(Untitled)

[memorysurvives]

Just before seven o'clock Allistar Ethan Hackett can be found running around his house like a madman, pants half down and shirt still unbuttoned, still damp from the shower. His hair's a mess, still, and he knows he's got to be to the Nexus in short order

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[shooting_gstar]

Shel arrives a few minutes later, all recently squeaky clean herself. She's in nice pants and a nice shirt, so clean, you'd think they were bought just today because they were. She waves at Allistar as she approaches.

"Allistar! Hi!" She pauses, then gestures at her head in a 'did you forget to brush?' sort of way.

[memorysurvives]

Allistar, of course, approves, mostly because he approves of any woman that deigns to spend time with him, but nevermind that.

He's not sure if her gesturing is some kind of futuristic greeting so he smiles a little awkwardly. "Hello!" And then he goes to run his hand through his hair and asdfghj he forgot to fix that. "...One. Second." And he goes about furiously trying to fix his hair with his hands. When he's done it doesn't look much different! But he tried.

[shooting_gstar]

Shel tries very hard not to look like she's laughing, but she's not very successful at it. "Here, let me try it." Shel can mess with his hair in an attempt to make it more presentable?

[memorysurvives]

Ahhh, girl touching! He's going to be all embarrassed now but he's certainly not going to move, either. "I uh. Shower. Constable chewed through the wire on my alarm clock."

[shooting_gstar]

Hair-messing shall commence, then! Well, attempted hair unmessing, rather. Fuss fuss fuss. "Do cats usually chew through wires? I've been led to believe they're usually smarter than that."

[memorysurvives]

"I am maybe thinking of bunnies. Dammit." He keeps making faces, isn't that attractive and, you know, not at all like a five year old or anything. "I uh. I'm bad with time. I do, however, have pants on." Somehow that's...an accomplishment? At some point he will realize he's rambling. Some point.

[shooting_gstar]

"Yeah, that's definitely more of a rodent trait. Back home in Gotham, we used to get these rats that-- do not belong in this conversation. Nevermind." She shakes her head. "You do have pants on. Good job. Should we be going then?" She's got her PINpoint at the ready.

[memorysurvives]

He laughs, smiling. "Don't worry about wrong or weird conversation topics. I'm pretty much king of those. Point in case, my pants." Again he laughs, dragging a hand down his face.

"So I hope italian's okay? I got us reservations at Marsilio's. Awesome little place in Trenton." He grins because he's pretty sure this is all good date etiquette, and fumbles for his own PINpoint to show her coordinates.

[shooting_gstar]

"They're, uhhh, nice pants?" Shel offers helpfully.

"Italian's fine," she answers with a smile. "Is it authentically Italian or Americanized Italian, out of curiosity?"

[memorysurvives]

He laughs. "Thanks. I ironed." He's a bit of an airhead but he's a well meaning one.

"And you know? I'm not really sure! It's really good, at least." When they PINpoint they arrive to a quaint little street, standard 21st century fare, just in front of the restaurant. Music can be heard coming from inside. Allistar smiles and straightens his tie before offering his arm to the lady.

[shooting_gstar]

"Well, it doesn't really matter, anyway." Post-PINning, Shel looks around for a while. The arm-offering gets a quizzical look, though. Apparently, this is not a custom that's survived to the 25th century and Allistar is the most polite person Shel's met in the present. Which is probably sad.

[memorysurvives]

It takes him almost a full minute to realize she is not going to take his arm so he will awkwardly put his hand in his pocket and head towards the door instead. He can at least hold that open for her and be reasonably sure she will know what to do. Either way, he's just rolling with it. "Food's really good and so's the music. They've got a killer jukebox," he assures.

Turning toward the host he grins a little. "Reservation for Hackett. Allistar."

[shooting_gstar]

Shel would've appreciated some sort of explanation of what the arm-holding was for, but she'll roll with it. She enters the held-open door, at least. "Really? I'm not very familiar with--" Pause. They're in public, she has to keep quiet about the whole time travel thing. "Popular music."

If there's an opening and the host leads them to a table, she'll follow, and if there's a wait, she'll take a closer look around.

[memorysurvives]

Allistar might explain later but. Probably not. He forgets and he didn't want to embarrass her, besides. "It's old school stuff, I'm not familiar with the half of it. But so long as you haven't gone the way of Bjork, you're good." He pauses to look at Shel. "...Which is basically screamy, whispery, pot banging, so far as I can tell. In...case you didn't know."

Allistar didn't even really need to make reservations, he found out after calling, but he wanted to look Important and Competent. Also really cool. He hopes it's working.

The host greets them both and grabs some very fancy looking menus, leading them to a booth towards the back. The place is traditionally decorated, little bits of Italian history and/or knick knacks hanging about but tasteful enough.

[shooting_gstar]

"Oh, oldies? Mike's a fan." Shel makes a mental note that Bjork = screamy, whispery pot banging = bad and nods in acknowledgment.

Shel is totally impressed. Reservations are, like, classy, right?

She slides into the booth and looks around briefly before inspecting the menu. "So, what's good here?"

[memorysurvives]

Allistar smiles and nods back. "I like the old jazz stuff." He means he really likes it. Enough to have downloaded a billion dvds worth and all.

If they were not in a booth, he'd pull out her chair or something but instead just slides in after her. A waiter comes by to say hello and deposit water on the table while they browse the menus. "Mm, more like what isn't." He grins. "I'm partial to the chicken cacciatore, though. Best I've had."