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"You, me, a day date--" and he shot for suave as butter melting on a skillet over the phone while he got dressed in something nice for once; a dark silk button-down he'd stolen from Trey's place, matching dress slacks that were feather and fur free! A black and gold corset-vest that felt a little cliche' but hell? He thought he pulled it off nicely enough! Letting his mouth run on while looking out at the gentle light of mid-day, checking all his non-subspace pockets, making sure he had the necessities on hand.

"C'mon Em's, please? All work and no play makes even the most beautiful baddies get those itty-bitty stress lines on their faces----" he backpaddled as quickly as he'd spoken, tried to pull his foot back out his mouth.

"M'kidding! Kidding-- but I got these free tickets, in the godamned mail if you can believe that? Do you know how many months it's been since I've checked my actual, physical mail? Ah--long enough that--that it was a whole thing, actually.." his humor bled through, the confusion edged amazement that everything in life went on without him as well as it often did. The way he knew that if he hadn't sent Haymitch over with Cerbs on occasion? He was sure his place would've been vandalized, for all the ways he'd been treating his ramshackle house like a vacay time share more than somewhere he'd poured blood, sweat, tears, fire-retardant into--He was glad that the appearance of magical creatures, phantasmal mega-fauna, and the typical hauntings that seemed to happen especially in his neck of the woods kept most trespassers at bay. So long as someone showed up to make noise n flick the lights on every now n then?

Things seemed to be going fine!

"But, whatever, right? You're gonna say yes, yeah? The pamphlet actually looks ********' interesting, and m'hardly the artsy type, but hell? Any chance to show you off a little n go see all the shiny things; crystal gardens, galleries, buffets..." he could've gone on, but the act of tying his shoes took something like concentration, had him sitting silent over the line, waiting with his whole heart in his throat. Like this was their first date instead of what felt like their thousandth--

His response to her dry enough to be kindling humor was a warm and knowing humm; ever unoffended, always eager to please. He took the time to douse himself in something that smelled like a Jazz lounge and coffee liqueur; sweet and warm as he thought the day would be.

As he hoped the day would be.

He wanted to present himself, to show off, to look good and smell good and pull up to Em's in a way that would've left Adams jaw on the godamned floor in sharp as shattered scalpel pieces. He wanted to woo her with all the fun he'd promised from the start, with all the respect she demanded nice and clear on day one! This would be his attempt to meet Emilia's expectations, just this once, even if the bar he felt she'd set for him was so damn low that he couldn't've tripped on it if he tried!!

None of that made him want to try any less, and she deserved to have him try, didn't she? To keep up his end of the bargain by making her the one and only in the world whenever they were together, for however long that was.

He knew himself well enough to know that even if he'd had a hundred husbands, a thousand lovers, some unlikely and unreasonable amount of part time, one night, single side dishes to lay claim to-- That he still would've found ways to steal time away for her. To make time for her. For all the irony laced in every bit of attire he'd ever adored on her when in uniform; all those loveless, bloody hearts. And for all the bright as the sun at midnight manipulations she leveraged against him. He just couldn't ******** help himself. The people in his life who were special? People like Em's, and his team, and the remnants of his forever chosen family. Those people in his life absolutely deserved his every available affection. His precious, precious time. Though it was some high level of hilarious to think that Metallia would deck the girl who'd caught his eye and put her heel into his soul in ******** hearts! Without also leaving her one in her chest.

An effigy to romance where none could be sustained--

He would've called it a tragedy if he wasn't so damn hyped! Because ******** sustenance, right? Today he wanted empty calories, a good time, a girl who could serve his head up like the red queen while pretending to be anything other than a wolf wandering amongst the sheep on an outing as simple as this.

He liked the dichotomy--same as his heart skipped several damn beats while listening to her go through the stages of getting ready through the line.

"Awh Em's, I wouldn't've wasted your time if I wasn't already on my way to getting there--" his words only slightly muffled by the sound of movement, the rev of an engine that definitely wasn't the old model truck that he'd let the team use the one night half a year back. This was Ren's Christmas gift to him, and yes, he'd ******** cried over the thing. Tears of joy, of disbelief. All the ways he'd tried to tell the man that he didn't have to -- that he was more than just a silver lined pocket book or endless piggy bank. All the ways he couldn't've imagined giving the present back once he'd received it. He thought it went good with Trey's watch. Paired the two like a meat dish with recommended wine. The car itself was nothing too expensive, or too showy, but also not too plain either. He could hide it lovingly in the side shed he'd restored out-back of his ramshackle property, could bring it out for special occasions.

Just. Like. This.

His precious ******** Camaro; sleek blacks tinged with hints of metallic greens so dark that they blended into the undercoat seamlessly. There only existed the suggestion of a forests worth of sparkle embedded there. A hint at all the power that lay beneath the hood -- that sat behind the wheel -- that Waru longed to set in the passenger seat beside him. He thought Emmy's brightness would've looked good against the dark interior---

"I hope you're ready for a ride. S'gonna be a whole damn day. A good one. I promise you."

He glowed under her praise, returned the kiss so politely that he was nearly chaste with it. Like a long awaited exchange of 'hellos' with a friend he'd missed dearly.

And he had missed her dearly; the shape he knew she could cut through a crowd, the effortless poise. The picture of control, dashed with fun--Like some people used silly socks to hint at a part of their personality, private and kept unto themselves, Em's used expressive earrings. He was oh so tempted to touch them, to suggest they take apart all of well put together looks piece by piece and take everything inside---

Instead he reached for her hand as he opened the door, helped her into the ride that smelled of polish and citrus, and purred warmly as it idled. He found himself falling in love all over again, the way she looked sitting in his car -- in this car -- reds on blacks and it was so damn divine he almost didn't want to close the door on her.

The joke nearly broke him, he chuckled behind the click of a door closing softly, laughed all the way to the drivers side.

"Well s**t, peg me for filth, huh Em's? Any other time you might have to worry, but this is our date, yeah? So! I promise from this moment on that I've got eyes for only you. Save maybe, like, watching the road--" encapsulated and secured, he filled the time it took to get where they were going with idle chatter, with anything other than 'work' or 'home'. He offered her compliments about her earrings, the nails he'd noticed were done in the same stunning motif, talked about the strangeness of the crystalline forests that'd only been there a month ago, asked her of her own highs and lows for all things civil and civilian-like---

Wondered how Adam was doing, off hand, passively, like an afterthought.

And then they were there, pulled up and present, he marveled at it all. The last time he'd seen a museum? He'd been in the middle of destroying it. Mammoth bones in the halls, exhibits utterly undone---

This was a little different though, it all gleamed, screamed high art, and higher attendees! He was the biggest fish out of the biggest water, dumped into the damn sands of the Sahara; and yet? He was grinning, wide and gleeful, opening his mouth to ask the only question that mattered as he let Emmy out in style.

"So what do you want to see first, Em's?" and he sounded like he would've followed her to the ends of the Earth as he said it, like he was hers, completely, to parade around on lead as she saw fit. Her desire was his wish, and oh, was he ever so happy to grant it. Even if it was only the one time.

"It's definitely a gallery. Think we can maybe get you up on one of those rose bedazzled marble columns, n like -- get a picture of you there? Get a whole painting done. I'd frame the hell out of that, and it'd officially be the most expensive thing in my home." teasing even as he paged over what he'd noted in the pamphlet before, all the endless choices, all the ways he could make any number easy target innuendo--

All the options were there to pick from, easy as shooting fish in a barrel -- Maybe a little too easy, even? For his taste. For his taste when it came to her.

He did want a photograph, wanted to preserve the singular moment where he looked nice, with her, professionally. Remembered fondly the one he had with Delilah, and now that she was gone? How even silly, sideways, and off angle, it was a nice thing to keep hold of. "We should start with the gallery first though, let you educate me on how to have taste in whatever's on the walls there." sounding eager as he did agreeable for the genuine offer, all the ways he had no idea what he'd like, what he'd pick? With infinite money, time, with some sense of the local fare and the kind of work that took place in creating the kinda masterpieces people showed to the world.

"Though, truth be told? I also wanna blow you an entire glass heart when we're done. Oh! or maybe a wine goblet? Or -- like -- little earrings..." swearing up and down he'd be safe, that causing chaos was the furthest thing from his mind, especially today of all days! That the only fires he yearned for were the ones in her eyes. He laid it on thick n sweet as marmalade, attended her like a footman as they their way through tailored lawns, glowing glass hued gardens, up steps that had been decorated to fit the theme of the event.

He thought it was best to see it all in the day, to feel the breeze the landscape and the cool waterways carved through the outdoor sections created so effortlessly. He wanted to think about something other than the last time he was a place only half as nice as this -- fun as it had been to tear down displays and create migraines for his boss -- it was also alright to just go out and exist for awhile.

“Some of the food vendors, maybe—“ and it took a greater deal of thought, a checking of the pamphlet. The look of slowly dawning realization that spread across his features, suddenly aware of the fact that anyone he did know? Well, he certainly didn’t know them as ‘Waru’ —

He had the worst habits, it was true, one’s that spun centrifugal round his need to be a Senshi above being a Man as often as possible. Especially now that he had all the reason in the world to do so!! Something about being an Eternal — of Earth — Praxidike on a level plane with the locals and all the ways he’d introduced himself as such, depending on who he was speaking to.

He’d been Cerberus here, Praxidike there, Albite in all other ways to those it mattered to. So rarely was he Waru now, not to the larger fold and enclave of onlookers. Waru had become a private person who existed in far smaller and more intimate circles. He hardly ever had one night stands anymore, or went out on wild edm raves at the junkyard or—-

“Though? Now that I look at the roster…M’thinking anyone *I* know won’t actually know *me*—ah, at least, not with these kinda clothes on, yanno?” And ur was far safer to try for in ur so here, to play dumb and play it up, rather than drag what he knew for Emmy was work talk into things. He was here to keep things light, have a good time! To entertain her somewhat — magically — festively!

“There is this one artist I like though! I mean, art ain’t my first go to for a good time? But he gets the cities vibes in a way I can move to— on canvas, I think? S’definitely not done with a phone or a camera or whatever…” he hummed as he looked over their little splurge of a mark at the venue, a mini excerpt of what they sold. “This dude here, whasit—Elliot n Dahlilah? Though if m’being honest, it might just be all the Night Market art that grabs me. Something about s**t in motion—idunno…” and what he lacked in vocabulary he made up for with enthusiasm. With honest eyes and sheepishly hopeful shrugs. All the ways he didn’t know the first thing about how to describe what he liked when it wasn’t related to people.

There were some things he just knew so well that he felt them—

“And maybe there’s someone there who would sell something for your table? It could use a statement piece…Something that screams ‘you’ while also being classy,” his words thoughtful as they made their way into the venue proper, and it was nice to be treated special for once, like real guests, even if it was just the way the venue was laid out. To have doors opened for them, their tickets punched. To be able to play the part of a gentleman, even if it was just for the afternoon and the chance to have a gorgeous girl outta his whole damn league hanging off his arm.

“If you could have anything, what do you think you’d like? You’ve got all this good taste Em’s—not that I’ve got the words to define it.” For all that he was asking about art — that they were in a place full of it — his gaze kept straying back to her. He really couldn’t keep himself from doing it, watching the way hee earrings bobbed, looking for the approval in her eyes. Enjoying the utter normalcy in all of this, reserved for her and her alone.

He nearly froze for that tone. His name uttered that exact way. With guillotine sharpness—

How would she know! I was super vague. It’s fine!

He tried to play it off to himself, to assuage his own worries. Swallowing for that look all the same, sweating under her gaze as he felt the sharp pressure of those eyes like a physical blade. Something poised to cut, with his name carved into the hilt of it——

She knows, she knows, she knows! ********! Everything is not fine! Abort the valentines!!! ********, ********, ******** -

He tried to play it off, with a wince, a sheepish smile, did all but whistle like a man condemned to the longest mile off the shortest pier—

Wait! *Breathe*. We’re technically in public, she can’t actually kill you here! Everything is fine again!

Technically — actually — public —

“I’ll stop,” he caved more quickly than a soaked house of cards beneath a stack of bricks. Ate any and all words that would’ve sounded like an explanation, that were really only lazy excuses on his part. He could explain away the one time, maybe. A freak accident, a sudden need, a fluke!! But once was more than enough and anything over three was still three times too many.

“I’ll be more careful—I’ll try—promise,” the words small as a birds sigh, exhaled and sent with the blessing of the winds Emmys way. Never more glad for the distractions of such a large venue. “And I don’t know if I’d call the guys work the ‘right’ sorta thing for you. It’s fast, n messy, n loud—“ and it was the easiest thing in the world to get excited while in her presence, even with a gentle scolding riding his neck hairs.

He couldn’t help himself around someone he cared about. To contain all the energy that bubbled just beneath the tight confines of the well made suit he wore. Ever eager to please—especially when talking with Emmy always sparked every bit of idea he’d ever hoped to have.

Just — lit his whole brain up brighter n any glass jar full of fairy lights. How he wanted every and any excuse to spend more time with her. Even if it was doing art and touching price-tags.

“It’d throw people right the hell off though? A bold statement piece. Something worth talking about if — I mean — not that you have a bunch of people over all the time? But for that rare ‘when’, maybe?” he was rambling again, he knew it, took her lead and dragged it out a thousand miles longer than what was necessary. Had fun with the whole grandness of the design. Even if he didn’t know a Picasso from a Mr. Potato Head — his mind was the visual type — liked pictures more n words. Always. To think about what he’d put in his own home was far less interesting than thinking about what Emmy would put in hers and why she’d put it there!

“N’personally, like, let’s say I don’t think the guy who draws melted clocks is s**t? S’till makes it real interesting to look at. If I saw it in your house? I’d ask about it. Find it interesting—not just cause it’s you, either! Though that’d be the whole buy in, right? Why’s Emmy got this painting in her home instead-ah any others —“ and he knew, right then, that they’d be taking something home. That the vendors tables were an inevitable stop on their journey.

And any more pitfalls he made with his eager steps? He swore to make it up to her in spades— to feed her chocolate covered strawberries all night over a glass of well paired wine if that was what it took! He was willing to suffer those moments in exchange for her happiness. Like a king suffered cake and finery.

Dodging the brunt of the blow did not mean coming away unscathed, the way he felt the heat turn waaay down, felt like he came away nicked, but with all his limbs n bits well intact.

Felt the point of it all.

In the way she slowed it down enough that he had to listen---that he had to pay his attention to her and her alone--her lesson--the intent behind it.

'She's right--'

"You always have the highest expectations of me Em's...." he wondered how in love he looked, leaning in to listen. Soaking every soft vowel in raptly. Knowing that she wouldn't've been asking if she didn't think he could. If she didn't believe in him. If she didn't already know he could and so demanded he spend an ounce of his time being less carelessly impulsive. At least long enough to throw a shred of forethought into a scenario! "In that you have any expectations at all. I always appreciate that, yanno? From you."

Liked, needed, admired--

A tick of upturned lips, a flash of amusement for his vision of the scene playing out before him. Where he, a much less scrappy padawan facing down a far sexier Yoda, faced similar perils in the setting of an overhauled galleria, rather than the depths of some mind-warping cave. Though the two could've been similar, if only in his own mind. This setting was just as far out as it was far away, just as alien with all it's refined wares in front of his fake-it-till-you-make-it dress suit. A whole nother kind of guise. And to top it all off? He sure as hell wasn't getting free of it without passing first through some very strict trials; deadly paths filled to the brim with dangerous 'do not touch' signs, and the weight of earning Emmy's approval---

Or not--

But that was the only thing worth earning, wasn't it? Prettier than the illuminated hand-shaped crystals stuffed into garden beds, brighter than glass-blowing flames. More delicious for all the ways it made him stand straight and pay attention, got his ******** senses up!

He'd always liked a challenge. Loved them. Especially from her.

"N'I think I do know what you like---Think I might surprise you. Heh' or that you might surprise yourself! S'gotta have aesthetic to it, yeah? I've seen--well--" and maybe it was a bad idea to base his knowledge of what she'd keep in her home off the men he believed she liked, or the books she kept, or the bits of cute that lived in the nooks and crannies of her every-outfit-for-an-occasion wardrobe.

There was purpose behind it all---

Nothing was random.

Everything was 'pretty'--but not in a glitzy knic-naks and baubles way. Stylish, maybe? She wasn't some eclectic wizard bringing home severed fingers and Picassos and mounting 'em up for the shock factor. Some magpie filling her space with all the shinnies in the land. If her axe got dirty her gloves stayed clean sorta deal; like a true professional.

"You let me in your house, n'that's something to consider--" and he had an idea, very suddenly. A blip of a lightbulb that showed in the slyness of his gaze, the way it tracked across the floor as he beckoned her to let him lead her like a sight hound for only a bit longer.

They'd get to the rest eventually, the crux of the day, the parts where he could watch her eat a chocolate coated something, and play with blown glass orbs filled with fairy lights.

After---

Knew the vendors who had devoted themselves to hand drawn media, to the usual arts. None of them would be for her, not here, not the way they'd described themselves in the pamphlet. Everything was too experimental, fast paced, feelings based--oohily--goohily--emotive and blurred city skylines. Nothing up at the front of the place looked like her. Nothing crafted by unskilled hands that screamed 'future thrift shop' material by design.

It had to be something 'nearly' perfect---

The compliment made him blush, darkened earthen tones, cast ruddy hues over his cheeks; even as he guided her down rows of festooned archways, through one vestibular area and into the next. There was an entire glassworks worth of items on display! More than just the amature ones. These were professional grade, on par with what they'd put to display in the place as a whole and filled with lights. To pass that up would've been a crime in and of itself.

To pass it up with Emmy here? Jail. A thousand years jail. An eternal sentence of time rightly earned on her behalf and in his namesake! For all that there were people selling little statuettes, and hand carvings, and tiny marble davids, none of it caught his eye. Not photos of the city at night, or paintings of the most recent lantern festival, or massive wall mounted murals---

Not the tiny ones either: epoxy, glass, embroidery. None of it. For it was the glass that drew his eyes.

"There's never enough 'life' in your place, Em's. I mean, there's you, yeah? You're lively! You're the most alive person to ever live! M'certain of it...But--" and he did stall out in front of the one stand. A flat surface laid out with all manner of blown glass vases, with tiny creatures, with little delicate roses embroidered in gold. There was only the one set of pieces he'd fixed his eyes on though, for the softness of it's curves, the way the hearts reminded him of her. The delicacy of the object as a whole; cause his image of Emmy was not of someone with a piece heavy n hard enough to bludgeon an intruder with!

She had a battle axe, she could damned well use it. Wasn't one herself though. No, she was smart, kind, flexible n strong all at the same time. Delicate in her own framing, in ways he so often admired. Especially when she pulled herself together for days like this. The way she managed to do it always, seemingly without any effort.

"N'You don't need a pet, or something crazy like that. You could do with a flower though? Just the one, or two, something simple that you don't gotta keep alive for long. Something to pick out only when you know you'll have company over, but also something that'll look good when it's empty the rest of the time? When you're not tryna make a statement on how classy you are by picking a lily, or an orchid, or whatever..." winding his way around his words, gently tugging her close enough that he could enjoy it. The sight of her, the smell, just having her at his side and pretending to be more than what he knew they were. At least for a few more minutes. He thought they could've even managed to look loving together.

"It's finding the right color that's the problem..." he knew it must've seemed a simple thing, certainly not worth the price displayed on the table holding the heart curved Ichirin Flower Vases "But if it were me? I'd get you the pinkish one over the clear one, but that's just me! S'real---humh--You're a battleaxe all on your own, kay. You stand on ******** business all the damn time. But you like colors too, right? You're this kinda fun, sleek, well put together sexiness...." And he knew it was always on display, professionally speaking. How ready she looked to file papers in triplicate, or go to war in flats instead of heels. How her outfits were stylish, up to date, not quite conservative, but never putting all of her advantages on display.

He would always think of her earrings though, her private accessories, her beachwear. How the way her wardrobe held hidden tidbits of her lighter side. How her home should've displayed that too, just as coveretely, just for those who could clearly see it for what it was!

"And you're probably always gonna be the centerpiece in your home, but maybe this could sit on an end table? I'd put a rose in it, just for you Em's." he said the words like a promise, soft and sly over her shoulder, close enough to her ear for only her to hear him. He would've gotten her every flower under the sun.

Put a singularly white rose in the pink vase, just for her.