Cutting a rug (Private)

[Wolven Pryde]

For the sake of argument, let's assume it is just now "Next Thursday" :P

Against the corner of the Shady Lady Saloon stands Warren Locke, adorned in a simple dark blazer, slacks, and a polo shirt. The leather boots do not quite explain the effects of his Mantle, but that is fine. One convenient effect of a crowd is the ability for sounds and smells to be concealed in the populous. The Ogre is not leaning; he rarely does. But the effect is similar. He appears to be at rest, and casually waiting for a friend to appear.

Glamour hides his true form to all eyes, this night. Only his shadow, freakishly broad and muscular, might reveal his Fae nature to those who can perceive such things. Then again, the angle of the light from the corner sign casts light at such a direct angle across the building's wall, surely that could be a trick of the light, right?

It is a matter of security. This is a public location, but it is unassociated with the Freehold and its officers. Prying eyes may not be friendly, and Locke will not be responsible for placing L'aire in danger.

For what it is worth, Locke is fairly recognizable to someone who is familiar with his Mask. His features are not as broadly stretched, and of course his flesh is the color of man's, but he still resembles the monstrous Witchtooth that he is.

-1 Glamour to harden the Mask

[Wolven Pryde]

Locke blinks as he is fairly certain he watches L'aire get out of a cab, look around cautiously, and walk straight into the place without so much as hint of recognition in his direction.

His large brow knits, and he quietly asks the empty space in front of him, "I am not that different like this, am I?"

Stepping away, and turning to face the wall where his shadow is cast, the physique of his true form is more obvious. It is hardly a mirror, but he knows how his Mask looks. The silhouette of the fallen Warlock looks like a picture re-sized on a computer; stretched horizontally, but not much taller.

You look like a ruddy fool, standing here talking to yourself while your 'date' is inside looking for you. Buffoon.

Sweeping one massive hand back through his hair as he heads for the door, Locke is no longer one hundred percent positive that was even L'aire. But who else could it have been? Mentally sharpening her features as she walked through his line of sight... adding the glow of freshly fallen snow... that maybe-chill that was surely more than the breeze of her passing... surely it was her.

Surely.

Either that, or Locke is about to top his prior foolishness by approaching a perfect stranger. Perhaps, with any fortune at all, she will not go straight for the pepper spray inside a public establishment.

Verbally diving in, the Ogre clears his throat when nearby. "Ah... is that you, Sasha?"

If nothing else, he might play it off as a case of mistaken identity. But for his sake, the Mask does nothing to the Witchtooth's voice. It is unmistakeable, and there are none quite like it.

[Wolven Pryde]

"My fault," the Ogre says easily, as soon as L'aire is finished speaking. His hands are still in his pockets, and there is merely a tightening of his cheek on one side by the corner of his mouth to suggest a forgiving smile. Yet, there is something indescribable in his tone of voice, even with just those two words, that conveys a good-natured intention of letting the matter go. He might as well have scoffed and made a waving gesture to ward off the misunderstanding.

But then, if Locke ever actually got that animated, anyone who knows him would probably faint.

"I thought it would be interesting to wait until you got here before seeing the place, and experience a natural reaction from both of us.

"Probably should have mentioned that sooner."

Try not to act so glad that she even showed up.

"So," eyes that appear to be cool blue take a quick gander around. Most of the nightly crowd has not arrived yet, and the live music does not start until nine. "Thoughts, so far?"

[Wolven Pryde]

Locke continues his appraisal as L'aire does, letting the mix up about their arrival go without another word. He nods thoughtfully to her assessment, or that is, he nods as much as he does to anything. "The pictures hanging in the corner back there seem to suggest actual... Shady Ladies." There is a bit of amusement in his tone again, at that. At least the images were tasteful enough to be suggestive, without being vulgar.

"And I suppose the idea of this seating area is charming," a hand lifts barely more than the forefinger attached to it in order to point to the couch and chairs nearby, "but it is directly facing the door. I think it would be impossible for me to actually relax there, facing the street, and with people filing in and out all night."

Clearly, it is just a set piece. A presentation, by which patrons are put on display for photo opportunities and the establishment's general posterity.

"Perhaps I should have worn a fedora," the large Ogre comments dryly, belatedly, in response to L'aire's mention of the twenties feel. About the hardwood floors, he can only inquire. "What about the floor? Are you admiring the character of the rich, dark stain, as I am? Or is there something more?"

The hand lifts away from his side again, in a silent gesture for the Fairest to designate a more comfortable place for them to linger if she wishes. Locke can stand wherever, but he tries not to fail too hard at being courteous.

[Wolven Pryde]

Locke frowned slightly at the thought of the establishment's former identity. "It is entirely possible, I suppose. It might be interesting to look up, sometime." He had not given it any real consideration. He had went out on a limb looking for an interesting place to meet with the Fairest outside of any business or Freehold setting.

From her suddenly personal question, the Autumn Ogre does not shy. Though L'aire may have been eager to speed past it, Locke is willing to answer.

"'Bother' is not quite the word, I suppose," he offers simply. The deep tone of his voice is thoughtful, but perhaps a little analytical as well. "I am accustomed to being on high alert around people I do not know. And the constant activity near an establishment's door holds my attention in that way.

"It has been an impossible habit to break."

But one that served him well commanding Din's armies. They were so vast that no encampment could be truly secure. Every being he did not recognize could be an assassin in waiting.

Back in the present now, Locke takes in L'aire's explanation on the wood floor as a superior surface to dance on. The realization comes to him easier than he would have thought, and he follows her statement almost directly with his own.

"Life."

It is fairly matter of fact, but he obviously means what he is saying. "This wood was once alive, and the response to life is there still. You do not get the same feel from carpet or stone."

How poetic.

Not to say stone is incapable of life. But less so on this side of The Hedge.

As for the fedora... he almost smiles. "I was unsure just how dedicated to the theme other patrons might be. Then again, I tend to stand out a bit regardless, so I expect adding a hat would have done nothing to exacerbate that fact."