[ in the lingering moment it takes her just a bit too long to respond, his smile falls a touch and his observation of her becomes more cautious, eyes narrowing. maybe it's the natural way a sorcerer responds to even an unspoken threat of violence — that they can taste it in the air, sense it in the strange and shifting whorl of curse energy... but it's gone almost as quickly as it came, and he waits for his turn at the watering hole with patience. ]

[ she seems stressed. great. she's unpredictable enough when she isn't. that's the nature of this city, he supposes, taking that first sip for it to burn the whole way down, warming his guts. he's really more of a sake and beer drinker, but if this is the worst thing he's tasted since arriving here, there's no room for complaints. ]

Later, in all likelihood. It's taking place for so many nights, what's the rush. [ whatever compulsions lie in attending, he seems to be immune — perhaps because he already has intentions to attend. elbow on the bar between them, a fingertip traces the rim of his glass. ]

[ he smiles, ] Why? I can't possibly be your only option for a date.