The Blue Marlin is one of those local establishments that falls under the category of "not fancy, just famous". It's not a dive in any respect, but it's very much a casual establishment, the kind of place with funny decorations on the walls and live music performances from local musicians playing over the speakers throughout the restaurant. It does good, steady business, and has an excellent reputation as the kind of place to go if you want simple, delicious seafood in a way that doesn't exactly break the bank.
The patrons are mostly mortal, today, with one very notable exception. A table in the corner has been staked out by Carter Logan, and the man stands out even more than usual here. The Devil stands out /everywhere/ - he's practically a walking limelight - but here, surrounded by people in graphic tees and jeans, he looks still more unearthy and remarkable in his perfectly tailored blue suit and tie.
Which is to say nothing of how he looks to the Lost. The Devil is not something that can be ignored; his presence seems to reach into the hindbrain and force the viewer to pay attention to him, whether they want to or not, and even like this, just casually cracking open a crab leg from a heaping platter of them in front of him, he demands respect. And caution. Even his suit is strange, and very much Fae, to those who have the eyes to see; it seems to be woven out of glittering fragments of brilliant sapphire, which somehow flow like water with his motions.
Mercifully for the patrons around him, though, the Devil only has eyes for two things at the moment: his food and the man on stage, who is looking exceptionally nervous as he tries to pick out the strains of "Classical Gas" on his old acoustic.
In step an odd pair, another mortal and a Changeling. Of course, Mavis the Mortal, has no idea that the arm has hers looped through belongs to something not entirely human. To her, that's just Amity, the first friend she made here in Tamarack Falls and she has dragged the introvert out for a late lunch. The stipulation being that Amity drive since she was the one with the car.
Mavis looks quite happy to be here, all cheery smiles and talking with her arm not notched with Amity's. "Sheesh, this place it great," breezes Mavis, turning her head to peer around the establishment. Her attention is pulled to the stage to the performance up there and then to a table where a family man in a sharp, three-piece suit dines alone. Her smile falters, waning down to a thoughtful frown. "Hey, I know that guy," she notes to Amity with a head-jerk in Mister Logan's direction.
Amity follows Mavis into the restaurant with an air of resignation that half-suggests someone walking to the gallows. It's not that she doesn't like seafood (she does and this place is close enough to the coast that she feels like it's trustworthy) or music. She just gets nervous and irritable around too many people. Call it spite, call it trauma, call it just plain being an invert. Whatver it is, her mood seems to ease when Mavis turns to speak to her. There's a touch of a smile, even!
"It's pretty neat. Not my usual scene," she adds as she looks at the stage, "but it's nice. Where d'you wanna sit?" The question trails away as Mavis notes that hey, she knows that guy, and she finds her eyes drawn to Carter even before Mavis finishes speaking. Her face goes a little paler than normal--this can't be one of the True Fae, though maybe it is? She doesn't know if they... go out and about in human guises or just uses servants or Privateers to do their dirty work. "...You do?" Okay, yes. Keep the conversation going.
Carter doesn't notice the pair when they first arrive. He demands attention; two not-quite-mortals in the sea of faces do not. At least, not to the same degree that the man on the stage seems to; the Devil's eyes follow the guitar player's fingers as they dance somewhat hesitantly over the strings. There's nothing judgmental, or even displeased, in his expression, but it is exceptionally intense scrutiny, as though every single motion, every last note, is of utmost importance.
When the song draws to a halting close, however, Carter gives a little smile and a nod of his head towards the player, who instantly seems immensely relieved about something. Carter himself just turns back to his platter of crab, as the man hops off the little stool on the stage and announces the next performer. It's in this moment, as another crab leg snaps in two under his fingers - somehow, despite the inherent messiness of crab, not so much as a drop ends up staining Carter's impeccable suit - that he happens to glance up and see Mavis at the door.
The smile that he gives is small, but quite warm, and the glance from Mavis to her companion only makes it grow. To the mortal girl, Carter just seems to be giving Amity the same appraising look that he gave her when they first met, but Amity herself can see the strange, slotted pupils in the Devil's black eyes, and see the fire dancing behind them. The fact that the little smile looks entirely genuine doesn't make the teeth behind it any less pointed.
Mavis gives a little shrug when asked where she wants to sit and spots an empty booth. "Over here's good," she says to Amity, tugging her along that-a-ways to bring them over to the booth. She takes her arm back, giving Amity back hers. The vantage of that booth would give them a view of the stage and Carter's lonely table nearby. Something about the guy, Mavis didn't think she could relax with her back to him, but she smiles back at Carter nonetheless. She peers over at Amity, picking up a little on her friend's anxiety, but filing it away as the bookworm's usual squirrelly behavior when she was brought out into public.
"And, yeah," confirms Mavis with another glance in Mister Logan's direction. Her gaze quickly flits back to Amity's bespectacled face, not wanting to gawk at the dapper gent for too long while he breaks open crablegs for their succulent meat. "I met him and November last night, coming out of Club Violet. He's kinda..." She frowns while trying to put a finger on that word she was looking for to describe Carter Logan and Mavis steals another glimpse at him just as he's putting crab meat into his mouth. Were those FANGS? Surely not. Finally Mavis finishes what she was saying to Amity, settling on the word: "Intense."
"Shit-shit," Mavis hisses, freezing where she stands by the vacant booth. Did Carter Logan just motion them over? "Yup, I think he wants us to come over. Fuck. He knows my boss?" The mortal looks down at herself and self-consciously straightens the bottom hem of her hoodie then takes Amity's arm again to lead her over to the man. She murmurs under her breath to Amity, "C'mon, let's not be rude."
"If he's a friend of November's, that makes sense," Amity replies without thinking. "The intense part, I mean..." Amity feels a deep wave of relief wash over her as Mavis chooses somewhere that isn't that close to Carter. The presence of the sublime Changelings (of which there must be several, apparently) is overwhelming for the poor woman and she's about to sink down to sit with Mavis when the other woman points out that, oh God, they've been invited over at the devilish man. She swallows. Then nods. She can deal witht his, for Mavis' sake, right?
"Well, if he knows your boss then we'd better not risk snubbing him, right?" Those are /definitely/ fangs and Amity wishes she wasn't going near them. All the same, she crosses the distance to Carter's table and politely (almost as if she were some kind of servant) pulls a chair out for Mavis. It's automatic, something she doesn't think about until after it's already done and she wonders if she looks /weird/ doing that. All the same, when Mavis sits, she takes her own chair and smiles, small and polite and entirely manufactured, across the table at Carter.
"I didn't realize Mavis was so quick to make friends around here. She's been here what, a week? And she knows more people than me already." Joke. It's a joke, right? Ha ha. Joke.
Mavis' and Amity's twin, faintly panicked reactions don't go unnoticed, but they also don't seem to offend. Carter just gives a little laugh - the sound, even at this distance, seems almost impossibly clear and bright - before shaking his head and looking back down to his crab. There's a hell of a lot of it; Carter is not a particularly large man, save for his height, but he seems to intend to clear the place out of its entire crustacean supply.
There's a slight noise as he drops a handful of discarded shells into a nearby bucket. As Mavis and Amity actually begin to approach the table, he settles back in his chair and plucks up a fork. There's coleslaw as well as crab, and a large plate of french fries, and a few tubs of melted butter, and lemon slices, and-
Carter, clearly, is not a man who does food by half-measures. The sheer decadence of the spread before him, and the sophistication of his dress, only stands out all the more because of the casual restaurant around it.
"Good afternoon, Miss Baines," he says, as they approach. His voice is heart-stopping. It's low, smooth, rich, flowing through the air like effortless music. His appearance is enough to draw attention naturally. The voice /commands/ it, even when speaking as warmly and genially as it is now. "I wasn't expecting to run into you again so soon, though I'm hardly going to complain. And I'm more than pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Miss...?"
He turns towards Amity, and there's an odd sensation of being simultaneously genuinely welcomed and scrutinizingly evaluated as he looks at her. There's no hostility there, but there is an intense search in his gaze, as if weighing Amity up against some hidden standard.
When she makes her little joke, he laughs again, far more naturally and amusedly than might be expected. "Oh, I wouldn't call us friends just yet," he says, with a brief glance back towards Mavis. "Though I'm certainly not against the idea. We just happened to be introduced by a mutual acquaintance. And Miss Baines does, indeed, have some understanding of art and the standards by which it should be judged, so." He waves an elegant, long-fingered hand through the air. "Further conversation is certainly worth pursuing."
No-but-really, HAD those been fangs Mavis had glimpsed inside of Carter's mouth? His laugh had an lulling edge to it that made Mavis think about those sharp teeth she thought she saw. She thinks about all of this with a pensive knit at her brows while on their way over to Mister Logan's table. Then while she and Amity are standing there before him with arms linked. Mavis un-weaves her arm from her friend's, this technique being something that the mortal employed now and then to haul the reluctant Amity around and when her companion draws out a chair for her, Mavis just playfully notes, "Why thank you, m'lady," but she's not going to sit without Carter's clear invitation to park her denim-clad rear-end there at his table. It leaves Mavis in a bit of a pickle, stuck standing, not sure if she should sit down, so she just grips the back of the chair with her hands. Mavis says in her best voice, "Good afternoon to you, Mister Logan." Nailed it.
The mortal shoots Carter an uneasy smile and lifts a hand from the back of the chair to wave in Amity's direction. "This is Amity and she's prob'ly just exaggerating," Mavis shares with a familiar, teasing tone in her voice and an exasperated roll of her honey-brown eyes. "She just doesn't get out much, which is why _I_," declares Mavis with a proud preen and she covers her heart with the hand she'd swept out toward Amity, "am a wonderful friend for prying her out of the house." She tilts her head at Carter, expression thoughtful. "It IS weird to bump into you again.. What're the odds, right? It's not that strange, though, we both like music and grub. Good for the soul," she proverbs with a nod of her mortal head. "And give it some time, Mister Logan." She beams at him, displaying neat, white teeth with that millimeter gap between the incisors and healthy, pink gums. "I always found it easier to make friends over enemies, mum taught me that. Lucky for Amity here~~"
"Truly, she is lucky to have someone so concerned for her social health." There's no mockery or sarcasm in Carter's voice as he says it. There's plenty of amusement, yes, but it's the kind of amusement that accompanies a shared joke among a group of friends. And his smile, to Mavis' eyes, remains soothingly normal. Exquisitely perfect, yes, but still normal.
"It's always distressing to see someone stuck in a rut," he continues, glancing back towards Amity. "If you never try anything new, how can you know whether or not you enjoy it? Experiment at every opportunity. Try /everything/." He reaches for a nearby glass of water as he says it, and somehow, impossibly, the perfectly-normal lighting of the restaurant contrives to catch and gleam on one of his strange, golden cufflinks. For the few seconds that it stays easily visible, the shape is clear: a door covered with bars, with those in the middle removed. Or, perhaps, broken.
He takes a sip from the glass, then waves his free hand towards the chairs in front of them. "Please, do sit," he says. Again, that note of friendly amusement. "No need for formality. I wouldn't have invited you over if I didn't want your company. And it is very much a pleasure, Miss Millikan." If he's bothered by Amity's manner of speech, he doesn't show it. He just smiles warmly again and sets his glass of water aside.
"On the note of experimentation," he adds, "consider today's meal on me. Not-" he raises one hand as if to forestall something from Mavis "-because I think you need the charity, but as an experiment. Try something new today, both of you. Something you've never ordered before. I'll cover the cost, and, should you fail to enjoy yourselves, I'll order something you know you enjoy to replace it."
Mavis shoots Amity a sidelong glance and her boots shuffle over the floor. When they're done with their shuffling, Mavis is closer to her friend and near enough that her arm brushes against Amity's own now and then. Solidarity, right? The mortal thinks she understands some of Amity's unease, Carter was an imposing man, but she sees him with her mortal sight and comprehension. He wasn't all that menacing to _her_ and, so, when Carter encourages them to sit Mavis does take a seat at the table. The dusky-skinned, black-haired artist scoots her chair in and moves it a wee smidgen closer to Amity's. Not too close. Not within elbow-bumping-range, but just outside of it.
The artist opens her mouth to protest when Carter announces that he was treating them to lunch, but then she closes as his hand raises to silence her. She shoots Amity a look-- no way out of it, is there?-- and turns her attention back to Carter with a smile. "All right, all right. You make it sound like some grand adventure," she tells him with a startled laugh and nervous fidget. "I agree to your terms, BUT," Mavis lifts an index finger with a pale, wooden ring around it, "you'll be hard pressed to find something I _haven't_ tried. Mom fancied the climate out east and loved the coast." In large part, that's why she chose this place to eat. Someone was a little "homesick" for familiar food.
The particular symbol on Carter's cufflink is... a little familiar. Amity is only vaguely familiar with most of the entitlements, but knows enough that this is something she should perhaps take note of. She waits, quietly, for Mavis to sit and trapped by the considerations of manners and her own unease, she sinks down into her own seat. The sutble closeness of her friend does help, though. As does having the mortal woman with her. It gives her someone else to focus on instead of her own anxiety, fear, and overwhelming reaction to the sublime devil in front of her. The offer from Carter makes her smile. A little.
"You are very kind to make such an offer, Mister Logan." The urge to call him 'Sir' or 'Master Logan' or some other, more formal title tickles at the back of her throat but she holds it in. "I'll be sure to find something I've not eaten, then." Mavis might notice this more than Carter, but Amity's language changes. It is stiffer. More formal. As if she were speaking to a customer rather than an acquaintance. "I understand you know Miss November?"
"Adventure, Miss Baines, is anywhere you find it," Carter says smoothly. There's still that note of amusement in his voice, but he obviously means it, too. "Learning a new instrument. Exploring a new genre. Building a new relationship. Trying new foods. Ingesting new hallucinogens. Journeying to new places. Anything and everything, so long as it is new, is an adventure. And it's through these adventures that we discover who we truly are."
He reaches over for a nearby shell-cracker and plucks up another set of crab legs. As he cracks them open and begins to extract the meat in long, succulent strips, there's that strange realization, again, that, despite the endless indulgence in exceptionally messy foods, Carter himself remains immaculate. There's not so much as a drop of butter or shard of errant shell anywhere, even though he eats quickly and ravenously.
"Your mother sounds like a woman of discerning taste, then," he adds, as he dunks another strip of crab meat into a tub of melted butter. "I've always had a weakness for seafood. I'd encourage you to give the house stew a try, as it's a proprietary recipe, but it's hardly likely to be /too/ far outside your comfort zone." He laughs, then looks briefly thoughtful. "I may have to point you in the direction of a local business, run by an associate of mine," he says, after a moment. "A lovely woman named Cardinal. She runs an ice cream shop specializing in new and unusual flavor combinations. Quite a lot of fun to be had there, I think - and she herself is, of course, a delight."
He looks back to Amity when she asks her question, and inclines his head in acknowledgement. Beyond Mavis' sight, a pair of obsidian-black horns gleam briefly in the light. "Indeed," he says. "Miss an Nua is one of the more entertaining persons in the area. A brilliant conversationalist, and always more than willing to push herself to try new and unusual things. We get along splendidly, and she was, in fact, the one who introduced me to Miss Baines." He gestures towards Mavis with his free hand, then snaps his teeth shut around another strip of crab meat.
A moment later, he snaps his fingers, and one of the mortal waitresses comes scurrying over as though supernaturally summoned. Carter's eyes remain on Amity as he does it, not even truly acknowledging the woman's presence, but his expression remains as warm and genial as ever. "Take your time, ladies," he says. "Anything you like, so long as it's new."
Mavis steals fleeting hints of solace by having Amity next to and so near to her. Her ears pick up on that subtle change in her friend's tone, but she thinks nothing of it. Even she made an attempt to file down on some of her rough edges when in Mister-- Yes, Mister-- Logan's presence, but the prim persona suited Amity's more than it does the young, willful artist. Agreeably, Mavis finds a menu, passes one to Amity like she were handing a teacher's test to the classmate next to her, and the mortal then begins to pour over the menu for something that sounded... unique.
She laughs, a split-second too late, at what Carter has said. "Hallucinogens?" Mavis prompts, raising her eyebrows with interest. Ohmy. She grins and shakes her head. "See, now, that's not fair. You're chummy with my boss," chastises Mavis playfully, "and that kind of talk is strictly off the table." Despite what she says, though, Mavis shoots the devil a wicked, conspiring sort of grin. She peeks back down at the menu, trying to find something, then looks back up again to say, "Oh, yeah.. Mom was always pulling us into the local haunts. We moved around a lot, but she'd find these little holes in the wall. Kind of places that don't even have a reference on Yelp, but the food should be, like, famOUs." She smiles fondly while recalling these memories from her childhood and conveying this to Amity and Carter. Mavis looks over at her friend, sharing that dazzly smile with her, then turns her focus back to the suited Devil. "Always felt like those places were _special_ somehow, like a secret you only knew about if you were taken there." She grows more animated as she talks, slouching at first and then sitting up straighter and putting down her menu to talk more with her hands. The rings and bracelets around her fingers and wrists draw attention to themselves, the latter meant layered over old, surgical scars that are pale against her dusky skin.
November's name gets brought up and Mavis tries to appear more interested in the shellfish entrees detailed on the menu, but she can't help but peer out over the table at Carter when he talks about her boss. She didn't know much about the enigmatic woman other than November ran some businesses, had impeccable taste in boots, and she could make Mavis obsess about writing utensils just by handing her a pen to write with. Well, it's not ALL writing utensils. Just that one, black-inked pen November had kept tucked behind her ear before handing it to Mavis.
...
Mavis blinks and realizes a few seconds had just passed without her noticing, that she'd checked "out" for just a moment, and the artist mentally rewinds everything her ears had just heard to re-parse the information. "I think I'll have that stew you were telling me about, Mister Logan," she says to both him and the waitress. "What are you getting, Amity?" She wonders, then adds to the waitress, "Some water, please. Lemon's fine. Wait..." Her head turns back toward Carter and Mavis' lips purse. "Did you mean beverages too?" Seemed skimpy not to go the full 9-yards. Deciding, Mavis looks back up at the waitress and tells her, "Bring me something.. uh, different? Not water, not soda, not tea or coffee." Yanno. ADVENTUROUS?
"Ah, well. It's fortunate then that Mavis has such illustrious company to keep," Amity replies to Carter, her voice plain, bland. Boring. Contrary to the continuing outgoing chatter that seems to be passing between the other two, Amity seems to sink more and more into the background as the discussion goes, her answers becoming quieter and shorter and her attention focused /entirely/ on the menu she's been offered with a barely murmured 'thank you' in reply. She runs her eyes up and down the menu, trying to find something she hasn't had yet--she can't just. Lie. And pick something she knows. Her mind won't let her (the magic that makes up Carter won't let her. it's too awful and amazing to contravene). Her finger runs down the menu, the woman half-listening to the conversation going on next to her. Around her. Above her. When her name is spoken, she seems to come out of her own trance, her eyes blinking rapidly for a moment.
"...I think I will just have water, thank you. With lemon. I--I don't usually drink." To be incapable due to drink makes one a bad servant, after all. She looks back to the menu, lets out a faint 'hmm' under her breath. She is doing her best not to look directly at Carter. It's... too much. She just wanted lunch and here she was...
Carter laughs at Mavis' disbelief, and answers her grin with one of her own. It's not exactly fanged - not to /her/ eyes, anyway - but it is incredibly wicked, and every bit as conspiratorial as her own. "Miss an Nua," he says, "is quite the adventurer herself, under the right circumstances. And, even were she to disagree with me on the subject, I very much doubt she'd object to others experimenting with anything they damn well please. She enjoys painting with a broad palette of colors, that woman. It's what makes her so engaging."
He pauses for a moment to let them study the menu. When he speaks, it's a soft murmur, and while it still commands attention by virtue of its impossible resonance, it becomes a sort of background noise to their searching for what to order. "I've always enjoyed places like that," he says quietly. "The little spots where no one but the people who really care, who understand and value what they have to offer, know to go. The places where the owners are free to create whatever dishes they desire, exactly as they want them to be. Which, of course-" he grins, and there's another crackling sound as he snaps open another crab shell "-is exactly what they /should/ be."
Then Amity orders a water, and he looks back to her, one eyebrow faintly raised. His faintly evil little grin is still there, but rather than being frightening - well, rather than being as frightening as it /could be/ - it's encouraging and enticing. Without looking away from Amity, he says to the waitress, "Bring us two extras of whatever you choose for Miss Baines. It'll get drunk one way or another, before it's over." And he waves his hand dismissively, sending the woman scurrying away with their orders.
As she retreats, Carter laughs quietly and shakes his head. "I did say today is a day for experimenting, Miss Millikan," he says, his voice a little lower, the slightest bit more quiet, than usual, and his grin has grown by the slightest bit. "You're allowed to get drunk, if you want." There's the slightest bit of emphasis on the word "allowed", /just/ strong enough to be noticeable if someone is paying attention. "Encouraged, even. Cut loose a bit. It'll do you the world of good. Or, at least, it'll provide you with a very entertaining kind of bad."
Mavis sneaks a glimpse over at her friend and tries to stifle a bubble of mirth. The human doesn't notice the importance of Carter's words, the freeing quality of them that they had on her friend, but she jumps on the bandwagon. "Oh, come on. I know you've gotta drive back, but one drink won't hurt'cha," encourages Mavis, leaning over to hug Amity's arm and set her chin on her shoulder. Her golden-brown eyes turn a hopeful gaze up at Amity and Mavis' lips form a pouty line. "Pllleeease?" Agree to have drinks with the Devil with me, Amity! The concierge may recall from experience that Mavis wasn't going to relent until she crumbled.
"Ah, well..." Amity does not have a chance to use her newfound 'freedom' to order a drink of choice, as Carter has ordered /for/ her and she is left uncertain of how to proceed. At least she'll get to eat the food she picked out, though, right? She drums a few fingers on the table for a moment in a quiet show of anxious energy before her brain catches up with her to remind her that it is NOT a habit a proper lady-in-waiting picks up and she straightens. At just about the same time, there's a nudge from Mavis' boot and Amity glances at her friend, apologetics. One can't really explain how overwhelming the other Changeling /feels/. It'd be like explaining what the smell of ozone is after a lightning strike to someone who has never smelt a thing in their life. It's impossible.
"I suppose one drink won't hurt," she concedes after a moment longer. If she is upset, she doesn't show it. But then... does she ever show much emotion. "I just prefer not to drink, usually. It's expensive and..." Excuses, excuses, excuses, Amity! She trails off when it becomes obvious to her that such conversation isn't really going to fly at the table. "Somehow, Mavis, I don't think Miss an Nua is the type to frown on mind-altering substances." She'll add that much with just a hint of sarcasm.
Carter gives another laugh at Mavis' reluctance regarding talking to November about drugs, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe not while you're on the clock," he says, a note of teasing entering his voice. "But even if she does turn out to be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud in that regard - which I very much doubt - there are other options. Like your friend here." He indicates Amity with one hand, still grinning that slightly evil little grin. "It may take some effort to bring her out of her shell, but I'm sure she'd enjoy the experience in the end."
The music starts up again a moment later. There's a new group on the stage, a man and a woman with a fiddle and a guitar, respectively. They both give Carter wary, nervous glances before striking up the tune, but the Devil merely gives them a reassuring nod before looking back to Mavis and Amity. "You've found yourself one of the best kinds of friend, Miss Millikan," he says. "Miss Baines is rapidly proving to be someone very much worth knowing. The best of the worst kind of influence. And you strike me as someone who could very much do with a bad influence in your life. I haven't seen someone so dour and worried as yourself in quite some time."
There's nothing judgmental in his voice as he says it. It's not an attack, or even a criticism. Again, it feels like that kind of wickedness that invites you to dance along with it, out into the dark where anything at all could happen, to leave the firelight behind and waltz into the deep woods, free of any restraint. And she, alone out of all the patrons in the Blue Marlin, can see the way the fire behind the Devil's eyes flares up as he says it.
"You needn't be so nervous," he continues, reaching for his glass of water. "I'm hardly one to judge, and Miss Baines quite clearly enjoys your company greatly. /Your/ company, Miss Millikan. You. You're worried about making the wrong kind of impression, and that's understandable." He doesn't bother explaining why. Amity, at least, is sure to understand. "But to Hell with impressions. To Hell with anyone who would judge you for being so uncouth as to, say, tap your fingers against the tabletop." Ah. So he /did/ notice. "They aren't worth giving a damn about, Miss Millikan. You're free-" again, the slightest, almost unnoticeable stress on that word "-now to do whatever you damn well please. And if that means having a drink, then have a drink. If it doesn't, then don't." He laughs. "There's no pressure either way. It just means one more glass for me, in the end."
This pleading sulk of Mavis' isn't even her best performance, but the mortal never needed to dial it up too high to persuade Amity. The hotel clerk just had a weakness for the quirky human and Mavis knew it. She's not doing anything harmful, per say, and Mavis has only the best of intentions-- her best intentions-- in her dynamic with Amity. Once Amity goes along with the bandwagon she'd hopped onto with Carter driving it, Mavis removes her warm, curvy embrace from the skinny Changeling's arm. She beams at her friend, pleased, and then composes herself as her attention turns back to Carter. Her smile dims down, but there's a triumphant glean in Mavis' honeyed, brown eyes. The eyeliner thickly outlining them give the mortal something of an air of feline mischief when she was playful and in good spirits like this.
"It's true," Mavis agrees in a sincere, interventive tone that's too genuine to be completely serious. "Amity, you need help. It's called tough love, babe, but maybe hearing it from a stranger will help." Wait, wasn't SHE practically a stranger too?
Now and then, Mavis' cheery expression wilts the faintest bit as she stares across the table at Carter Logan in his impeccable suit with his unearthly presence. It made Mavis feel as if she were dreaming or watching herself play a part in an old, grainy, black-and-white movie that she'd forgotten she starred in. Something about this whole experience had a surreal quality. Mavis stuffs her hands in her hoodie pocket under the table; she wanted to paint or chalk something. It itch was like the craving for some drug absent from her system. She flushes when the subject changes back around to her, head dipping down, and Mavis spots her mis-matched shoelaces under the table.
"Well, yeah. Amity's doesn't make it easy to get to know her, but it's worth it," she murmurs, tilting her head to peer at her friend in reassurance. Mavis winks and leans over to nudge Amity with an elbow. "I'm glad you were the first person I met here. Couldn't have asked for a better stroke than that after all the ill that brought me here," she tells Amity with a firm connection of eye contact that meant she meant it. Mavis flushes the teensiest bit and looks back over at Carter, a little too shy to glance to her left where Amity sits at just this moment. She understood, though, that sometimes friends needed to be TOLD these things. Quiet ones like Amity? Probably more so.
Mavis trades the subject out for one she preferred less, but kept getting bandied around. "November's cool," she goes, "don't get me wrong, but... I really got a sweet job over there at the paintball range. Hours are flexible, the pay's good, and I've _YET_ to encounter a situation where someone has locked themselves, crying, in the bathroom or breakroom." Besides, she could barely socially get through a regular greeting with November without fumbling it up.
"Pardon me, Mister Logan, but I don't think you or Mavis are the type to judge at all. I hope I didn't give you that impression," Amity says with just a /touch/ of backbone. It's not like she's full on sassing the other Changeling but there's just a bit of edge to it. Amity sees you for what you are, Carter. She sees the fire in your eyes, she can /tell/ what's going on with you--to some extent. Amity's eyes are drawn over towards Mavis as she's spoken to again and she finds herself peering into those, big brown eyes and she can feel her heart melt a little. God. How can she say no to Mavis? She's so good. And kind. And pretty. She actually giggles a little! "I feel very fortunate that I've met you as well, Mavis." Which reminds her of something, but she's not sure if bringing it up will spoil the day. Well, if everyone is going to poke her about letting loose she can poke back about being responsible.
"That reminds me. Have you got the water and electricity worked out yet? I know dealing with the city and the utilities can be a pain..." Not really a reminder, just curiosity. Can it really be Amity, quiet unobtrusive Amity, who's caused that blush. "Mister Logan you're very kind to say these words. I don't require permission, I know. I'm still settling in, I guess you could say. I..." She hesitates, not sure how to best put this and she reaches up to brush one gold-threaded hair away from her face. "I am getting used to Fort Brunsett still. I am just about as new as Mavis, really." Though not in the same way. Carter would probably understand what she meant.
Carter certainly does lend the area around him a certain dreamlike quality. Even for mortals like Mavis, it's enough to make things feel strange. Different. Not necessarily /bad/, but... unnaturally intense. As though they've spent their entire lives backstage, and they've suddenly been thrust into the spotlight, and there's Carter Logan waiting there, one hand outstretched, grinning like a demon and expecting them to dance. And for Amity, for those like her who can see past the Mask, it's still more pronounced. The air around the Devil practically /bleeds/ Spring, is so thick with his overwhelming Wyrd that you could almost taste it. He may not technically be one of the Gentry, but he's very, /very/ close, and makes no attempt whatsoever to mask or mitigate this.
And Amity's little display of a spine gets another grin to flash across that imperious face. For Mavis, it's just a grin, perhaps accompanied by the faintest, strange gleam in his eyes, but Amity can see the fire there, see it rise behind his pupils as if in silent applause. Apparently, she has managed to please the Devil, even if it is just a small thing. And that look, the one that lets Carter know that /she/ recognizes him for what he is, just gets him to laugh, as if congratulating her.
"You'll get there, Miss Millikan," he says. "Don't worry. We were, all of us, just where you are, once upon a time." He pauses. "Well. Not all of us, but most. Regardless." He brushes that little qualification aside, leaving its implications hanging, and glances back towards Mavis. Before he can say anything, though, the waitress returns with their food, and he settles back in his seat, content to let her pass out the dishes.
When she leaves, there are three glasses in the center of the table. Each is full of a dark, almost chocolatey liquid, and each capped with a thick head of amber foam. They aren't small glasses, either, and the smell wafting from them might put Mavis in mind of something she smelled on the street outside the club, just for a moment. Carter just grins and reaches for his, lifting it up in a silent toast to the two women before taking a long drink.
Which leaves two glasses on the table, side by side. One for Mavis, and one, just possibly, for Amity.
Mavis gives Amity's ankle another bump with her boot, but this time it's more of an affectionate nudge. She didn't want to lean over and hug her friend right here in front of Carter, although not out of abashment or conservation. It just seemed rude to share something private and special with Amity while at his table. She hadn't noted Amity's display of backbone for what it was, but Mavis the mortal is simply proud of her friend for stating herself.
But all good things must come to an end, and Amity has to ruin things by bringing up the utilities which were still turned off over at the Baines property. Mavis' reaction is to roll her eyes and lean with an elbow on the table to give her friend the chilly shoulder. Shrugging with that shoulder, she mutters, "Not yet, no. I was prob'ly going to move in next week." Which starts tomorrow and is only a few hours away. Mavis isn't sure WHY Amity is even bringing the subject up right here and now, but she slumps down into her chair trying to make herself small and missable. "Can we talk about it later? And, c'mon. You're not AS new to this place as I am," adds Mavis, trying to shift the attention away from her Lack-of-Forward-Momentum in life. She nods along in agreement with Carter, supporting his reasoning with, "Don't stress about it. I'm here to help you, right? Oh, WOW!"
WOW because the food is brought out and Mavis leans back to let the waitress lower her bowl of stew. She grins over at Amity, flashing her gap-toothed smile, and then grabs a glass to hold out for Amity to clinky-clink that third, orphaned glass against hers. The human tilts her head down to sniff the beverage's foamy cap, wondering, "What is this?" It seemed familiar in a nagging way, not something Mavis has tasted before, but maybe she caught a whiff of something like this drink once.
"Apologies, Mavis. I just--" Amity bit back a word, not quite sure what to say. Which is odd for her. Usually, she's very poised. "...I was just worried, that's all." That admission of the way (along with a touch of nervous blush), she can more fully address Carter and his aggravatingly cheery disposition. She looks back to the man, as if studying him across the table. There's no chance for her to really reply to his really rather kind advice regarding her situation before the food arrives. For her, it is a steaming bowl of fish chowder of some type (seafood soups had been something she wasn't sure about since she was a kid). The drink itself gets a dubious look but she reaches out to take the thick, heavy looking think with one hand. She raises it, returning the little salute, and then sniffs the drink before simply taking a gulp. Look, if she's going to drink she's going to /drink/ and neither of those here can really say it's not their fault.
Carter's eyebrows raise the slightest bit at Amity's biting back on her words, and he flashes her another demonic grin while Mavis is distracted. His head moves, just the faintest bit, to tilt towards the dusky-skinned artist, and he laughs quietly before raising his glass in another mock-toast and taking another long drink. Aggravatingly genial, this one, yes. And far too observant.
"I believe," he says, setting his own considerably-emptier glass aside, "that it's called Carcosa Stout. Locally produced. Smooth. Rich. Just the right amount of sweet. And strong enough to get you absolutely blasted in very short order, as I believe Miss Millikan is likely discovering as we speak." He laughs, looking immensely pleased, and takes another bite of his coleslaw.
The scent /is/ familiar. It's not exact, but it's close, causing the memory to dance just at the edge of full recollection. It doesn't help that Carter's little motion, as he set his glass aside, caused a brief flare of something similar to waft its way across the table, mingling with the scent of the food. For a few seconds, in the meeting of memory and reality, Mavis Baines can /almost/ smell what Amity has always been aware of - the raw, aching air of Spring that surrounds Carter, the scents of absolute, decadent indulgence.
Not that Carter himself seems to actually be /causing/ this. It's not something that he does. It's what he /is/. And, as Sublime as he's become, even mortals can't entirely escape it. "Dig in, ladies," he says, gesturing toward their bowls. "Let's see whether or not you've found something new to enjoy. Let's have-" he grins at Mavis for a moment "-an /adventure/."
Mavis steals a little "chink" from Amity's glass then sits back and waits for the bespectacled women to drink her drink. The artist takes a swig of her own then another-- and another-- and the fill-line of Mavis' glass visibly sinks with those three swallows. She lowers the drink to assure Amity, "It's fine. Don't worry about it," and it sounds like she actually means this. Amity hadn't meant to air her financial or property business, after all.
The mortal licks her lips and peers back down into her glass as she sets it down against the table, making the conscious decision to pace herself. Anything ominous passing between Carter across from her and Amity right next to her soars right over the human's head. She picks up a spoon, instead, and dips it into the stew then swirls it around to get an idea of the contents. Whatever this was, it smells divine and her mouth waters. Lifting the spoon out of the stew, Mavis blows on it and then locks eyes with Carter across the table. "Damn, Sally, that drink is-" Mavis puffs out her cheeks. "Well, I'm not sad I moved here, I'll put it that way... Thanks," she gratefuls to Carter, hesitating the littlest bit. After all, manners were free and mum had done well in instilling them in Mavis while nurturing that free spirit and carefully deterring it from asking questions best not wondered. "The food looks amazing," Mavis continues, appreciating the night out a bit more than her companion likely is, "and this has got to be the best seat in the whole house." Mavis turns her dark head to peer around the establishment at the folks with lesser views of the stage. She didn't seem to be appreciating the show much, though, not with both Amity and Carter sharing the table with her. Mavis tries the stew and her eyes go wide, then she turns to look at Amity with that awe-stricken expression. This was good! She doesn't say anything, not yet, just shovels several more spoonfuls of stew into her mouth.
Amity gulps down a few mouthfuls of her drink and sets the glass down with a gasp. foam sticking to her lip. It's probably mostly just her head fucking with her, but she already feels a bit flushed and warm from the alcohol she's just shoved down her gullet. She looks back at Carter, as if to say 'I know what you're doing, fucker.' In a rare display of emotion, she scoots herself sideways a bit to be closer to Mavis while the mortal woman drinks. This one is (well not really) hers and she doesn't want Carter or anyone else reaping glamour from the artist. Not if Amity has anything to say about it! But... that's besides the point. The food looks good, she's a bit tipsy already. Okay. Adventure. She takes up her own spoon and begins to eat. She shoves a spoonful of the chowder in her mouth and lets out a happy sigh. It's a rich, luxuriant seafood soup and goodness, it's just what she needs to go with this heavy beer she has on hand.
"Delicious," she says after a moment, then takes another few bites and another swig of beer for good measure. "It's very good, Mister Logan. And..." A glance to Amity and something that resembles a /real/ smile. "...Even if I wasn't eating I think I should feel full just watching you enjoy your food."
Carter seems nothing if not amused by Amity's thinly-veiled defensiveness. There's no indignance, no upset, no wounded pride, nothing but enjoyment at watching the restrained Chatelaine being coaxed into giving a genuine emotional reaction. That this reaction involves a little bit of accusation doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest - probably because it's not entirely inaccurate. Though he doesn't seem to be particularly concerned about Glamour, either; if he wanted a quick skim, the crowd around them, and particularly the aching nervousness of the pair up on the stage, would serve far better than Mavis could in that regard.
He glances back towards Mavis when she curses, and another spectacularly musical laugh escapes him. "I've been rather pleased with the place myself, since moving up," he says conversationally, as he reaches for yet another crab leg. "I came here because it has something of a reputation for being interesting, for persons like myself, and it had been quite some time since I actually felt engaged in anything, or with anyone. It's done wonders for me in the time since. I feel more alive than I have in decades - thanks, at least in part, to Miss an Nua, actually. Though she can hardly take all the credit."
The twin pleased reactions from the pair of them get him to smile still more widely. It's lucky for Mavis that she's as blind as she is - Amity has to deal with the full weight of what it feels like to have the Devil look upon you and be pleased. Even for the junk artist, though, there's still that sensation of being in the spotlight. "A fine sentiment," he says towards Amity, with a bit of a chuckle, "but fortunately, you can watch /and/ enjoy your own. No reason not to do both, when both are so enjoyable, and both are so easily available. Never settle for less than everything."
Mavis sneaks a peek over at Amity's bowl of chowder while she enjoys the stew she'd ordered. It's not that she was greedy or anything, but the artist had a tendency to eyeball other peoples' plates out of curiosity while she ate and Mavis realizes that most folks do not like to be stared at while eating. She figures she has been caught when Amity peers back at her and Mavis's honey-brown eyes stare off that-a-ways. Nope, she wasn't doing that. The dusky-skinned artist appears a little _too_ guileless, however, as she just sits there enjoying her stew with a spoon in one hand and sipping on that Carcosa Stout with the other.
She doesn't translate Amity's act of scooting closer to her to be a possessive claim, but that's not to say that Mavis doesn't notice her friend slinking nearer. The artist smoothly turns her head, spoon in mouth, and stares d-e-a-d back at Amity. Ever so slowly, Mavis arches a black brow at her. As if nothing had passed, the mortal dabs her lips with a napkin, trying to imitate Amity's prim mannerisms. She grouses, "You need to eat more if that's the case," and menaces her spoon at Amity for good measure.
Her antics cease when Carter begins talking. It seemed uncouth to taunt Amity playfully while the man was speaking in his rich, entrancing tones. Mavis tilts her head at Mister Logan, squinting at him in puzzlement. She grins, lightning-quick, and deduces, "She must be a hell of a lady _and_ a looker." It's meant as a form of praise if the statement were dissected enough to glimpse its innards, but also a probing question without the question mark at the end of it. Mavis WAS curious about what kind of person could captivate this distinguished Mister Logan's interest. At the end of their first meeting, Mavis had felt weary as if her batteries had been sapped. Whoever THAT special person might be, they must be able to power a whole city grid for several decades.
Amity realizes with a start that she's been caught looking by Mavis and her gaze hurriedly flickers away. She's embarrassed and the rise of pink in her pale cheeks is enough to show that. Or maybe it's just the Carcosa Stout, which Amity is gulping down rather fast for someone of her size. She tries to focus on her food and the conversation and finds it difficult to do both at the same time all of a sudden. She has a few more mouthfuls of chowder (along with the still-warm crusty bread that accompanied it to the table) in between mouthfuls of Stout.
"I plan to have both, thank you very much," she replies to Carter with a prim, offended air that suggests more than the blush in her cheeks how the beer is effecting her. SHe looks back to Mavis and smiles (ACTUALLY SMILES) at the other's spoon being shaken in her face. "Well I /will/ eat more then, Mavis. Just to make sure you don't worry." She should drink more often. This feel awesome. Except when Mavis talks about November being a looker. Combined with the strange, creeping sensation of being put on the spot that Carter's smile gives, it's hard for her to ignore the flash of annoyance inside of her. Why are they talking about November again?
"I've liked it since I got here too," she says brazenly as she tries to tug the conversation in another direction. "Not as quiet as I'd hoped but still, I think I'll be putting down roots."
Carter laughs at Mavis' little mention of November being a looker, but shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively. "She's certainly very striking," he says. "Not at all unattractive, as you're perfectly aware, Miss Baines." He inclines his head towards her, and for a moment, there's a recollection of that moment where Mavis was left gawking helplessly at the sight of November on the streets outside the club. But he doesn't let it linger for too long.
"But she is very much just a friend," he continues, after another bite of crab. "A good friend. An excellent conversationalist and a steady source of new avenues of entertainment, but a friend. My partner, whom I'm certain you'll meet before too long, is called Zillah." His smile becomes slightly crooked, and Amity is suddenly faced with the prospect of the Devil looking genuinely fond of something. "She is... magnificent. Utterly magnificent. And I'm sure she'd be delighted to meet the both of you."
The little flash of annoyance on Amity's face gets another crooked, knowing grin out of Carter, who takes a long gulp of his own stout before continuing. "Oh, if it were /quiet/, I wouldn't have stayed," he says. "There's always /something/ happening around here. Someone new to meet. Something new to explore. I'm sure you'll both enjoy yourselves. Miss Baines-" he nods towards Mavis "-strikes me as being the sort of woman who enjoys things most when helping others to do the same. And you, Miss Millikan, strike me as someone who needs someone like that to help them out of their shell. I'm sure the two of you will be very close."
Now that the food and booze is at the table, Mavis is much less chatty. It's rude to talk with one's mouth full and this wasn't sitting on her hotel bed while sharing ordered pizza with Amity and watching Terminator. Mavis finds Amity's acquiesce very agreeable, though, and settles the matter with, "Good. 'Cos yer a beanpole." Yup. That was Mavis' official statement on the subject, Amity needed some more meat on her lean frame and this probably isn't the first time it has come up nor will it be the last. Mavis laughs at the hotel clerk's vehemence that she'd enjoy herself, almost taking it at surface value but something about Amity's behavior wasn't kind right, like an askew picture hanging on the wall.
She flushes, though, and Mavis' head snaps back toward Carter. That blush rises into her tawny cheekbones and creeps across the bridge of the artist's nose. "No, no, I didn't mean November... Gah, nevermind," she ends her protests with a mutter and a gulp of the stout. It was just safer to let Carter Logan do most of the talking, especially now that she, too, is beginning to feel the weight effects of the alcohol. Mavis eyebrows shoot up in surprise when he mentions his partner being interested in meeting the pair of them. Mavis peers at Amity, drawing some courage out of having her here with her, and looks back at Carter. "Seriously?" She sounds as shocked as she appears flattered by the invitation. "I mean, if you think it's a good idea?" Mavis supposes, tilting her head and thinking about what could it hurt. Hadn't she just SAID that Carter Logan's better half must be interesting? Hadn't the man just poetically sighed about this Zillah person? Even the name was intriguing. "Yeah," she says, sounding surer and setting her spoon back in the bowl of half-eaten stew. "All right."
That hint of color at her cheeks remains, though. When Carter talks about the two of them, that blush only deepens to a darker shade, spreading along the young artist's jaw to creep down her neck. She picks up her spoon again to swirl it around in her stew, clearing her throat, and peering over at Carter from behind the thick, black crescents of her eyelashes. She attempts a jest, "Hey, so, the good news is I happen to know a good lawyer just in case we get into TOO much trouble, Amity." Mavis smiles to let her friend know she's teasing. Sorta teasing. "Remember that D'Villy woman who checked in at the hotel a couple days after me? She's some bigshot, apparently." And a Darkling, no less.
"I am NOT a beanpole. Just 'because I'm not as curvy as you doesn't make me a /beanpole/," Amity protests. Maybe she protests too much? Or she just. Notices Mavis too much. Whatever it is, she's going to shut up and drink more beer. Because this beer? It's good beer. She gulps down the last few mouthfuls in her glass and then sits it down with a 'clink.' Ahh. She feels a bit fuzzy and loopy now, but in a /good/ way.
Drunk. She's drunk. God, what a light weight. A featherweight even. Wait, had they been talking about /Zillah/? The name had flashed past her somehow and it just... makes perfect sense to Amity. Of course all the people on the cusp becoming Gentry themselves would know each other and be friends. Why wouldn't they? Ugh. All of that flashes through her mind in a split second and she decides to focus on her food instead of risking saying something stupid. All thoughts of this are, of course, struck from her mind when Carter mentions Mavis as a companion who Amity might /need/. She turns a very bright pink and doesn't reply, instead starting to shove more chowder into her mouth in self-defense. If she says something now, it'll be stupid. Don't say something stupid.
"Well, I'd be very happy if I could keep Mavis around." Stupid!
"You are rather exceptionally thin," Carter says, with just the /slightest/ bit of teasing in his voice, to Amity. "Though that's hardly a bad thing. There's something to be enjoyed in every physique. And many individuals wear the thin look exceptionally well - again, with Miss an Nua standing as testament to this fact." He drains the rest of his own stout, sets the glass aside, and reaches for the crab again.
God. The man is a machine. And, unlike Amity, apparently entirely immune to the effects of the alcohol he's just consumed, despite the fact that he's not much larger than she is. He just keeps talking and eating with that same calm composure that he's had since the moment the two of them entered, as if he could keep doing this until the end of time without ever straining himself. The spread of food in front of him was large enough to feed a family when they entered, and it's nearly entirely gone now, without any sign of exertion from the rail-thin man before them.
Amity's last comment gets another amused laugh from him, and there's another of those perfectly knowing grins. But, when he comments, his voice is as calm and level as ever. "I'm sure," he says. "The two of you seem to be a fine pair. You're quite lucky - many of us never run into a friend so fast as the one the two of you seem to have found in one another. But... D'Villy." Carter looks briefly thoughtful. "I don't believe I know the name."
Yuuu-up. That reaction was exactly the one Mavis was expecting out of Amity. This is definitely a disagreement the pair have traipsed through before and Mavis would never let go of and Amity would never back down. This is the first time she has wheedled a compliment out of Amity, however, and Mavis' brown eyes peek over at Carter. Nothing she can do to shove THAT cat back in the bag now that it's out so Mavis just mumbles something that rhymes with "mean" and "toll" into her stew while deciding now's a good time to eat more of it. Mavis sinks into her chair when Amity speaks-- she was going to have to teach the Changeling a little tactic called evasion-- but right now the dusky-skinned artist is resisting the urge to slllide under the table and melt into the earth to disappear. At least she's not as drunk as Amity, there's that silver-lining in it for her, but then again it's also terrible because she was going to remember more of this later.
Pushing her remaining bits of stew around the bowl, Mavis says lamely, "Well, I plan on sticking around. Unless gram-gram's house falls offa that hill. Aha! And here's her chance to deploy an evasion tactic in the moment Carter learns of D'Villy. The artist leaps onto the topic with flashing, white teeth and an amicable smile. "Audra D'Villy, she's some attorney with the District Attorney's Office. Interesting woman," Mavis notes, turning to get Amity's attention. "I ran into her the other night out by the vending machines." She chuckles and timidly bites her bottom lip. "Gave me a bit of freight, but we had some coffee, chatted for awhile." Got her number, but Mavis omits this for some reason or the other. It just doesn't seem relevant. "Mister Logan, she seems the sort you'd get on with. You know.. Refined." That blush sneaks back, but not too much this time. "And she's pining for the good eats around town, I'm going to let her know about this place," she shares to him with a grin. "You wouldn't happen to know where to find some good sushi, would ya?"
Amity makes a soft 'hmph' noise in the back of her throat, but lets the argument drop in favor of finishing her delicious chowder. So good. So tasty. Red snapper. Honestly, she's a bit jealous of Carter--she wishes, at times, that she could be that composed. Can vaguely remember only ever being that composed. Of course, that composure came with its own awful price, didn't it? As she finishes the last of dinner, she can feel her ears beginning to burn a little as Carter compliments the pair of them. That's silly. Why is she embarrassed about this?
"Oh! Yes, the lawyer. Miss D'Villy. Likes white wines. Very polite. Is she planning on sticking around as well?" She'd barely interacted with the woman, but she was a guest and so all it took was a little nudge for all of that information to come to the front of her mind. "To my recollection she was rather fond of the dark, as well. Or maybe it was just her mode of dress." Nudge nudge, wink wink Carter. "I don't think there ARE any sushi restaurants inside of a thirty minute drive, Mavis..." Not that she's found anyway.
Carter, in contrast to Mavis and Amity, doesn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. If anything, he looks faintly pleased as he turns those piercing eyes of his back towards Amity, as though she had just performed an especially impressive act. "In vino veritas," he says, amusement curling around each syllable. "Liquid courage, as well. I'm actually quite impressed that you've come so far so quickly, Miss Millikan. Now, just remember what honesty feels like once you sober up, and things will be much more enjoyable all around."
That seems to be all he has to say on the subject, however. Which is probably fortunate, considering the reaction it got from Mavis. When he looks back towards the artist, his mouth curves upward into another evil little smile. "Miss Millikan is refined, Miss Baines," he says, a laugh lurking behind his voice. "Miss an Nua is refined. /I/ am a ravenous, uncivilized bastard who just happens to be entertained by pretending to be otherwise." A pause, and then a slight inclination of his head. "And I do, admittedly, look /very/ good in a suit."
Amity's description of D'Villy gets his gaze to move back towards her, and he laughs at the little comment about her mode of dress. "I shall have to meet her, then," he says lightly. "And there is, in fact, a place that serves decent sushi, though it is rather a long haul to get there. More's the pity, really. I could do with easier access to places like that. All that driving and walking is not good for my legs." And he nods briefly towards the silver-topped cane hooked over the edge of the table.
Mavis goes along with Amity, not sure if her friend is just tipsy and chattering or if she was finally catching on to some of these social niceties people used to avoid things that they didn't want to talk about. She glimpses Amity out of the corner of her eye, trying to read her, and ultimately deciding that, "I think we should get an Uber back to the hotel, but we can drop you off at home first." There's a note of concern in her voice and, perhaps, the teensiest bit of regret. She hadn't expected Amity to be such a powder-puffy lightweight over one glass of good stout. The artist goes quiet again, ears burning as Carter directs his terse advice at Amity. It was strangely worded, but... Mavis gathered a gist and felt a pang of guilt from someplace she wasn't quite sure. Mavis puffs, grumpily, "I was ASKING Mister Logan, Amity. If anyone knows a good sushi joint then," she gestures at the man they were seated with, "my guess's him."
Her honey-brown eyes turn back to him and Mavis holds in her mortal gaze a dark hint of suspicion when he tells her what he is. The young artist doesn't doubt him in the least and she lifts her chin, meeting his striking blues with a sense of clarity. "That's what I was talking about." Mavis pauses, flicking her gaze down to where the table cut off the view of the rest of him, but she was certain that all three pieces of his suit were impeccable. She tries to play it off like the clothes were what she'd meant, commenting that, "She's always dressed sharp when I see her. Like, I bet Audra D'Villy has her own tailor." She nudges Amity next to her, trying to to shift focus onto the Changeling and relenting to her, "Ffii-ine, Amity. You were right, no sushi places for miles and miles. Thanks anyway, Mister Logan. Still," she smiles across at him, lamentably, "it's a damned shame. Might has to check out the market to see what sort of fresh hauls they've got." Throwing together sushi rolls didn't seem all that complicated.
"I'm fine," Amity insists petulantly. You two made her drink and now she's not going to let you get away with it. Or something. Point is she's kinda tipsy and she finds that she likes not being so nervous and anxious about what she says or does. She leans forward a little. "I don't require anyone to /mind/ me," she says after a moment, her tone still a little... not annoyed. Just. Not the usual Amity impassiveness. "And of course I was right. I have to know these things for the guests at the hotel, why would I give out bad information? It's unprofessional. What sort of--" Her sentence hitches here as her brain tries to fill in a title that is NOT concierge and is much more... ancient and fae. "--what sort of concierge would I be if I did that?" She leans over and gentle nudges Mavis in return. "The market has a lot of good choices when it comes to fresh food, though with fall coming on you're going to see less choices. Better stock up before winter..."
Mavis' head turns so that she can stare right back at Amity as her friend gets, well, a little uppity with her for the first time ever in their brief friendship. The artist raises her eyebrows, blinks her eyes in surprise and then a husky laugh leaves her throat. "Okay-okay, killer," she tells Amity, lifting her hands from the table to hold her palms out helplessly. "Calm down, I'm sorry. You're right, you don't need to be minded and _of course_ you know your job." Something about her tone, though, suggests that Mavis wasn't going to stop fussing over Amity just because she'd complained about it. "It's my solemn duty as your Corruptive Influence to get you back home and safely in bed with a glass of water nearby for when you wake up." Mavis raises an index finger, adding, "And some aspirin for that pretty, little head of yours." When Mavis lowers her hand it's to grab her drink and swig down the last of it in a series of rapid, easy gulps. Someone might've had a party phase and hasn't quite grown out of it yet. The cost of tossing back the rest of that drink is a heady rush, but Mavis announces, "I'm going to call our Uber.. Thank you for the fine meal, fine conversation, and even finer company."
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