Log: At This Point
Summary: June sits down with Skinner for a moment and it turns into a discussion of his future business plans.
Location: The Lucky Seven, Ista Weyr
Date: 8-15-09
Stolen from Skinner!
Skinner's been in the tavern for about two hours now, taking advantage of his free beer to warm up a pair of holders from the north. The two went down surprisingly easy, getting noticeably drunk after just two laced fruit drinks; even more surprising, Skinner seemed to go down with them, and has been increasingly loud and chuckly as the conversation wore on. Their business now concluded, however, the holders move upstairs to the rooms they rented for tonight (for it is nearing bed time). With them gone, Skinner becomes a lot more steady as he holds up his hand and "Yo"s the nearest sister for a drink. "Something with actual alcohol in it, if you would, love."
It's a tie for who's nearest, because Chidiree and Danta are both there, bending toward each other to exchange some amusing tidbit. Chidiree is just about to reveal a smile when Skinner interrupts the progress she's made and sends her mouth slanting downward again. She exchanges a glance with her sister and it must be the most lightning quick game of paper-rock-scissors; with an eyeroll, short-straw Chee moves closer and Danta slips away to the games room. "Are you saying that Petra's beer doesn't have alcohol in it?" Chidiree questions him as she swings over to his table, scooping up the empty bottle without slowing her step.. "I'm going to tell her you said that."
Skinner holds up his hands with a grin, emphatically waving off Petra's wrath. "I'm saying those fruit things don't have any alcohol in them. You know I'd /never/ malign Petra's beer, doll." Leaning his elbow on the table, he cups his cheek inside the palm and looks at Chidiree. He'd look like a starstruck youth, looking at her from that pose, if not for the sparkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. "But you know, now that you mention it, I /would/ like something harder than Petra's beer. I'm hurting, you know." He pats one of the many bug bites on his arm and gives Chidiree a mournful look, so now he really does look lovestruck.
The sight of those bug bites makes Chidiree pause where his beer bottle couldn't. Hovering at his shoulder, she leans to peer in the lowered light of the bar. "They don't look that painful," she muses, giving one of the larger, nastier ones a poke with her fingernail. Then, with a laugh, she dances a few quick steps to escape any retaliation, heading bar-ward to get him his something harder. It isn't her that delivers it, though, it's June, swaying over with a thick-spiced rum and a serious set to her expression. The glass clunks down in front of them, her hand planted next to it as soon as it's there. "Excuse me, sir," she says in all earnestness, "you're getting a little rowdy. Do you think you could calm yourself?" The hint, it's all in the eyes; they squint towards a humor the rest of her manner denies.
Skinner flips his hand around to try and grab Chidiree's wrist for poking him, but she's too quick. "Saucy wench!" he calls after her, the accusation in his voice not matched by the laughter that follows it. So he's earned that playful rebuke from June, a little bit, and when she makes it he stretches out his expression so the grin he's giving her looks dull and drunk. "Whazzat? Don't think I heard you." He cups a hand around his ear. "Why don't you come closer, here, say it again."
June favors him with that even stare a beat longer before she complies by leaning closer. She props her elbows on the table, keeping her arms separated enough that they don't destroy the wonderfully deep cleavage she's giving him a view of. The men behind her must be getting quite a show, too, for she bends over to place her chin in her hands. Still serious, she adds a touch of sensuality to the mix, "I said you're being too rowdy. What are you going to do about it?" There, a twitch of a smile tips up at the very corners.
Skinner doesn't even need a second to think about it. "Ask you to join me!" he replies jovially, and still loudly, his arm shooting out around June's shoulders. Just in case she had some hesitation, he pulls down on her neck, and (despite his complaints) he actually has had a bit to drink already, so he's a little rougher about it than he should be, and doesn't seem to notice. "I'll buy ya a drink," he offers the woman who owns all the drink, /and/ knows his drinks are free, with a grin.
June finally drops the act and laughs at his response, her chuckles becoming a little bit strained when he yanks her down though they don't disappear. Skinner's lap is the most available seat so she, no stranger to laps for sure, settles there easily, nudging his arm from her shoulders with a simple flick of her fingers. "How about I buy you one instead?" she counters, moving the glass she's already brought closer to him. She's so quick. Her focus falls to Skinner's visible arm, then, and she raised it by the wrist. "These things haven't healed yet?" she wonders idly, passing a short frown down at the ugly red bumps.
"Well, I've only had them about a week," Skinner says, dropping his act as well. Since June's sitting on him, he wraps an arm around her waist to anchor her there (and naturally, enjoy the privilege). The other arm she's inspecting, and he lets it dangle in her grip. "They'll take a bit longer than that to heal, but there's nothing wrong with me. Sweet of you to worry about me, though." His hand turns towards her and the fingers offer a tiddly little wave.
"Worry? Me?" June dismisses the concept with all the dry humor of the self-aware, casual worrywart she is. The wave wriggles her flimsy grip free and she replaces her hand in her lap, lifting the other to drape behind his shoulders. "Where did you get those things anyway?" she wonders. If he won't drink the rum she brought, she'll help herself to it, snagging it up for a quick sip.
Skinner couldn't go after his drink while both arms were busy with June, but he doesn't seem to mind waiting for her to finish a drink before he takes it from her for his own. "Northwest of here, just out in the jungle. It was a very hot day," he explains, tilting the glass towards himself so he can get a good look inside. "And I kept sweating off my repellent. Well, so it goes. Come by the market sometime next week, you can see what I suffered for. You all like jewelry well enough."
June nods first at his bug story, then for his offer to show her the goods. She voices a skeptical, drawn out, "Uh huh," though. "I'm going to need a better pitch than that," she tells him. It's her job to get people good an drunk and she chooses right now to be particularly dutiful; the fingers that just left his drink glass find it again, just touching the bottom and lifting gently to guide it up toward his mouth.
She's dutiful, he's obedient; the glass gets lifted and he takes a few more gulps. When he lowers the glass again, he's got a bit of rum clinging to his moustache, which he damps away with a few presses against his wrist. "I don't, actually," he tells her, cheerfully resuming the conversation where he left it before the stop to drink and dab. "It's excellent stuff. Reasonably priced. I'm just letting you know you should visit, because it's probably going to sell out after two or three days. I don't want you to miss it." He tips his beer towards June, a brow lifted inquisitively.
June makes no promises, she just lets a vague, "Ah," fall from her lips and leaves it at that. Slowly, she leans back against his bracing arm, a short little stretch that doesn't interfere with her asking curiously, "So the market is doing well, is it? Now that it's off the ground?"
Since she doesn't take up the offer of a drink, Skinner assumes she doesn't want it, and has more for himself. "Good choice, by the way," he adds on emerging, his moustache remaining dry this time. "The market's doing very well. We have passed that stage where I have to explain what the market is to every person I'm convincing to rent from me, which means I've got recognition for it." He lifts his drink to that, a toast!
June gives him a literal pat on the back, since she has no drink of her own to toast with. "Very good," she compliments lightly, with just enough conviction in it to prove her sincerity. "You are still promoting The Seven into riches and prosperity, though, aren't you?" she checks with good humor, lifting her eyebrow in an exaggerated arch, the expression of a schoolteacher checking for her students' compliance.
After setting his drink down, the toast completed, Skinner places a hand over his heart. "Wherever I go," he assures her, like it's part of a solemn vow. Then his grin pops free and he abandons the act, flopping that free arm across the table, drink nearby but not yet retaken. "Haven't you had enough sailors to satisfy you, and prove my devotion?" He turns a wide-eyed, and yes, utterly devoted look on her.
June plants a single finger between that wide-eyed stare, letting the pad of it rest at the tip of his nose. After it's landed, she tells him in all seriousness, "We can never have too many sailors." Her smile breaks wide again as she moves her hand to the side of his face, landing a light pat along his jaw while she's reassuring him. "But your devotion has been well proven, don't worry. It's the reason you still get those lovely little fruity drinks." Yes, she noticed his order earlier, and from the squint of her eyes now, was very amused by it.
Skinner laughs with her at the mention of those fruity drinks, giving her hip a light pat. "Don't hold it against me. Sometimes I play the chameleon, to put people at ease." He reaches for his drink, but before bringing it to his lips he pauses and gives June a sly look. "Between you and me, I'm putting out feelers for a second market. Mm," once again he starts drinking and stops to add, "not for a while, mind you." Drink.
The sly look has June interested before he even speaks; she tilts her head in to indicate that interest, eyebrows jumping up with a more gradual, candid motion. "Oh?" she wonders rhetorically, giving her a chance to draw her arm a bit tighter around his neck, wordless encouragement. "Then do tell... just between you and me... where?"
Skinner holds up his pinky finger, indicating she should wait while he drinks down the remainder of his glass. When it's empty, he plants it triumphantly on the table and wipes his moustache clean before wrapping the other arm around June, still at the waist. He beams at her. "On the northern part of the island. I've been scouting out the minor holds up there, see who I get along with. Don't worry." He hugs her hips as he revives this earlier thread of conversation. "I'm not leaving the island. At this point, that'd be an administrative nightmare."
"At this point," is what June pounces on first in all of that, her smile twisting a bit as she muses that clarifying phrase, head nodding faintly. She doesn't press him on that, instead offering, "There's a port hold, more east than north. But it's where all the traffic from that part of the mainland comes through. Driftwood Cove. Silly name, I know, but we came through there on our way down, they were very accomodating." Consider it suggested. Her eye wanders to the glass he's put down and she, again dutiful, asks, "You want another?"
Skinner drops her a wink, having apparently dropped that tantalizing phrase in on purpose. Whether or not there's any seriousness to the suggestion will have to remain a matter of debate. "I've been there," he replies. "On my list, in fact, but it's good to know who /you/ like." The emphasis is slight, but the flattery's transparent, and he acknowledges that with a rakish grin. About the drink, his eyes flick to it then back, the grin spreading wider. "Only if you're buying."
"Happy to help," June offers, though any real happiness in her voice is masked by the dryness of it all. When the conversation turns to the drink she levels a long look at the glass, and then at Skinner himself, letting quiet fall between them for a second. The long-suffering sigh is so overblown it's clearly an act, but there's still a bit of real reluctance when it comes to getting to her feet again. Maybe it just felt good to sit for a moment. "Of course I'll buy," she answers finally, cheerful. "You'll have to answer to the rest of the drunks if you drink me dry, though," she warns as she sways off to get him another. She returns a while later with his refill, opting to lean against the table's edge rather than sink into his lap again.
"If I drink you dry, I won't be in much shape for answering to anybody," Skinner says to her retreating backside, which he has no qualms about admiring as it goes. In the time it takes her to return with his refill, the alcohol's seeped a bit deeper into his brain, and he's got his chin resting on his arms which are crossed on the table. "Welcome back," he says, with a one-sided smile. His eyes trail down to the perch she's chosen, and then pop back up with eyebrows raised. "You comfortable up there?"
"Not so much," June answers frankly, even shifting a bit to maximize what little comfort might be there to find on that edge. "But if I sit down much longer, I'm not going to want to get up and I have cleaning to do after you and your drunk ass go home." Her eyes drop to him from a quick survey of the room and squint as soon as she takes measure of his one-sided smile. "You really are drunk aren't you," she states rather than asks.
"Oh, I'm wandering in and out," Skinner replies, weaving one hand through the empty air. From the way he easily gets hooked on watching that hand move, though, it seems he's pretty much 'in' at this point. "But I'm not too far gone. Unfortunately. Why would you wanna get rid of me? I could stick around - bother Livi. Livi likes me when I'm drunk." Or he just /thinks/ Livi likes him when he's too drunk to know the difference. He flashes June a big, white-toothed smile.
June watches him, chuckling intermittently to herself over his explanation. "Livi likes everyone when they're drunk," she bursts his bubble. "Or when she's drunk. Mostly both." She reaches a hand down and folds her palm over the curve of his head, moving it back and forth playfully while she says, "I'm not wanting to get rid of you. Not at all. In fact," and she pushes his head back, letting him look up at her without effort, even if it is a rather uncomfortable effortlessness, "I'm going to find Livi for you. You look like you could use some dancing." Her eyebrows arch in question again. How about it?
Skinner lets his head sway under the direction of her hand, though his teeth vanish somewhere in there and take the flash out of his smile. It's still a big one, at least. "Everyone could use some dancing," he opines, taking her hand off his head and pressing it between his palms. "You, me, Livi, and the rest of the girls. How about it? Dishes can wait." And he lets go of her hand to flip a dismissive gesture at the other remaining patrons, who as far as he's concerned don't matter either.
June laughs over his enthusiasm and then, over a very gentle extrication of her hand, says, "You see if you can handle Livi first, then I'll send the rest of them. One by one." Promises, promises, all she leaves him with is promises, for she's pushing off of that table edge again, returning to the bar. She makes good on one of them, at least; Livi drags him to his feet and then around behind her as she goes in search of a harper to play a tune for them to dance to.
Location: The Lucky Seven, Ista Weyr
Date: 8-15-09
Stolen from Skinner!
Skinner's been in the tavern for about two hours now, taking advantage of his free beer to warm up a pair of holders from the north. The two went down surprisingly easy, getting noticeably drunk after just two laced fruit drinks; even more surprising, Skinner seemed to go down with them, and has been increasingly loud and chuckly as the conversation wore on. Their business now concluded, however, the holders move upstairs to the rooms they rented for tonight (for it is nearing bed time). With them gone, Skinner becomes a lot more steady as he holds up his hand and "Yo"s the nearest sister for a drink. "Something with actual alcohol in it, if you would, love."
It's a tie for who's nearest, because Chidiree and Danta are both there, bending toward each other to exchange some amusing tidbit. Chidiree is just about to reveal a smile when Skinner interrupts the progress she's made and sends her mouth slanting downward again. She exchanges a glance with her sister and it must be the most lightning quick game of paper-rock-scissors; with an eyeroll, short-straw Chee moves closer and Danta slips away to the games room. "Are you saying that Petra's beer doesn't have alcohol in it?" Chidiree questions him as she swings over to his table, scooping up the empty bottle without slowing her step.. "I'm going to tell her you said that."
Skinner holds up his hands with a grin, emphatically waving off Petra's wrath. "I'm saying those fruit things don't have any alcohol in them. You know I'd /never/ malign Petra's beer, doll." Leaning his elbow on the table, he cups his cheek inside the palm and looks at Chidiree. He'd look like a starstruck youth, looking at her from that pose, if not for the sparkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. "But you know, now that you mention it, I /would/ like something harder than Petra's beer. I'm hurting, you know." He pats one of the many bug bites on his arm and gives Chidiree a mournful look, so now he really does look lovestruck.
The sight of those bug bites makes Chidiree pause where his beer bottle couldn't. Hovering at his shoulder, she leans to peer in the lowered light of the bar. "They don't look that painful," she muses, giving one of the larger, nastier ones a poke with her fingernail. Then, with a laugh, she dances a few quick steps to escape any retaliation, heading bar-ward to get him his something harder. It isn't her that delivers it, though, it's June, swaying over with a thick-spiced rum and a serious set to her expression. The glass clunks down in front of them, her hand planted next to it as soon as it's there. "Excuse me, sir," she says in all earnestness, "you're getting a little rowdy. Do you think you could calm yourself?" The hint, it's all in the eyes; they squint towards a humor the rest of her manner denies.
Skinner flips his hand around to try and grab Chidiree's wrist for poking him, but she's too quick. "Saucy wench!" he calls after her, the accusation in his voice not matched by the laughter that follows it. So he's earned that playful rebuke from June, a little bit, and when she makes it he stretches out his expression so the grin he's giving her looks dull and drunk. "Whazzat? Don't think I heard you." He cups a hand around his ear. "Why don't you come closer, here, say it again."
June favors him with that even stare a beat longer before she complies by leaning closer. She props her elbows on the table, keeping her arms separated enough that they don't destroy the wonderfully deep cleavage she's giving him a view of. The men behind her must be getting quite a show, too, for she bends over to place her chin in her hands. Still serious, she adds a touch of sensuality to the mix, "I said you're being too rowdy. What are you going to do about it?" There, a twitch of a smile tips up at the very corners.
Skinner doesn't even need a second to think about it. "Ask you to join me!" he replies jovially, and still loudly, his arm shooting out around June's shoulders. Just in case she had some hesitation, he pulls down on her neck, and (despite his complaints) he actually has had a bit to drink already, so he's a little rougher about it than he should be, and doesn't seem to notice. "I'll buy ya a drink," he offers the woman who owns all the drink, /and/ knows his drinks are free, with a grin.
June finally drops the act and laughs at his response, her chuckles becoming a little bit strained when he yanks her down though they don't disappear. Skinner's lap is the most available seat so she, no stranger to laps for sure, settles there easily, nudging his arm from her shoulders with a simple flick of her fingers. "How about I buy you one instead?" she counters, moving the glass she's already brought closer to him. She's so quick. Her focus falls to Skinner's visible arm, then, and she raised it by the wrist. "These things haven't healed yet?" she wonders idly, passing a short frown down at the ugly red bumps.
"Well, I've only had them about a week," Skinner says, dropping his act as well. Since June's sitting on him, he wraps an arm around her waist to anchor her there (and naturally, enjoy the privilege). The other arm she's inspecting, and he lets it dangle in her grip. "They'll take a bit longer than that to heal, but there's nothing wrong with me. Sweet of you to worry about me, though." His hand turns towards her and the fingers offer a tiddly little wave.
"Worry? Me?" June dismisses the concept with all the dry humor of the self-aware, casual worrywart she is. The wave wriggles her flimsy grip free and she replaces her hand in her lap, lifting the other to drape behind his shoulders. "Where did you get those things anyway?" she wonders. If he won't drink the rum she brought, she'll help herself to it, snagging it up for a quick sip.
Skinner couldn't go after his drink while both arms were busy with June, but he doesn't seem to mind waiting for her to finish a drink before he takes it from her for his own. "Northwest of here, just out in the jungle. It was a very hot day," he explains, tilting the glass towards himself so he can get a good look inside. "And I kept sweating off my repellent. Well, so it goes. Come by the market sometime next week, you can see what I suffered for. You all like jewelry well enough."
June nods first at his bug story, then for his offer to show her the goods. She voices a skeptical, drawn out, "Uh huh," though. "I'm going to need a better pitch than that," she tells him. It's her job to get people good an drunk and she chooses right now to be particularly dutiful; the fingers that just left his drink glass find it again, just touching the bottom and lifting gently to guide it up toward his mouth.
She's dutiful, he's obedient; the glass gets lifted and he takes a few more gulps. When he lowers the glass again, he's got a bit of rum clinging to his moustache, which he damps away with a few presses against his wrist. "I don't, actually," he tells her, cheerfully resuming the conversation where he left it before the stop to drink and dab. "It's excellent stuff. Reasonably priced. I'm just letting you know you should visit, because it's probably going to sell out after two or three days. I don't want you to miss it." He tips his beer towards June, a brow lifted inquisitively.
June makes no promises, she just lets a vague, "Ah," fall from her lips and leaves it at that. Slowly, she leans back against his bracing arm, a short little stretch that doesn't interfere with her asking curiously, "So the market is doing well, is it? Now that it's off the ground?"
Since she doesn't take up the offer of a drink, Skinner assumes she doesn't want it, and has more for himself. "Good choice, by the way," he adds on emerging, his moustache remaining dry this time. "The market's doing very well. We have passed that stage where I have to explain what the market is to every person I'm convincing to rent from me, which means I've got recognition for it." He lifts his drink to that, a toast!
June gives him a literal pat on the back, since she has no drink of her own to toast with. "Very good," she compliments lightly, with just enough conviction in it to prove her sincerity. "You are still promoting The Seven into riches and prosperity, though, aren't you?" she checks with good humor, lifting her eyebrow in an exaggerated arch, the expression of a schoolteacher checking for her students' compliance.
After setting his drink down, the toast completed, Skinner places a hand over his heart. "Wherever I go," he assures her, like it's part of a solemn vow. Then his grin pops free and he abandons the act, flopping that free arm across the table, drink nearby but not yet retaken. "Haven't you had enough sailors to satisfy you, and prove my devotion?" He turns a wide-eyed, and yes, utterly devoted look on her.
June plants a single finger between that wide-eyed stare, letting the pad of it rest at the tip of his nose. After it's landed, she tells him in all seriousness, "We can never have too many sailors." Her smile breaks wide again as she moves her hand to the side of his face, landing a light pat along his jaw while she's reassuring him. "But your devotion has been well proven, don't worry. It's the reason you still get those lovely little fruity drinks." Yes, she noticed his order earlier, and from the squint of her eyes now, was very amused by it.
Skinner laughs with her at the mention of those fruity drinks, giving her hip a light pat. "Don't hold it against me. Sometimes I play the chameleon, to put people at ease." He reaches for his drink, but before bringing it to his lips he pauses and gives June a sly look. "Between you and me, I'm putting out feelers for a second market. Mm," once again he starts drinking and stops to add, "not for a while, mind you." Drink.
The sly look has June interested before he even speaks; she tilts her head in to indicate that interest, eyebrows jumping up with a more gradual, candid motion. "Oh?" she wonders rhetorically, giving her a chance to draw her arm a bit tighter around his neck, wordless encouragement. "Then do tell... just between you and me... where?"
Skinner holds up his pinky finger, indicating she should wait while he drinks down the remainder of his glass. When it's empty, he plants it triumphantly on the table and wipes his moustache clean before wrapping the other arm around June, still at the waist. He beams at her. "On the northern part of the island. I've been scouting out the minor holds up there, see who I get along with. Don't worry." He hugs her hips as he revives this earlier thread of conversation. "I'm not leaving the island. At this point, that'd be an administrative nightmare."
"At this point," is what June pounces on first in all of that, her smile twisting a bit as she muses that clarifying phrase, head nodding faintly. She doesn't press him on that, instead offering, "There's a port hold, more east than north. But it's where all the traffic from that part of the mainland comes through. Driftwood Cove. Silly name, I know, but we came through there on our way down, they were very accomodating." Consider it suggested. Her eye wanders to the glass he's put down and she, again dutiful, asks, "You want another?"
Skinner drops her a wink, having apparently dropped that tantalizing phrase in on purpose. Whether or not there's any seriousness to the suggestion will have to remain a matter of debate. "I've been there," he replies. "On my list, in fact, but it's good to know who /you/ like." The emphasis is slight, but the flattery's transparent, and he acknowledges that with a rakish grin. About the drink, his eyes flick to it then back, the grin spreading wider. "Only if you're buying."
"Happy to help," June offers, though any real happiness in her voice is masked by the dryness of it all. When the conversation turns to the drink she levels a long look at the glass, and then at Skinner himself, letting quiet fall between them for a second. The long-suffering sigh is so overblown it's clearly an act, but there's still a bit of real reluctance when it comes to getting to her feet again. Maybe it just felt good to sit for a moment. "Of course I'll buy," she answers finally, cheerful. "You'll have to answer to the rest of the drunks if you drink me dry, though," she warns as she sways off to get him another. She returns a while later with his refill, opting to lean against the table's edge rather than sink into his lap again.
"If I drink you dry, I won't be in much shape for answering to anybody," Skinner says to her retreating backside, which he has no qualms about admiring as it goes. In the time it takes her to return with his refill, the alcohol's seeped a bit deeper into his brain, and he's got his chin resting on his arms which are crossed on the table. "Welcome back," he says, with a one-sided smile. His eyes trail down to the perch she's chosen, and then pop back up with eyebrows raised. "You comfortable up there?"
"Not so much," June answers frankly, even shifting a bit to maximize what little comfort might be there to find on that edge. "But if I sit down much longer, I'm not going to want to get up and I have cleaning to do after you and your drunk ass go home." Her eyes drop to him from a quick survey of the room and squint as soon as she takes measure of his one-sided smile. "You really are drunk aren't you," she states rather than asks.
"Oh, I'm wandering in and out," Skinner replies, weaving one hand through the empty air. From the way he easily gets hooked on watching that hand move, though, it seems he's pretty much 'in' at this point. "But I'm not too far gone. Unfortunately. Why would you wanna get rid of me? I could stick around - bother Livi. Livi likes me when I'm drunk." Or he just /thinks/ Livi likes him when he's too drunk to know the difference. He flashes June a big, white-toothed smile.
June watches him, chuckling intermittently to herself over his explanation. "Livi likes everyone when they're drunk," she bursts his bubble. "Or when she's drunk. Mostly both." She reaches a hand down and folds her palm over the curve of his head, moving it back and forth playfully while she says, "I'm not wanting to get rid of you. Not at all. In fact," and she pushes his head back, letting him look up at her without effort, even if it is a rather uncomfortable effortlessness, "I'm going to find Livi for you. You look like you could use some dancing." Her eyebrows arch in question again. How about it?
Skinner lets his head sway under the direction of her hand, though his teeth vanish somewhere in there and take the flash out of his smile. It's still a big one, at least. "Everyone could use some dancing," he opines, taking her hand off his head and pressing it between his palms. "You, me, Livi, and the rest of the girls. How about it? Dishes can wait." And he lets go of her hand to flip a dismissive gesture at the other remaining patrons, who as far as he's concerned don't matter either.
June laughs over his enthusiasm and then, over a very gentle extrication of her hand, says, "You see if you can handle Livi first, then I'll send the rest of them. One by one." Promises, promises, all she leaves him with is promises, for she's pushing off of that table edge again, returning to the bar. She makes good on one of them, at least; Livi drags him to his feet and then around behind her as she goes in search of a harper to play a tune for them to dance to.