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Tristan T. Travers (alliterative) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"I'm alright, thanks. You look well, too," he said, with a nod at the table. He didn't have time to ask her how she was in return before sitting down and ordering tea. He decided on a simple honey and lemon tea, and, as the server left, he wondered if it would be rude to order something to eat as well. Then again, if he did, it may unintentionally force them to sit longer together than either may end up wanting to. He didn't assume either of them would want to leave immediately, but he also liked having the option available.

At her question, Tristan shrugged. "They are, I guess. Just are." What else was he supposed to say? He idly traced the wood grain of the table with his index finger. "Wingbeat seems to be doing well, so hopefully that means I'll have a job for as long as it's around," he said with a smile. He didn't want to mention that part of him was actually worried he might be fired. He did his job well, but he'd thought he'd done well at the bar, too.

"How are things with you," he asked before he could let himself dwell too much. "And you're business, too," he added, remembering she had some kind of event planning business.