“My wardrobe contains plenty of colors beyond the spectrum of grays and black,” she replied with a small, barely noticeable grin. “You've somehow had the misfortune of not crossing my path when I'm wearing any of it before.”
Styx sat comfortably and sipped her wine. “I know this is not your preferred type of establishment but you know how I hate clutter and disorganization,” she sighed, “and if I end up having to compulsively rearrange the sweetener packets on a table because incompetent waitstaff did not, then conversation will never happen, will it?” Or, gods forbid sticky single-serve jelly containers because the row of ready-use syrup slowly dripped on them since the begging of creation or whenever.... like those breakfast all damn day restaurants in America seemed to do.
“So, if you don't want a glass of wine, that's alright, but you should have something, and then you may want to find a calendar to mark two things on.” Her grin from earlier broadened, “first, that I'm wearing red. Which is noteworthy, apparently.” Then, her face faded to something a more serious, “then... that I'm going to request your assistance in something.”