The maître de bowed politely and left them, passing by the counter where the rest of the wait staff seemed to linger with their new orders and instead disappearing directly through a pair of ornate doors leading to the kitchen. Despite nearly every table being occupied, it was a safe assumption that their meals would not take long. 

Cyril hardly touched any more of the appetizers, which shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. He would have had to choose then between talking and eating. 

“[color=caffbf]So did you do much shooting, before this?[/color]” he asked, swirling his wine like it was a decoration and not a drink. “[color=caffbf]Piloting, I mean. I’ve heard that pilots who get firearm weapons sometimes find themselves spontaneously possessing an uncanny sort of accuracy. I know the cannon creates quite a generous impact but, well, you still hit a lot of your shots. I’m a little envious, really—the only swordplay I know comes from stage-fighting, and that’s done nothing for me in the cockpit. I’ve had to take fencing lessons from Camille, and…[i]eugh[/i],[/color]” he pulled a face, set his drink down. “[color=caffbf]Talk about brutal. Guess it paid off well enough, though, the other day. It’s just wild how naturally it seems to come for some.[/color]”

Before Quinn could answer, they were joined by a young woman. Like everyone else present, she was dressed impeccably, wearing a gown of black and gold that made her look like she was attending her own red-carpet event. But the look on her face was not one of a star, but rather star[i]struck[/i].

“Master Cyril,” she said, voice a bit shaky through her smile. “I—”

“[color=caffbf]Claire![/color]” he beamed, blinking at the shock that struck her. “[color=caffbf]Claire, right? From the ‘[i]Lucre[/i]’ premier? You were at the signing backstage. Oh please tell me I’m right, I’ll be so embarrassed.[/color]”

“No! No—I mean, you’re right, I just…you remember me?”

“[color=caffbf]Bien sûr! How could I forget such a lovely face?[/color]”

That face flushed a deep red even for the low light. She took a moment to recompose herself, and when her eyes darted to Quinn it seemed to send her right back to the start. Cyril leaned in, smiling up at her expectantly. When she did finally find her bearings, she went on in great length about how much she was by his performance in some recent production or another. She spoke with the insight of someone well-versed in theatre, not just as a member of the audience, but also as a member of the stage. 

Cyril listened intently, smiling and nodding and politely rebuffing compliments here and there. Eventually she thanked him for the time, and he thanked her for the praise, and before she left she lingered a moment longer as if she meant to say something to Quinn as well, but suddenly seemed to decide against it. Shyly, she bowed her head, thanked them both again, and shuffled off back to her table across the restaurant. 

“[color=caffbf]Ah,[/color]” Cyril said once they were alone again. “[color=caffbf]Sorry, I hope you didn’t think that was rude of me, I have a hard time turning people away. I’m sure you know all about that, though. You must be the most popular girl in Runa—well, you and Miss St. Senn, I mean.[/color]”