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"You asked me to do this," Owen says, looking a bit dire. Sinjin looks at his agent and then nods slowly. He did ask. "We're still in negotiations on the details for THE INGENUE but if you happen to hit it off with Miss Walker, that would be — well, it would be stellar. We want her for the lead and it would help if she'd put some pressure on her studio from her end. I was looking for reservations for you two and apparently you made enough of an impression on Mr. Fisk that he'd like you to have his table at La Caravelle in the event that he's not using it. Especially if it's for you and any young lady you happen to be courting."
"Do people still court?" Sinjin is on his feet and limping toward the closet. He has a dinner jacket, Owen made him buy one earlier this year. Fortunately, mens' fashion moves like a slug. "I suppose they do."
"I talked to Miss Walker's agent and there's going to have to be some juggling but she can make it to dinner tonight," Owen says, following Sinjin along like the world's youngest fairy godfather. "She's got her own car, she'll meet you there. That'll save you the small talk in the limo."
"I'm excellent at small talk." Now Sinjin needs to find his…
"Will you get in the shower, I'll find your cufflinks." Owen smacks him with a cumberbund.
"Going! Going!" The inevitable looms. Sinjin heads for it full steam, because there's no sense being late for it.
So it is that the dinner hour finds Sinjin in the 60th floor lobby of La Caravelle, cigarette in hand, taking advantage of one of the lovely velvet couches here. Every time the elevator chimes with a new arrival, his heart does an odd flip of anxiety. He's not used to being nervous. But, he's never actually taken anyone out before. And this is where he decides to start. La Caravelle. New York. And a movie star.
*
A date. With an author. But not just any author. A young talented author who penned the book that is to be the movie in which she shall be a leading character. Her agent had made the arrangements, she just has to look nice, show up, and make sure things go well. Wearing a fancy red blue dress, with matching heels, a crystal necklace, and holding a small purse in her left hand, Trish Walker looks herself over in her mirror before she leaves. Yes, she does believe this shall be acceptable.
The car ride over is relatively quick. Before she knows it, she's riding the elevator to the 60th floor, to La Caravelle. As it takes her up, she smooths out her dress slightly, a nervous tick she developed years ago whenever she was on her way to something new and exciting.
Ding! The doors open and she takes in a deep breath, smiling widely as she steps off the elevator.
*
That there is definitely Trish Walker. She's lovely in her pictures but there's an extra spark there when she's in person. She is an actress but if she's not happy to be here then Sinjin mentally congratulates her on a good show.
He puts the cigarette out in the too-fancy ashtray at hand, then makes it to his feet, leaning on the cane in his right hand. He still shows the signs of a man people have, fairly recently even, been trying to kill — as the papers reported. It's a bit different seeing it in person, the fading bruises and the healing stitches down the left side of his face, the gauntness from weeks of not eating while he healed.
On the other hand, the mischief is back in his grin and he moves well as he crosses the lobby. The papers reported — with photographs even — that just yesterday he was throwing fire and taking down villains in Central Park.
"Miss Walker." Sinjin's voice is quiet from disuse but his Australian accent comes through clearly. "Lovely to meet you at last. Apologies for the short notice."
*
"Mr. Allerdyce! It is so lovely to meet you at last. Not at all. It should be I who apologizes. Sometimes I wonder if my schedule isn't too filled." Trish chuckles softly. Her smile, if briefly, falters as she looks upon the remnants of the attacks on Sinjin.
"Oh dear…I was terribly sorry to read about the unfortunate circumstances that lead to…" She chews on her lower lip. "Oh, but I'm sure you don't want to talk about that."
Clearing her throat, she smiles brightly again. "Regardless, I'm quite glad we're able to meet. I've read the book, and I must say, it was quite entertaining."
*
Sinjin offers Trish his free arm so they can enter the restaurant together, down that long, narrow passage past the kitchens. They're a fairly evenly-matched pair. Sinjin is just a little taller than she is, just a year older.
"I'm glad you liked the book. Thank you for actually reading it. My agent hated it right up until someone offered to option it for a movie," he says with a quiet laugh. "He's always irritable about those novels."
The maitre d' sweeps toward them and notably does not ask if they have a reservation or who they are or anything of the sort. "This way, please," he says crisply, then sails ahead at a dignified pace, nose in the air. Their presence in the restaurant, together, does not go unnoticed but, at La Caravelle, it is simply a footnote. A little something to throw out as gossip over cards later, or at the salon.
"I happen to like those books, the romances," Sinjin says fondly. "They make people happy. There's not enough of that around."
*
Looping her arm through Sinjin's, Trish follows his lead. Her heels make a clicking sound as they walk toward the dining room. She lets herself look around for a moment, this being the first time she's actually eaten here.
"Not a thing could have stopped me from reading the book." She comments softly. "I love to read, to begin with. But, if I'm going to put my name to something, I'd like to know its quality, as well. I wouldn't want my name associated with something of low quality, after all." She gives Sinjin a little playful wink.
"Romances are a wondrous thing." She nods ever so gently. "They bring hope that life is something better than the daily grind in which we live, don't you think?"
*
"That's why I started writing them." Sinjin waits as a waiter pulls out Trish's chair at a lovely window table, then he delivers her to it before taking his own seat. The waiter fusses around them with details such as the champagne and flowers.
"My step-mother loved romance novels. I used to read them to her, until she read enough English to read them herselves. We traded. She taught me Korean in return. After I came here from Vietnam, life had been terrible for some time and I didn't want to write about anything too real. So I wrote about things I thought ought to be real." Sinjin gestures around them, at the glittering restaurant full of beautiful people. "Places like this. Women like you. And love."
*
Brushing her dress slightly underneath her as she sits, Trish nods to the waiter and thanks him. After a moment of adjusting herself so that she's comfortable, she places her little purse on the table to the side.
"That's rather sweet of you, reading to your step-mother." She tilts his head ever so slightly, the light glinting and sparkling softly in her eyes. "I can almost picture you reading to her. It's a rather lovely image." She nods as she listens to her words. "Well, you needn't think them real any longer. I can assure you that places like this and women like me are rather quite real. I should know, I'm a woman like me in a place like this."
*
"That makes you perfect for the role, and all of this a little unreal for me," Sinjin admits. "If I make any mistakes here, I hope you'll forgive me. I went from living on the streets to living the jungle and then here to New York — which is a strange blend of both, let me tell you. I hadn't seen a building like this before I got here, much less a restaurant like this. But I can be taught." He gives her a lopsided grin and a hopeful look. "I'm a quick study, I promise you. Just whack me with a rolled up newspaper or something if I get out of line."
*
"All of this," Trish waves her hand around, indicating the restaurant, the people, and even the city outside the window, "can be a bit much to take in. I can understand that." She knows almost better than anyone, since her life wasn't always quite like this. "All who reach this level of…of wealth, or of fame, must learn to navigate the maze that is 'high society'. It isn't an easy task, so I won't hold it against you if you commit a social faux pas or two. But I'll nudge you toward the proper etiquette as gently as possible." She laughs playfully, smirking.
"Let's just take this one step at a time, though, shall we? We don't want to take leaps and bounds before we've taken even our first step." She says in a matter-of-fact tone. "And the first step is food and drinks."
*
"Of course not. Walking before running, as they say. And the walking involves champagne, apparently," Sinjin says, gesturing at the bottle and the glasses. "Although, if we take too many steps in that direction, it's going to involve falling down. Not that I'm above a little falling down, mind you. Some occasions do call for it and I try to adapt." He takes up the bottle and pauses before filling Trish's glass. "May I?"
*
"What they don't tell you is that running can be quite fun! Yes, it makes you tired, but it's a good tired. Like after a day out on the town." Trish raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "I'm not afraid of falling down. You know the important thing to remember, though, when you fall down? Or when you get knocked down? You need to get up again. They're never gonna keep you down."
Wiggling her nose slightly, she nods. "Yes, please. I love champagne. It's one of the nicer perks to being in such positions as we're in." She smiles.
*
"Well." Sinjin fills her glass, then his, before be puts the bottle back in the ice. "Here's to perks," he says, raising his glass to her with a smile. "And to our continued good fortune. I certainly feel incredibly lucky to be here."
*
Raising her glass as well, Trish clinks it against Sinjin's once he's made the toast. "As do I. We're quite lucky." She takes a sip of the champagne and places the glass down. Taking up a menu, she studies it carefully. "I wonder what I should get to eat…" She murmurs.
*
Dinner flies by — Sinjin is mostly left with the impression of movement and music: waiters coming and going, other guests laughing, a string quartet playing in the background, the flash of silverware, Trish's voice and her laugh and the sparkle in her eyes as she regales him with all the gossip and the scandals of the day. It's easy to be out with her, she's obviously been taught to be charming but her natural sweetness surfaces when she gets going and that's even better. It's worth paying attention and pulling out something pithy to say that makes her giggle or something naughty that makes her eyes widen before she laughs.
After dinner, which is as brilliant as La Caravelle's reputation promised, Sinjin offers Trish his hand to help her to her feet. The maitre d' informs him that their car has been called and waits for them downstairs.
"Where to?" he asks. "Should I take you home?"
*
Grabbing her little purse and accepting Sinjin's hand, Trish stands and smiles. "Oh, if you could take my to my si…" She stops and frowns. "No. That would be silly, me dressed like this." She doesn't explain what she was about to say. "I suppose home it is?" As they start to walk toward the elevator, she smiles. "That really was a lovely dinner. I quite enjoyed it. A shame it seemed to go by so quickly."
*
"You could go anywhere you wanted, dressed like that," Sinjin promises. "Anyone who looks that good ought to be welcome anywhere. Pity Central Park is cleaned up, we could finish the evening by fighting a little evil, maybe have coffee after." His tone is light but he's not making fun of her, his wink is conspiratorial. "I'll take you anywhere you want to go. It's been a good time — hopefully we can do it again. I'd like to get to know you better. Feels like I've hardly scratched the surface, pretty as the surface is."
*
"We could've been fighting evil by moonlight! Sounds a little too romantic, if you ask me." Trish giggles softly. "Coffee would keep me up all night at this point, though. But," she pauses and wiggles her nose as she thinks for a moment. "Would you care for a nightcap of some sort?" She shakes her head and waves a dismissive hand. "There's really not that much to know about me. You'd probably find it boring, more than anything."
*
"I'd love one," Sinjin says, waiting as the bellhop at the elevator presses the call button. "But I promise you that I will not be bored. I think there's more to you than you let on." He gives her a sideways look and a warm smile. "Because I like you already, I will let you in on a little theory of mine about people." The elevator chimes and opens, and Sinjin steps in with Trish, keeping her close. "You ready for this? Because it's just a theory, but I think it's a good one."
*
"I've a lovely port at my apartment, perfect for finishing off the evening with." Trish explains as she steps onto the elevator, thanking the bellhop as she does so. She seems to make a habit of thanking all the staff that have helped them, even in the smallest of ways. "I'm well prepared for your theory, but I doubt it will make my story any less mundane. It's a rather unexciting life tale."
*
"You'd be surprised how engaging the mundane is when you care enough about the person it's happening to," Sinjin points out. "But, here you are. Sometimes, when I meet someone, I feel a kind of resonance with them. Like if you struck two bells and they rang in harmony. And, no matter where I've been in the world, or the circumstances of the other person — even someone who hated me — when I feel that I know that they have some story, some secret, some scar that runs as deep in them as mine does in me. And so." He pauses to give Trish a little smile. "That is how I know there's more to you and that it'll mean something to me, whenever you decide to let me see it."
*
Giving Sinjin a wary look, as if she can't decide whether he's being genuine, or just telling her a line, or maybe a mixture of the two, Trish sighs and shrugs. "The tabloids have been trying to get my story for years. There's a reason I don't tell it. I'm not embarrassed. But it really is rather mundane, even for someone who cares about me. I know someone else who'd agree with that too, someone who's involved with the story." Okay, maybe Jessica wouldn't say 'mundane', but she likes to use more colourful language. "Up to the point of starting It's Patsy, that's all my story to tell, when I'm ready. And I may even tell it tonight, over the nightcap. But there's a portion, after the fact, that involves someone else, and it's not for me to tell that part of the story without their permission. At least, I wouldn't feel right about it."
*
"This isn't for a story, Trish." Sinjin shakes his head slowly. "Though, given my profession, I can see why you'd think that way. I just don't want you to think you're mundane or that your story doesn't matter to me, wouldn't matter to me if I knew what it was. I can be a kind of flippant ass and I can get too clever and I'm sorry if I'm doing that to you. That feeling I just talked about, I meant it. So, you can tell me anything. You can read me a fashion magazine or list all the ways in which my manners come up short, I'll still come over. I like being around you and that doesn't happen much for me."
*
Snorting at the mention of manner, actually snorting in an unlady-like manner, Trish chuckles. "Trust me. Your manners are not a problem. If tey were, I wouldn't consider a nightcap." The elevator chimes in and the doors open. "We'll see where the evening takes us, shall we?" I flash a wide smile. "Perhaps you'll be lucky enough to hear some of my story once we're somewhere less public."
*
"As you wish." Sinjin escorts Trish out to the car and, once they're inside, lets her give the driver instructions as to where to go.
He's a little different in the car. Taut and anxious in a way that he wasn't in the restaurant. He can hide it for an elevator ride but car rides are longer and it's less certain when he's going to get out. It shows in the way he fidgets with a lighter that he produced from one of his pockets, almost as it by sleight of hand.
*
Giving her address to the driver, Trish then leans back in the seat and turns her attention back to Sinjin. "So…I could keep calling you by your last name, but that seems a little too formal. You can call me Trish. What should I call you, hmm?" She asks, a warm smile upon her lips.
She looks at him curiously. "Everything okay?"
*
"My friends call me John. The Saint part of the name is a little…inappropriate." Sinjin manages a wink for her. "It's an awkward name for Americans, anyway. Uncommon."
"And I just don't do well in enclosed spaces," he admits, which he never would except that he did pry into her stories. He wants to be honest about things as they come so he doesn't have to dump them out all at once later. "I'm better at hiding it when I'm more on my game. I, um. I spent some time in a box, in Vietnam. It was unpleasant and I'm not over it." He folds his hands in his lap, over the lighter. "The lighter is because I need it to spark my powers. It's kind of like a security blanket, only less awkward in public."
*
"John it is, then." Trish smiles and nods. "We…don't exactly call people saints here, no. Not unless we're talking about the ones the religions talk about." She shrugs a little.
At his story, her eyes go wide. "Oh…oh dear. I'm terribly sorry to hear that. That must've been awful!" She frowns. "Life just isn't fair, is it?"
*
"I was reckless. I don't think fair comes into it. I am reckless," Sinjin admits, meeting her eyes. "At least when it comes to some wretched compulsion to do the right thing. It usually works out for me." That's completely absurd coming from a man who just had two assassination attempts last month but maybe his standards are just that low. "But thank you," he adds, with a little laugh. "I'm still working on it. If you can overlook a little quirkiness, it's nothing for you to worry about."
*
"Well, there's certainly nothing wrong with wanting to do the right thing. In fact, doing the right thing is rather commendable." Trish doesn't say much about the compulsion, though she definitely knows the urge to help people.
When the vehicle comes to a stop at her building, the doorman approaches and opens the door for her and Sinjin. "Well, here we are! I'd say it was a modest building but, well, that would be a lie, and I really don't like to lie."
*
"If you told me this was a modest building, I'd have to assume you grew up in the Taj Mahal," Sinjin says, laughing. He gives the doorman a smile and a nod on the way through. "But, it suits you. Both of you are elegant and thoroughly out of my league," he teases.
*
"The Taj Mahal wishes it was as nice as this place." Trish grins as she pushes the call button for the elevator. "Honestly, this place is like a palace compared to where I started out, before I gained my fame." I explain softly. "I'm…I'm really not that elegant. And I'm definitely within your league." She grins. "Trust me."
*
"I do trust you," Sinjin says, even though he's shaking his head. "Though it does stress the fabric of realism a little for me to do so. This is quite literally the first suit I have ever owned. And my agent made me get it when I first got to New York — with threats. He assures me it's a very nice one. In all honesty? He helped get me into it tonight, after threatening to strangle me with my own tie if I didn't stand still and let him."
*
"Well, he was right. It's a rather nice suit. It looks good on you!" Trish grins. As the elevator dings and the doors open, she leads them on, giving the elevator operator a little nod. He knows what floor they need. She turns her attention back to Sinjin.
"Well, when you hear where I come from, you're probably realize that the realism of the situation isn't as far fetched as it may have originally seemed." She explains. "I'm rather more…oh, how would some of the wealthiest of the wealthy put it?" She furrows her brow in concentration for a moment. "I'm rather more plebeian than can occasionally meet the eye."
*
"That's reassuring, if I may be selfish about it, just for a moment." Sinjin leans against the elevator rail, hands folded on top of his cane, and watches the numbers change on the dial above — not having any idea when they're going to stop is daunting. His knuckles are white but he's sure he'll manage until they get wherever they're going.
*
Before too long, the doors open. Trish leads them down a very short hallway to her door, as she digs through her purse for her keys. Once the door is unlocked, she looks back at Sinjin. "I may occasionally seem more plebeian, and that may have been where I started from, but my apartment is by no means so. If I'm elegant? Well, it's even more so!" She explains as she finally opens the door to a nice looking apartment. While at first glance it may seem rather old school, 19th century, there are certainly 20th century upgrades to it.
*
"For what it's worth from someone who lives in a shoebox, it's lovely," Sinjin says quite honestly, following her in and taking a look around. "Not that I need anything more. I'd get lost if it were more than ten feet between bed and my typewriter. I'm usually only there when I'm working and, when I work, I like it all in reach. Do you have a place in L.A. as well or are you here full time?"
*
"Well, thank you." Trish smiles brightly. "I'm rather fond of it, really." She places her wallet on the counter and moves to the cupboards. "Please, have a seat." She motions to the little living room. "I'll be right there with the drink."
She gets two glasses out of the cupboards and starts toward her wine rack, where she gets a bottle of port, which seems to have been opened at least once.
Approaching the living room, she responds to the question of apartments. "I had considered purchasing myself a place in Hollywood as well, but I feel I just don't spend enough time there to justify it." She explains. "Instead, I use a studio leased apartment whenever I'm there."
*
Sinjin has obediently taken a seat on the sofa, hanging his cane over the arm of it. He'll be glad when he's recovered enough to get rid of the damn thing. He likes to at least pretend he's okay. "I hear they're planning to shoot "The Ingenue" in New York, which is good, because I'd have been pretty damn irritable about writing it about New York and then seeing it whisked off to California. Not least because I'm a terrible flier and I'd really love to see you on set — unless that would make you nervous."
*
"It wouldn't have made sense, if you can film here in New York a movie about New York, that's exactly what you should do! Why waste money on creating new sets when you've got the real thing!" Trish agrees as she opens the bottle and starts to pour a glass for both her and Sinjin.
"I'd certainly consider being on set…it's an interesting story. As I said, I liked it. And the role would be a fantastic one to play. But why would you seeing me on set make me nervous?"
*
"No idea. Maybe it's because I get antsy, letting people read what I haven't finished or edited." Sinjin turns to look at her, elbow on the back of the sofa, cheek resting against his hand. "I wondered if shooting scenes was like that for you, like a first draft. I guess I'm uptight that way. Don't like being caught out if I can help it, want to polish everything before it gets seen. It feels a bit naked, having something I'm creating seen before I work all my flaws out of it."
He smiles at Trish when she turns back his way. "Though it's possible you're perfect on the first try. I wouldn't put it past you."
*
"Movie scripts can often go through many drafts, I've learned." Trish lifts up the glasses and hands one over to Sinjin. "But in your case, I'd have to say the most important thing? It's that you feel that it does the book justice. Making sure that you feel the movie script honours the book that it's being adapted from." She gives him a little smile.
"The absolute first reading of anything, whether it's a movie or a TV script? It's never going to be completely perfect. But for those of us like myself, who started off with television? We're accustomed to making sure we make it as perfect as possible as quick as possible, because we've got a weekly show to put on. So I usually try to do as few takes as possible. I try to ensure it's as good as we can make it in the first few tries." She shrugs a little. "But that's not because I'm perfect, it's just because I've had practice." She gives him a little wink. "But thank you for the compliment."
*
"Thank you." Sinjin takes the glass with probably a little more gratitude than is required, then gestures for Trish to join him if she likes. "I'm a little nervous, letting someone else have at my book. But, I'll try anything once." He takes a drink, looking thoughtful. "You were going to tell me a little something about your life in television, weren't you? It sounds like a lot for a young person. A lot of pressure to get it all right."
*
Relaxing a bit, Trish shrugs. "Was it my life in television?" She smiles. "Oh, it was something. I wasn't sure what to do with all the fame at first, when It's Patsy became such a popular show." She scrunches up her nose a little. "I became a household name throughout America. It's a weird feeling."
"My mother and I were not rich by any means. In fact, there were times when we didn't do so well." She explains. "This was before the show. Before It's Patsy." She takes a sip of her drink. "My mother, though, she's a ferocious woman. She won't take no for an answer. It…" She sighs. "It was her idea for the show. She pitched the show to producer after producer, and she added the stipulation that should they decide to pick up the show, that it would have to be me who play the titular role of Patsy. After all, she'd named it after me, my first name really being Patricia." She explains. "And she acted, for the longest time, as my manager. She was…tough. To say the least." She offers Sinjin a tight smile and sips her port. "And that's my story." At least the basics of it.
*
Sinjin listens but there's something in his eyes that suggests he's listening to what she doesn't say — and how she doesn't say it — as well as the words that are coming. "That sounds difficult, having someone that overwhelming at the center of your life. I have a little familiarity with difficult parents but I didn't have to have either of them around that much, directing my life." He doesn't press further, not now, anyway. Instead, he puts those pieces away with the rest, to consider. There's something about her smile that suggests it might be painful to dig deeper before they know each other better.
"What's your story now? Trish's story? You act — someone else is your manager from the sound of it. And you go to school here? I think Owen said something about that, why we might be more likely to get you on the project."
*
Taking in a deep, steady breath and letting it out slowing, Trish tries to brush the unhappy thoughts out of her mind. "There was a Persian man in the Thirteenth century by the name of Rumi. He talked about a lot of things, but one thing he said has, in recent years, stood out to me." She closes her eyes as she remembers the words. "'Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life's search for love and wisdom.'" She finally quotes.
Opening her eyes once more, she nods. "I act in movies now. I've decided to keep acting, though I did toy with the idea of radio. So, who knows what the future may hold." A sip of her drink is taken. "I do have a different manager who helps me. I attend NYU, where I study philosophy. It's more for the fun of it than for any sort of career." She explains.
*
"You quote Rumi and study philosophy 'for the fun of it'?" Sinjin gives her an arch look. "You have good taste in port. You had a difficult childhood and yet you're kind to everyone you interact with, no matter who they are. Now…" He pauses thoughtfully. "I'm failing to find the mundane person you promised me. I mean, I'll keep looking, if you let me, but I'm bracing myself for some disappointment. Of course, that means I need to take you out again. Maybe somewhere we're both a little more ordinary, if that's possible."
*
"Maybe calling myself 'mundane' is me just wishing for something I'll never quite be?" Trish speaks softly, mostly into her glass, as she lifts it up again for another drink. "Besides, I'm nothing compared to people out there who have abilities. I mean, mutants? And…people who aren't quite mutants but still can do things? It's…I've never had anything like that. I'm a normal girl who happens to act." And be rich.
"Deep down inside is still the scared little girl who doesn't want to step outside her apartment building because of all the scary looking people who hang out on the street." She explains, shaking her head. "And I'm kind to those I meet because kindness…kindess helps heal all the the bad there is in the world. And, well, to quote someone else, Khalil Gibran, 'Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.'" She blushes and looks away. "I'm sorry, I'm talking way too much, aren't I?"
*
"You keep saying things that are worth listening to so, no, I don't think so," Sinjin says, quite sincerely. "It's been a long time since I had a genuine talk with someone that wasn't about, well, crimes against humanity. I like you, Trish. I'm a hard person in some ways, I'm cynical, and I'm tired. You're…not. You're hopeful and gentle and good. Time with you has made me feel better than anything the doctors have been handing me."
Sinjin offers her one of his hands, scarred palm up. "I wasn't sure what to expect out of going out to dinner with you tonight but, no matter what happens with the movie or anything else for that matter, I want to keep listening to you."
*
Glancing back at Sinjin, Trish smiles timidly. "We can talk about crimes against humanity as well…but that would probably not be as…you know." She blushes again. "I'm glad that you've enjoyed our, if brief, time together." She murmurs, reaching out her own hand for Sinjin.
Letting a slow breath out, she says, "Well, let me talk to the studio about the movie. I…I want it to happen. And I'd be honoured if I played the lead." She says softly. "And, the movie aside, I'd um…I'd like to be able to spend more time with you as well."
*
"Then we'll make it happen, Trish." Sinjin gives her hand a gentle squeeze. He looks happy — he's definitely happier than he thought he'd be right now. "Maybe we'll do something that doesn't involve me wearing a tie?" He offers, with a quiet laugh. "You can wear one if you want, of course, I think it'd look charming. No agents setting us up next time, though. Just us. Something we want to do. No matter where we go, we'll find our own way."
*
"Unfortunately my closets are totally tie free. I do not have any ties what so ever! But I could be persuaded, I suppose, to try one on. Just once, though." Trish smiles. "I'd like that. Just a simple get together. Nothing big and fancy." She clinks her glass to Sinjin's and continues talking, discussing at length about her classes and philosophy and just little, unimportant things.
*