"Maaaybe." Trenton drew the word out in a long tease, contemplating it like stretched taffy before lifting a mutinous paw toward the waitress, waving that twenty dollar bill between two wicked fingers. It was his fingers he was suddenly thinking so deeply on, the amusement of his earlier expression all but vacated, and he nodded absently when Isobel said something about being carried out.
"Sure." Only half listening. When the waitress took the money and went to make change, Trenton turned his palm over and examined it. Did they even have fingerprint studies in 1929? Wasn't this the age of bank robberies and train hijackings?
Think of what we can get away with, Dorian coaxed professionally. You will not be bored in this city, that is certain.
Although Trenton wasn't entirely sure he liked where Dorian's train of thought was heading -- jumping loose from it's tracks at breakneck speed -- he did have to admit that the man had a point. He could do anything here. He was a new man here.
The waitress brought him back his change, and Trenton's attention was rekindled on Isobel's sweet grin when he gestured her out of her seat, and took her arm. Escorting her once more into the cold, where they caught a cab a moment later.
"The nicest place we can stay for.." He consulted his money and her's. "Forty-eight bucks." The driver seemed to have something in mind, because the cab leapt from the curb and into the rising glitter of dawn.