[PM to Join] Natural Disasters

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 18, 2720 - Evening
Somewhere Cheap, Old Rose Harbor

Charlie did, indeed, have a story about their destination. Several, in fact. There wasn't a bar Charlie had been to that he didn't have a story for, although some of them required more embellishment than others. He was quite happy to regale Chrysanthe with it on their walk over. Animated and dramatic sweeps of his arms enlivened his telling and, importantly, kept him from noticing the cold that settled over the city and held the promise of rain later.

"...and to this day, I can't so much as smell fried hingle without wanting to retch a little. The perils of mixing too many substances. Let my tale be a lesson to you, Miss Palmifer." Charlie grinned up at her, no inch of him (and there were admittedly not many) looking the least bit sorry about the whole affair.

The walk had been brief and easy; he had been mildly concerned when she had seemed cross with him back at his flat before he changed. Admittedly he had earned it, and not the way he usually did, which was by being so terribly funny and cutting. He should have told her about the hair bits faster--lesson learned. She had cleaned herself up in the end, though! So that was just fine. And there they were, walking to the bar side by side. That was fine, too. Not bad for being so out of practice with having friends, right? Right.

"And here we are! Somewhere Cheap!" Charlie gestured to the building they stood outside of with a flourish, as he had done before at the Duckling. There was very little he did without some dramatic gesture, it had to be admitted.

Somewhere Cheap was, contrary to the distinctly tongue-in-cheek name of the place, not actually the cheapest or least reputable bar in the area. Charlie considered it to be sort of the top of the low-brow list, really--it certainly hadn't the aura of barely sub-criminal that some of his common haunts did. Not the Kaleidoscope by any means, and not even the Duckling, but it was a nice enough sort of place. The patrons were largely a solid mix of the more middle-class humans, wicks, and even a few gollies besides himself. The proprietor, a Mr. Renshaw, was a wick; while he tended bar and directed the front-of-house, his human wife ran the kitchen. It was more of a pub than a proper bar; Charlie hadn't had dinner yet, and had only remembered when he was thinking about where to go. He hadn't had lunch, either, actually, or breakfast--he had been tinkering all day without much thinking about paltry concerns like feeding himself. Their food was, like everything else, acceptable and only middlingly priced.

What really recommended the place and made it such a popular neighborhood destination was the staff, who were all a charming mix of friendly and rude, and the decor. Charlie pushed open the door and held it for Chrysanthe, letting bright laughter spill out onto the street. The warm glow of oil lamps touched on tables covered by honest-to-goodness tablecloths, all in coordinating colors. The walls were covered in a hodgepodge of what Renshaw described as "found art"--garbage welded together and coated in bright paint, as far as Charlie could tell. They were cheerful enough though, and nestled in between them here and there were a collection of lithographs, paintings and even a few spectragrams. All of them were themed around scenes from ordinary life across the Rose.

Charlie actually particularly enjoyed the specs, which were (as far as he'd been told) taken by a spoke photographer who had lived in the city a few years before moving on. They were much less stiff-faced and straight-backed than the ones in his family home in Vienda; a few even bordered on the bawdy. Charlie's appreciation for aesthetics (beyond those of his own lovely self, of course) was without much refinement, but he liked these. Sometimes a new one would come in with a price written neatly on a sign underneath of it, far out of his currently meager range. One day, he thought, he would have established himself enough to buy them.

"I hope you haven't eaten yet?" Charlie raised his eyebrows and his voice together; it was a bit loud inside the pub. He hadn't thought to ask Chrysanthe before they arrived, driven more by his own needs than consideration for hers. She could always not get anything, he reasoned, if she didn't want to. While she replied, he directed them to an empty table not too far from the bar itself.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, Bethas 18, 2720
Somewhere Cheap

Chrysanthe knew she oughtn’t laugh at Charlie’s story, but then, she supposed she ought to have sent him packing, vigorously, the moment he’d approached her during an ill-fated date at the Kaleidoscope a week ago. She certainly shouldn’t have agreed to join him at another bar after she had brought said date to an ignoble end, and she absolutely shouldn’t have taken him up on the offer to stay at his place after, perhaps, having one or two drinks too many herself.

Even having done all that, she still really ought to have known better than to come back to his apartment tonight with a pair of shears and quite a bit of determination. But she had, and to show for it she had the haircut she had wanted (well, most of it) for the last several months – no more long braids twining down her back, but short hair which hung just a bit below her shoulders. The wind caught it, and whisked it about her face.

Chrysanthe laughed.

It was her hair, naturally, and not the smug, self-satisfied grin on Charlie’s face at the recounting of yet another story of debauchery, which ended firmly in him unabashedly, unashamedly embarrassing himself.

“A salutary lesson indeed,” Chrysanthe said, smiling, certainly at the brush of her hair against her shoulders. “You’re practically a morality tale.”

Somewhere Cheap was quieter than the Duckling, Chrysanthe noticed straight away. They were both of them rather below the Kaleidoscope – immediately lowbrow rather than highbrow – but she wasn’t quite sure how to rank them against one another. It was charming, all art and a strange hodgepodge of objects; Chrysanthe supposed Charlie must have seen himself (or at least his apartment) in it, and liked it on the basis of familiarity, at a minimum.

It was the spectragrams which caught Chrysanthe’s attention. Her eyes wandered over them, a bit curiously; they were rather different than the sort of specs one usually saw, which tended to be either journalistic specs of solemn men and women or parts of Vienda, or else the occasional spectragram display of, say, the Lower Steppes or the mountain of Hesse. These were – people.

“No, not yet,” Chrysanthe thought she must have taken lunch – she usually did at the factory, whatever was provided for the workers; she’d never been shy of food, although she’d learned watching the men eat in the Dives that she did not, in fact, have the enormous appetite she had once supposed. Either way, she had no particular memory of it – probably a bit of rough bread and some vegetables.

Chrysanthe sat, finger-combing her hair back into what she hoped was a sort of order, and glanced over at the nearest spec. It was a man with a rather wicked smile; she felt almost embarrassed by the sight of it, though he was fully clothed. He was sat on a rough sort of chair, straddling it, with hairy arms exposed by rolled up sleeves draped over the back of it. Her eyes skittered to the next, a woman – a witch, by the look of her long tangled hair, with her head thrown back and the column of her throat exposed.

Chrysanthe glanced back at Charlie. “I’ve never seen spectragrams like these before,” she admitted, glancing back over once more. “I’ve thought – a few times – of trying to get a machine myself, but I don’t know the first thing of operating it, and taking the formal sort of portraits never really appealed. I suppose it's rather an expensive hobby for an amateur.”

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 18, 2720

Somewhere Cheap, evening.

Baz had come to Somewhere Cheap on the recommendation of a coworker. He had been told that if he wanted to see somewhere that had an atmosphere that was very uniquely the Rose, Somewhere Cheap was the place. So far, it had not disappointed. His sister, Georgianna, would love this place. The art that lined the walls was absolutely something that she would be enthralled by, let alone the atmosphere. He decided he would bring her here next time she came to visit. He had taken up a seat at the bar, ordered a beer, and had been nursing it. He thought he might order some food eventually, but he hadn't been hungry yet. Instead, he'd done what he usually did at bars — people watch.

The crowd here was more wicks and humans than gollies, which he expected. He didn't recognize anyone — until his eyes landed on none other than Charlie Ewing. He hadn't seen Charlie come in, but he saw him now. He recognized the sharp features and the unruly dark hair. He was with someone sat with their back to the bar. A woman, Baz thought, with short blonde hair. Baz watched them for a moment. It seemed they were close. She was laughing about something. Baz looked away, down to his drink. He considered going over to say hello, but wasn't sure if the other man would appreciate Baz rolling up on what could ostensibly be a date. It wasn't like they were friends, Charlie had left without so much as a goodbye after the night they had spent together. Still, they were in the same place, and it was likely only a matter of time before Charlie noticed him as well.

Baz downed the rest of his beer and ordered another one, drinking about half of it, before getting up and making his way over to the table where Charlie and his lady friend were sitting.

"Evening, Charlie," he said, his attention focused on the other man. "I'll not keep you for long, I just saw you and thought I'd come say h—"

It was at this point that his gaze shifted to the woman Charlie was with, and his surprise was evident immediately. He looked like he'd been struck by something. He knew her. Very well, in fact, they'd been friends for almost exactly a decade. She looked a little different than the last time he had seen her, but there was no mistaking those blue eyes and sharp features.

"Chrys??"

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 18, 2720 - Evening
Somewhere Cheap

Oh good--Chrysanthe hadn't had anything yet. Not that it mattered, because they were there and he was going to get something to eat regardless of Chrysanthe Palmifer's mealtime circumstances, but it was always at least a little strange eating alone in company.

He watched her eyes drift to the specs nearest their table and he grinned; the one of the man in the chair was one of his favorites. He did appreciate a spec that managed to capture an aura of lewdness without anyone so much as taking their top off for it. There were a lot of those here, in Something Cheap. Not all of the specs were like this, not by a long shot. Many were just of people, smiling or trying to wave off the photographer or else pretend he wasn't there at all. A few families, even. There was a series that used to be more to Charlie's eye level and had been since moved up closer to the ceiling to make room for newer pieces that highlighted men and a few women working at the docks. Although he'd never say so, he liked that one in particular--if anyone asked, it was the lewd ones he liked best.

"Of course you haven't!" Charlie shook his head, delighted. "The work of one photographer, all of them. So I'm told, anyway. I've never met him." Charlie shrugged. He considered her again when she added that she had an interest in the art itself. Not for formal portraiture--he wondered, distantly, what kind of spectragrams she would take if she could. One delicate eyebrow arched, and then he grinned.

"Nonsense! How else does one learn than by doing it? You could take specs of me, for practice." A brilliant idea, as all his ideas were. He was, in his own modest and conservative opinion, an ideal subject. All of the spectragrams would be at least partially lovely by virtue of their subject matter. Charlie gestured at his face with a long-fingered hand and wiggled his eyebrows a little for emphasis, before dissolving into laughter.

He was about to continue in that line of thought when he caught a somewhat familiar figure out of the corner of his eye making its way towards their table from the bar. Charlie hadn't quite placed him before he got there, but it clicked when he spoke--the birthday boy from the other week. B... Bertram or... Basil? Something with a B, almost assuredly. Charlie tried to remember, but all he could really recall was that he was a Morgenstern (which was still, weeks later, kind of odd), and that for some reason Charlie had started talking about Tippy. Well, and everything that came after that. He had been a little drunk at the time, but he had a good memory for certain things. Important things. The extent of freckle coverage, so on.

There was no trace of ill-will or even irritation in the man's demeanor as he greeted Charlie, which was something of a relief. He had left rather abruptly, as was his usual habit. Some didn't take it very well. Usually the nice ones, in Charlie's considerable experience. Charlie didn't make a point of avoiding the men he slept with afterwards, but he did sometimes find it was tidier if they just never ran into each other again. He smiled anyway and leaned comfortably back in his chair, because he did still like freckles very much.

"Evening," he avoided any name at all as he inclined his head. His eyes followed as Morgenstern's attention shifted from Charlie's considerable charms to Chrysanthe, surprise writing itself on that handsome face almost immediately. Charlie's smile held in place--and soured at the edges at the nickname that came tripping off of his tongue.

Chrys? Admittedly, Charlie had only barely spent any time with the woman, but he couldn't imagine calling her such. A fear spread through his gut: they knew each other, Morgenstern and Chrysanthe. Likely, given they all appeared to be of an age and that was how anyone seemed to know anyone among the galdori set, from school. Which meant there was a distinct possibility of reminiscing. Maybe they hadn't gotten along. Charlie could hope that was the case, and they could happily dismiss him together, thus freeing Charlie from the burden of having to think about Brunnhold.

"I take it you've met?" It was Chrysanthe he directed the question to, before gesturing between the freckled galdor and his ostensible friend. He might have looked a little petulant around the mouth and in the eyes, but he couldn't help it.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, Bethas 18, 2720
Somewhere Cheap

All one photographer, Chrysanthe thought, glancing around. There was one nearby of a family, a tall man with one hand on the shoulder of a woman, and the other down on a boy who had both of their faces, standing with his chin raised; a smaller boy with tousled hair sat against the woman’s hip, with a brilliant sort of grin on his face.

Other subjects were less pleased; Chrysanthe grinned outright at a spec of a hand, slim but callused, thrust towards the camera, with a blur of dark hair and the edge of a wide-eyed in a pale face behind it. It was startlingly beautiful; she hadn’t even known one could capture movement in a spec, not like that, but one expected her to reach through the spectragram at any moment.

Chrysanthe laughed at the idea of Charlie posing for her pictures. “So kind of you to offer,” she said, grinning; he was laughing too, then, both of them easy.

They were, Chrysanthe thought, rather expensive machines. Her only real vice was books, of course; she did not drink much, though, as she’d told Charlie quite insistently, she did drink sometimes. She didn’t spend much on her clothing; she used public carriages, mostly, to save extra hats; hats became tallies, and tallies shills, and shills concords, in time. The end result of her thriftiness was that she did have a bit saved in the bank, even without thinking of her inheritance, which she did not expect to touch until the time came for her to buy property.

Chrysanthe was still grinning. Surely cutting off all of one’s hair was enough of a big decision for a day? But then – it was infectious, perhaps, having done something she’d wanted so badly for so long. It had felt good – strange, but good – and it made her wonder why she’d held off – why she was holding off, even now, on thoughts of a camera spectra.

Perhaps she’d’ve said something, or else Charlie would’ve, but they were interrupted; the voice came from behind her, and Chrysanthe glanced back and up, catching a vague impression of freckles and dark red hair. The voice, though – even in the dim light of the bar, she knew him straight away. She glanced back at Charlie, eyes widening slightly.

“Baz!” Chrysanthe laughed, unexpectedly pleased; she met him with a warm, vibrant caprise, her field considerably stronger than when they’d last seen one another at Brunnhold. “Good Lady, it’s been ages!” She rose, grinning at him.

It had been ages, Chrysanthe thought – since graduation, at least. She’d written him a few letters from Gior – in her first year, especially, she’d been very good about writing letters. She’d sent one or two after returning to Vienda, or she thought she must’ve, but she had lost track of his address at some point, and hadn’t even known where to send a letter telling him she was in the Rose.

But his eyes were wide with surprise, and a characteristic sort of smile was on his face.

“Oh, it’s really good to see you!" Chrysanthe laughed. She paused, glancing back at Charlie; she looked at Baz once more, and her eyebrows lifted, steadily, a deeply amused look curling at the edges of her mouth. “I take it you two know each other…?” Chrysanthe’s eyes glittered.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 18, 2720

Somewhere Cheap, evening.

Baz was simultaneously confused and delighted, and it was painted all across his freckled face. Of all the people to be in this pub with Charlie, it had to be one of his dearest school friends. The chances seemed infinitesimally small, but he was glad of it. He knew from her last letters that she was back in Anaxas, but had no idea that she was in the Rose. He wasn’t even sure if he had told her that he was living here, now. It had been hard to find time to stay in touch since moving and starting his new job. It had been at least five years since they had seen each other face-to-face. She looked every bit how he remembered her, aside from her hair being so much shorter. He met her caprise with one of his own, full of warmth, and then went one step further, setting his drink down on the table before drawing her into a friendly embrace.

“Goddess, it really has been ages,” he said, before letting her go once more. “It’s really nice to see you, too.”

He stood back slightly with his hands on her shoulders to get a good look at her. He smiled wide, patted her arms, and said, “You look wonderful,” before picking up his beer once more.

His attention shifted to Charlie as he asked if they knew each other, though by now that was abundantly clear in how they acted. Baz, still smiling, nodded. He was about to explain how, when Chrysanthe also asked a question. He turned to look at her, and the expression on her face told him that she had read both he and Charlie like open books. He flushed right up to his ears, which definitely didn’t help the situation, and cleared his throat, shifting a little awkwardly.

“We have met, yes,” he said, in a way that sounded like he had very, very deliberately chosen those four words. He left it at that, but he could feel Chrys judging him, her amused little smile saying everything she didn’t. There were not that many dots to connect in this particular instance, and if she knew Charlie, as it seemed she did, there was no doubt that she had figured it out almost immediately. Baz had talked with him only briefly, but in that short amount of time — and the events that followed — it had become very clear that he did not know the meaning of the word ‘shame’.

Baz turned his attention back to Chrysanthe. “You cut your hair,” he said, in a desperate attempt to change the subject, “I never could have imagined you without those braids of yours, but this suits you.”

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 18, 2720 - Evening
Somewhere Cheap

For a brief, shining moment, Charlie had held a beautiful hope that while they might know each other, Baz and Chrysanthe did not like each other in particular. This was dashed as soon as Chrysanthe saw him and laughed in a way that sounded "surprised but pleased", and not "surprised with a hint of this is very unfortunate". That was further reinforced with all the warm, bastly caprises and the hugging. Charlie felt faintly ill at all this geniality.

At least he saw an opening to get a little bit of revenge when Baz (he repeated this to himself a few times, as it seemed rude even for him to reveal he had forgotten) turned red and cleared his throat. Charlie, of course, didn't care at all if Chrysanthe Palmifer knew the nature of their association. She had clearly guessed already anyway. Any concerns about potential hurt feelings aside, Charlie felt no compulsion to hide his behavior from anyone. They were free to stop associating with him if it bothered them, after all.

"We've met? Well, I never! That is the last time I give you... a birthday present." Charlie smiled like a cat that had swallowed a beloved pet bird; if he was lucky, he would have gotten them both in one fell swoop. It was only what they deserved, with all the hugging and so on. Unseemly. The joke might have been to subtle, but he had faith in both of their intellects to connect the dots. If not, he could always connect them later in the conversation. Gesture often proved very illustrative.

To his utter disappointment, Baz turned rather quickly to Chrysanthe to compliment her hair. Charlie didn't let his pout show on his face, not totally, but saying these sorts of things was much less fun when everyone ignored him. "I agree, with no bias whatsoever." He arched his eyebrows. They still hadn't explained to him how they knew each other, which Charlie thought was really rather rude of them.

"Now, let me guess how you know each other, since nobody seems keen to tell me themselves. No, don't tell me now! I want to guess." He put a long finger on his chin and screwed his mouth up in contemplation, looking first to Chrysanthe, then to Baz, and back again. "I've got it--a tragic and ill-fated attempt at adolescent romance, before you discovered your interests lay firmly elsewhere? That must be it, I'm sure." Charlie smiled again, pleasantly, unconcerned about whether or not Chrysanthe kept this facet of her life to herself or not.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, Bethas 18, 2720
Somewhere Cheap

Baz drew her into a hug; Chrysanthe stiffened, very slightly, for just a moment, unaccustomed – but it was Baz, she thought, amused at her own foolishness, however much time had passed. She hugged him back, easily enough, smiling still. He held on when they let go, patting her shoulders lightly. Chrysanthe laughed at his compliment, shaking her head and secretly delighting in the swishing of her short locks. “You too – I think you’ve even more freckles, somehow!” She grinned at him.

Not, naturally, that they were terribly visible when he blushed. The slow wash of red color filled his cheeks; he shifted and cleared his throat. Chrysanthe’s smile didn’t fade in the least.

Charlie introduced himself firmly back into the conversation. Chrysanthe’s eyes went a little wider, and she glanced down at her sort-of friend, raising her eyebrows at him as well. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself, a smirk on his lips. Chrysanthe struggled to contain her smile, and utterly failed.

“Oh,” Chrysanthe said. She touched the newly-short edges of her hair with her hand; she grinned. She hadn’t known until he said something that she had wanted the acknowledgement; with a funny tightness in her stomach, she realized that she’d been worried what he might think. It was silly; no, it was absurd. She didn’t care in the least what Baz thought of her looks, not like that – he was practically a brother – but she hadn’t expected, tonight, to see anyone who’d known what she looked like before.

“Thanks,” Chrysanthe smiled at him.

Charlie inserted himself into the conversation once more, with all his usual self-absorption. To her horror, Chrysanthe found she was blushing faintly. “I – that is,” she glanced at Baz, and then over towards the wall, wildly, as if she might find a suitable distraction in that direction.

She looked back at Baz, then, and squared her shoulders.

It was rather awkward, Chrysanthe thought, to tell people this sort of thing. She remembered Baz’s own admission of his interests, but she’d never quite been sure how to phrase it, mostly because it wasn’t like she’d been in school, still, with its attendant closeness. It seemed such a strange thing to put in to a letter – Dear Baz, Hope you’re well. Gior’s lovely. How’s work? By the way, I’m gay – that Chrysanthe had simply never done so. Even upon returning, she found it difficult to bring up, in general.

“Won’t you join us?” Chrysanthe said, instead, smiling at Baz. She shot Charlie a rather victorious sort of look, confident that that was not what he’d hoped for. “And yes, Charlie, Baz is one of my best friends from Brunnhold.” She sat back down, wondering if Charlie would behave himself when he wasn’t the only one sitting and sulking at the table, and then deciding it was rather unlikely. She knew perfectly well that ignoring his taunts was the best way to proceed; if only she hadn’t blushed.

“I am,” Chrysanthe said, rather boldly, after a moment. She glanced up at Baz, and quirked her lips in a smile she didn’t entirely feel. “Interested, um, elsewhere.”

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 18, 2720

Somewhere Cheap, evening.

He couldn’t help but chuckle when Chrysanthe commented on his freckles. He might have more, it was entirely possible. There were certainly too many to count. He had tried once, when he was very small, to count the spots on his arm, but gave up somewhere around a hundred. His expression shifted to something resembling mild horror when Charlie mentioned birthday presents, but Chrysanthe, bless her, took his compliment and ignored the peevish words of her dining companion. Baz was wholly unsure if coming over to their table had been a good idea or a bad idea. On the one hand, he had gotten to see Chrysanthe. On the other, Charlie seemed intent on embarrassing him to her.

Charlie mentioned something about biases as he agreed with Baz that Chrysanthe’s hair suited her, and Baz was about to ask what he meant by that when Charlie continued speaking and tried to guess how they knew each other. Of course, he went with the most awkward and outlandish guess first. Chrysanthe blushed and stammered, and Baz’s brow quirked as she looked at him.

“You’re quite far from the mark,” Baz said, looking to Charlie, “In all honesty, that would be like dating my sister. Very awkward for everyone involved, I imagine.”

He hesitated briefly when Chrysanthe invited him to join them. He had only intended on coming over and saying hello before returning to his seat at the bar, but that was before he knew who it was Charlie was with. He considered the two of them, then shrugged slightly and nodded, thanking Chrysanthe for inviting him to join, before sitting next to her. Charlie, he imagined, would either dislike that Baz had joined them, or delight in the opportunity to embarrass them both further. Or both. Likely both, given how he’d acted so far.

His attention turned to Chrysanthe as she admitted that her “interests lie elsewhere”. He quirked his brow again for a moment, before settling into an easy smile and nodding. It was somewhat unsurprising to hear. Looking back on their time at school, it made sense.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he admitted with a shrug. “You know, Georgie is too? She figured herself out far quicker than either of us did, I think.”

He turned to Charlie. “Georgie — that is, Georgianna — is my sister,” he explained, so as to not leave Charlie out of the loop. “One of two, and my twin.”

“What about you two?” he asked, then, “How do you know each other?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 18, 2720 - Evening
Somewhere Cheap

Charlie sighed heavily. Yes, he had been off the mark--that was why he said it. He was sure it was something exceedingly uninteresting, like the shared a class in Advanced Public Displays of Platonic Affection. He chose not to belabor that point. At least Chrysanthe had smiled at his joke about birthday presents, even though he could see she was clearly trying not to.

"Yes, yes, we are all very gay and platonic here." He didn't want Baz to sit down, mostly because he didn't want to hear them go on about school days. The problem was, if he said so he would prove Chrysanthe correct and he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of the victory. He had been in a good mood when they sat down, and he would be in one again soon. Once he had a drink, and maybe a smoke.

Baz sat next to Chrysanthe. Maybe he could turn this around, but he didn't think so. Charlie picked at a loose thread in the tablecloth. At least Baz was still handsome, and worth looking at. He made some noise at the mention of sisters. Charlie tried to picture this twin of his, and all Charlie could summon to mind was the man himself in a wig. He did hope for her own sake that wasn't what she looked like. His own sister looked very little like him, after all. They were not, of course, twins. Nor did Charlie mention Laur at all.

"Both of you late bloomers? I can see why you get along." Charlie looked at neither of them while he said this. Instead he was looking for--ah, there she was. One of the waitresses, leaning against the bar and talking to someone sitting at it. Flirting with him, possibly, from the look on her face and the way she did not appear to be taking any kind of order. The service at Somewhere Cheap was infamously terrible, which he found strangely pleasing. Charlie waved his arm to catch her attention. She rolled her eyes, but did make her way slowly and reluctantly to their table.

"What can I start ye with t'night? A drink?" She paused and looked at the half-finished beer Baz had brought over with him and corrected herself. "Another drink?" The girl was not a day over sixteen, by Charlie's estimation, all blonde hair and long-suffering sighs. She looked first to Charlie, which was proper, as he was the one waving his arm about.

"A gin sling," Charlie put in immediately and with great enthusiasm. He smiled dazzlingly at her, and she looked a little less sullen than she had before. Some people appreciated him, at least. Even if it was just blonde teenaged human waitresses at restaurants. She took Chrysanthe and Baz's orders as well, then promised to return with dinner menus. When she would return was anyone's guess; Charlie knew in his heart he would have to flag her down again.

"Ah, we spent a long gratifying night together, a few weeks past, Ms. Palmifer and I. Work," he put in with a smile. He couldn't remember if he had ever told Baz what he did for a living (it was hardly relevant at the time), but chose not to elaborate now either.