mind as the ash of burned cotton begins to itch at her ribcage. ) Or I'll tell Oliver you tried to get me naked for your bar buddies.

( she's not really the kind of girl to hide behind her boyfriend, and mick knows it. it's a last resort, ace-in-the-sleeve sort of threat, only employed when absolutely necessary. )