Well. It wasn't like Richie was uninterested. Not exactly. It was just that he wasn't willing to admit that he was. And if he was willing, it probably wouldn't necessarily be with a beautiful redhead, even if he did have an accent and did some very cool household magic. Even if that was an incredibly attractive type, Riche's leaned more toward childhood best friend hypochondriacs with big, stupidly soulful brown eyes.
Which wasn't actually all that helpful, considering.
It was best not to dwell on it, anyway. The more Richie thought about the whole thing, the less comfortable he was going to be, and it wasn't every day you got to sit in a Wizard's living room and drink tea without the fear of death of bodily harm so -- he'd probably just be better off taking everything at face value without thinking too hard.
He picked up his tea, lifted it close to his face but didn't really bother getting to drinking it yet. It did smell good though, and it warmed his hands plenty. This place was colder than it'd been in Maine during the summer when he'd come from. And LA was always warmer. He was probably going to need to think about getting more clothes than what few he'd picked out. "I've never met a wizard before," he said, wryly. "I've met some performers who considered themselves good at pulling shit out of hats, though." There'd been a lot of bullshit to wade through on his way up to the spotlight. He'd written his own material, back then. "Wait. Superheroes?"