"You can't take someone else's coffee! It isn't yours!"

Her face, blushed, childishly searching for some form of indignation. The manager's face, flabbergasted, still searching for an appropriate emotional response. Alason turned back to the waitress.

"Sorry, I don't know what that was about, I'm usually much more reasonable. I just really hate-"

[color=00a651]Centuries old, family dead, lives in a tree, socially inept[/color]

Alason grinned as he perused the hidden truths hidden in the lines of this waitress' face. "-Feta. I assume you won't want the coffee back, but really, do keep the change. Or maybe give it to the poor sod who's coffee I stole. I... sorry, I'm rambling." This was rather uncomfortable; Alason had to find some way to change the pressure of the conversation. Adopting a more casual stance and tone, quieting a bit so as to be inaudible to the manager:

"So, Ms. Oakbough, what do you think of the opening of the new school year? I'm not a fan of the inevitable influx of undergrads, but hey, if it helps the local economy and gets these kids some quality education, I suppose I can't complain, no?" Alason took an extended sip of his commandeered coffee, and awaited response while making a persistent eye contact with this... [color=00a651]Anwen Oakbough[/color]... and delving through her personal history.