Stories. Peyote loved stories, and he grinned like a bandit as she spoke, listening to every word, enjoying the thought of those silly dancers and the man in the fancy suit who couldn't speak Cantonese to save his life. Peyote wondered, briefly, what it was like to parade around in fancy suits; it was a life that hadn't ever appealed. He would rather wander, amble, and those things couldn't be done in Fioravanti.
He laughed at the story, shook his head, and looked up at the restaurant. He'd seen it before. Maybe even eaten there....he couldn't be sure. It wasn't that the old drug didn't appreciate a good meal here and there, but food was neither his greatest concern nor his passion. It was nice, but it wasn't necessary. He nodded, still grinning, and ventured inside.
"That's a good story," he said, smiling at the host who would seat them. "But what happened? You returned his wallet...and decided to marry him?" It wasn't so unbelievable, considering what he knew of her thus far, but he was still curious. Besides, if she humored him, it meant more story to be had.