"Oh, I'll personally arrange it," she said, leaning her head on her hand. "Hm, powder blue suit with neon yellow shoes, right?"
She grinned cheekily, tugging on one of her curls. "Oh, but I would dare," she teased. "Neon yellow shoes and cheetah print legwarmers."
"Legwarmers? See, now I've got to live. I can't die because you'll put me in legwarmers and neon yellow." He jokingly pinched the bridge of his nose. "How am I going to fake my own death, now?"
"I do have a way of foiling people's plots," she said, sitting back with satisfaction. "What can I say? I have a gift."
"Hm. If I do die, and your dress me up like that, I will have a hitman sent to kill you as well. Otherwise, my funeral outfit is in the back of my closet, and no, it's not the one with the slate buttons, it has black buttons and a white handkerchief. You'll let them know, or die."
She took a moment to weigh her options. "Nah. Worth it," she said, smiling sweetly. "Hope you like scrunchies."
His expression turned to horror. "Scrunchies? You better be careful, or I'll go fetch Evan and tell him you want to talk."
She laughed with glee as the food was served. "God, " she said, resting her forehead on her hand. "I can't believe that's a legitimate threat now."
"It's definitely legitimate, and I will use it if I must," he said, before asking a waiter for coffee. He picked up his fork and jabbed it in her direction. "So don't you dare put me in those clothes at my funeral."
She shrugged smoothly before taking a sip of her water. "I don't imagine he'd listen to you," she said. "I don't get the feeling that he likes you too much."
"He doesn't even know me. That's not fair. Did he say something?" he asked, taking a bite of his food.
"Well, he's convinced that your infatuation with me is the reason why I'm not interested in a relationship with him," she said, laughing lightly. "Because, you know. You so obviously have a crush on me, as we've previously established."
"Infatuation with you. Right," he said slowly, recalling the subject of his previous conversation he had with Phos from earlier. "I guess."
She glanced up at him, an eyebrow raised. "I'm kidding, Francis," she said, giving him a half-smile. "Evan's just... competitive. He always has been, especially around other guys."
He shook it off, then scratched his chin. "That so? I almost pity him," he said jokingly, taking a sip of his coffee.
She shrugged, pushing around some food on her plate. "Like I say, he's really not a bad guy. He's sweet, he just.." She trailed off, trying to find the right word for it, and then shook her head. "He just gets really attached, I think."
Francis pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, shaking it for a moment. "I could see that. I find it best to let go as soon as possible, just to help both sides. Do you think they allow smoking in here?"
He frowned and put them away. "It's a bad habit of mine. Started maybe two years ago, but I've been trying to quit."
