People watching, one would suppose, is a much more intriguing activity when there are interesting people to watch. Not that there are any truly interesting people, dear. (Not after a couple millennia of them, at least.) But you make do with what you are given
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All sorts of people.
And possibly that is why he is watching Styx from a nearby booth, head tilted.
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A slow glance and a smile that could - from some, odd angles - be construed as a pleasant thing.
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He is, however, not much for telling them to himself.
Which is why he is not much for construing.
"We have, I think, not met before."
He tilts his head in the other direction.
"It would be more strange, I think, were this place smaller."
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One might call it a fault.
"But no," a polite tilt of her own chin, eyes curious. "I do not believe we have."
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The door might appear, if she is down here enough.
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Her coffee, for instance, just might want to reheat itself to an acceptable temperature.
But the current moment finds it rather unpleasantly lukewarm and the young woman seated nearby a much more promising choice for glancing at.
She is a pretty thing.
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Two guns, one on each hip, and those big brown eyes of hers flick over.
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The Lady inclines her head with an effortless politeness (all show) and blinks.
"Evening, dear."
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