Sarah might have said something to the man if she wasn’t so interested in seeing what his next move was. As he sat down across from her she made the astute observation that he didn’t even have his own drink. His grin was met with an apathetic line of lips. Sarah set her cup down, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair.

She raised a brow at his question. “Seems you’ve already placed yourself at my table…” Her eyes were steady on him like a hunting dog spotting a rabbit in the woods. But she just took a sip of tea, her gaze softening. “Now is the part where you introduce yourself? Ask me what my favorite drink on the menu is or something like that.”

She’s not going to be quite as easy to crack as the regular Joe - and he knows this the minute she speaks. It’s coupled with that look that suddenly turns him into prey, and he feeds off of it. It’s perfect, actually. A challenge is far better than a dog that rolls over and bares it’s neck without any fight. How utterly boring, honestly. The grin doesn’t falter, even through she seems to be resolved to ignoring its infectious nature.

“Oh no.” Fingers touched the back of the chair, dancing against it but not yet pulling it out. The wolf would have to insist, now. That was something he already knew she wasn’t going to do, though. “The choice is still very much yours, the first five minutes is prime time to tell someone to fuck right on off.” There’s a smirk as he leans against the back of that same chair, attempting to determine what was hiding in her tea pot.

He was weighing the crowd, eyes searching the faces of the people that sat in the audience. It was intermission, giving the artists a break to get themselves together and in turn, giving everyone else a break from some of the ones that had missed every single branch in the talent tree on the way down. He, was tasked with being the comic relief. This is why it was easy to point out the faces that he wasn’t accustomed to, the ones that weren’t exactly regulars. Now, granted, this one very well could refuse - but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to shoot his shot. 

Instead, he was laughing before he started, grip loose on the microphone before he pointed with the other one. “You, pretty boy stranger. How about you come up here for a second, let everyone have a little look at you...I promise I won’t bite, unless you ask me nicely later...” 

The glass in hand was held tight, like he needed some kind of anchor in this entire thing. It very well could have been nerves, something that demanded his attention these days more often than most, or it could have been nothing more than a need to make sure that drink lasted. He wasn’t in the mood to charm his way into another one on someone else’s tab before he was actually granted the chance to sing - the alcohol could always interfere with vocals, and that was never fun, either. 

He was pushing back the stool a little bit, trying to get comfortable enough to watch whoever was currently on stage making a complete ass of themselves. Open mic night was not for everyone, not even everyone in this town, that much was for sure. “Fuck.”  Murmured under his breath, a curse that was a testament to the screeching sound that was currently being played through the speakers of the bar.

He was listening, which was a feat and a courtesy - one that hadn’t been extended to many, but somehow this one had managed to earn himself a chance at Remi’s attention. Perhaps it was more than he had been bored than anything else, but no one really knew. Instead, those brows seemed to rise with a feigned sort of shock. 

“Sorry, you want me to do what?”  The question was peppered with his own disbelief. It wasn’t very often that surprise snuck up on him, but there was something about the question that had thrown him completely off. Maybe it was that he hadn’t heard him correctly, which occurred after words came. There was a grin, paired with a laugh before he spoke again. “Actually, just repeat that entire thing, would you?” 

There she was, bare foot, standing under the leaves of an Oak tree on the outskirts of the middle of town. Neck craned as she struggled to see up to the top. Or, even just through the first layer of leaves that were blocking her line of sight. 

“All I’m saying,” despite the very focused attention she had on the tree, she hadn’t lost sense of the person she had been standing by. Whether or not the first half of this conversation actually made it out of her mind or not was still yet to be seen, but it all made perfect sense to her. “-is that the only way you’ll know if you can fly… is by climbing up there.” She paused, finally pulling her gaze from the tree to look at the person she was with, one finger pointing up toward the top. 

“And jump.” Then she flashed a smile. “It’ll be fine. Great. I’ll be right here.”

He was staring at the top of the tree as if he were actually considering bending to death’s very inviting little whim, even tapping a suggestive finger to his chin. Honestly? He could see that some would be coaxed into anything if it came from a pretty face. Thankfully, the man was almost as attractive, and half sane - at least today.

“Do you often encourage people to fall to their very greek tragedy styled death, or is it just me? Because if it’s just me, I have follow up questions.”

Coffee shops always reminded Sarah of college. Her barista job and occasional baby-sitting gigs got her through college. The kids were alright but in truth, Sarah hated coffee. When she stated that job she only hated the taste. Four years into it and millions of prepped cups later, just the smell of the stuff gave her a headache. But it couldn’t be helped. Especially not after she was bitten.

She sat in the corner of the shop with a pot of tea in front of her, arms crossed and sour faced. Sarah uncovered the teapot and wafted the steam over to her. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes. The earthy smell of black tea made her relax. As much as she disliked the memories this place brought up– she needed to get out. Meet people. Or at the very least make some sort of eye contact. Pouring a spoonful of sugar in her tea Sarah began to scan the shop, curious to see what other clientele was present.

It was easily the tea that sold him. Coffee was very much an American atrocity that Remington West couldn’t bring himself to care for. It wasn’t as if his upbringing courtesy of the streets and alleyways of Europe had coaxed him into having some sort of refined manner, but at least they didn’t try to force the hot bean water on him. It seemed, even the street rats had standards. The thought was enough to bring a trademarked grin to features, inviting and enticing all in a single go.

Instead of actually paying for his own tea, he seemed to be more encouraged to make himself welcomed at her table. This, was of course not the way he intended to approach the subject, though. Instead, he turned, pulling out the chair opposite of her for a moment as if he were asking permission, before actually doing so. She was greeted with the corners of that grin first though, to sweeten the deal.