Potato of Her Eye

[Avis]

"Without," she replied without pause, accepting the plate and immediately beginning to cut into the seared piece of flesh. She forced herself to move slower, however, reigning in that instinct to just shove the food inside. To mash and swallow it quickly, in case something were to come along before she planned to be done. It was a useful instinct, but not always, and not in this situation.

Carefully, sitting up straighter, assuming the faked identity again, Avis stopped cutting the proffered morsel and instead cut a piece of lobster for Star and set it on her own bread plate and then passing it towards him.

"It's not as good as the company," she answered, "but it's better than anything I've eaten in a long while."

[Star]

"Ummm. Good. To both."

A grin slipped out, like the first belligerent little star in a still bright sky. The brightest smiles come from the deepest down. If there were a shelf of smiles, the easiest ones to reach, the most common ones, would be the fake plastic ones. Polite ones. A little further away were the ones about funny stuff, the ones a good comedians wrenches out and turns into laughter. Next are the needful ones, the ones surrendered to a delicious confection or deft touch. The last, lowest ones, are the one lost with childhood. Fleeting bursts of warmth in a shared moment, laughter, or look, or simple delight in someone else's happiness.

The first time you laugh, or smile? It's simple. Being safe and being loved.

From that moment, the smile begins to die, like something radioactive with a half-life. You need more. You want more. Even if it's just a sense of humor becoming more sophisticated. The smile itself can become a tool, or weapon.

Maybe, sometimes, someone sees the light because they're the ones that spark it.

A light symphony of silverware, dishes, and eating went with the thoughts. Remember, silence is only awkward if someone needs Validation. A few sips of water and a bite of bread preceded the bit of lobster, cut into neat slices like a scallop before being savored.

"You know we just totally did a Do-It-Yourself Surf'n'Turf, right?" The last bite of meat had it's corner dipped in the mint sauce before disappearing. "And it was super good."

Hands moved the dishes aside, neatly, stacking them. People who worked as waiters or waitresses? They tip big. People who worked as busboys? Stack dishes. An elbow invaded the table, hand folding inward to support a chin. This smile? Sly, and conspiratorial.

"Did you see the dessert tray?"

[Avis]

"I'm going to get the pie," Avis replied without hesitation, eyes lifting from the decimated remains of her meal. "What are you gonna get? We could do the same thing again and share them both, if that sounds good to you?"

"Also," she added, "I can understand why so many people do dinner and a movie, now. It's tempting to just go and sit somewhere for a few hours after such a huge meal, but I suppose that's what separates the IMF from everyone else. I mean, in addition to improvising around the segregation of land and sea munchables."

[Star]

"I'm...," Brows bobbed, a smiled peeked out. "...Pretty sure I saw a slice of key lime pie on that tray."

You can take the dashing secret agent man rogue out of the Keys, but not.... Arms lay wide, one forearm casually crossing over the other. Shoulders squared in a confident, relaxed set and eyes focused. One lone, rebellious finger gave lie to the projected facade, refusing to lay still and skittering over a crease in the crook of an elbow under it.

"As much as I love movies, I always, hmmmm, suspected that that was, well, a bit deceptive. Especially on first or beginning dates. This whole," One eye crinkled, searching, "Facade? Of spending time together, or even a shared experience, when the truth is that they would probably struggle to fill that same time with actual words or a real shared experience... it's fake time. It could be gone and no one would ever miss it. I'm not saying that," Finally, the hands were freed from their invisible cages, rising for air quotes, "'Companionship', say, in just silence and presence, isn't A Thing, just that, that, probably isn't. But laying down for a nap right now wouldn't kill me."

Pearly whites. Because joke.

A hand remained up, fluttering to flag down the waitress and then order.

"Maybe the IMF values culinary improv," the light, joking tone continued after the waitress left. "But you definitely owe me a dance."

"You, uh, you did order the lobster."

[Avis]

"And you ordered the mint," Avis replied, face twisting up in mock disgust. She couldn't hold the expression long, laughter too ready to seep out of the edges.

"Why would I want to dance next to mint," she added, shoulders shaking lightly with repressed mirth. For some reason, she found it even funnier the longer she tried to pretend like it wasn't, but after a few seconds she couldn't hold it back and let herself snicker in full. That was about as loud of a laugh as she ever had.

"Alright, alright, fine. I did buy this dress for more than sitting in, so we'll go dancing," she assured him. "But yeah, first pie. Always pie first. Who knows when the IMF will bring us near pie again?"