timeless.

She's less interested in the rest of the room,  however.  The Red Owl holds all the presumed austerity that which the Court loves to boast;  plush red velvets and deep dark wood.  The barman watches her with two sets of eyes — the second pinned to the lapel of his waistcoat in the form of a broach;  a gilded owl with ruby red eyes.  Every time he swings his upper torso as a means to look busy,  the light snares that scarlet stare.

Apparently 'Jennifer Larson' hasn't the means to acquire any legitimate form of identification,  and such isn't something Nix will ever be open to judge,  let alone question out-loud,  and yet she'd snorted at the quality,  eyes blown impossibly wide,  her teeth burrowing into her lower lip.  Ruins the faux image she herself has created for this evening,  and yet she doesn't seem to mind.  Won't fumble to regain her otherwise stellar performance,  either.  The Court's men of interest aren't listening to a single thing outside of their own conversation,  and Nix can blend once again when the need arises.

Teeth worry against her bottom lip when that odd, bull-snorting laugh steals her absent thoughts. How a girl can be all bird and bull at once is beyond her. But Nix makes it work in her favor. Quirkiness and all. It prompts a dainty laugh, glass lifted to swirl beneath her chin until all those little bubbles catch and glisten in the light. Stirring her olive-mounted toothpick, tongue jabs deep into the side of her cheek.

" Alright, miss Nasa, " Teeth show briefly; a white strip under ruby lips meant to dazzle and ensnare. " I know better than to argue when I've got an expert on my hands. And this… 'guy'? Someone you'd like to introduce, or are you the type to hide the aces up her sleeve? "

Werewolf’s right pinky finger flicks and rakes at the edge of the counter. He bobs his chin to the notion that his newborn’s desired vinyl likely isn’t in stock — let alone up for sale. 

“It isn’t…” nicotine stained teeth flash before he hides them behind his painted lips again. On the left, a silhouette with long, stringy dark hair shades his periphery. He squeezes his eyes shut and flashes a wider grin as if it’d ward off his watcher. “—the drive,” finally Joker's focus returns to the archivist, “But the parking.” Joker flares his nostrils and pantomimes swaying his hand across the counter, “There’s no curb anymore, let alone a space that won’t land you in court...fighting the meter maid.”

Breath on the back of his neck warns him to remove himself from the queue. Ere he hearkens to that suggestion, Werewolf twists his torso. Nothing. No one. He inclines his chin and sets his jaw tight enough to crack teeth if he isn't careful. It tempers the chill shooting up his spine.

If she was not certain that this man is in fact a stranger, she would be suspicious. Kalinniov's First Symphony has always been one of her favorite pieces- most notably the first movement and the disjointed center that swings into the bars of a glorious second movement. Another stroke of her thumb causes the database to spring to life, murdering the blue-spiral screensaver that had only just taken to stage. "Just a moment..." Her eyes leave his face but briefly ( she knows their collection better than some streets near her home ) before she's turning back toward the space for their returns. bending down, a set of frail fingers lift up the metal bin and begin digging around in a pace where she knew there was no music