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Lawr was oblivious for the most part to the people watching him, instead investigating the various outfits the minipets were wearing. He didn't take any of them out of their cages mercifully, but he did walk up and down the rows with an almost robotic uniformity.

His gaze lingered the longest on the adorable, three legged grumpy treat.

Her attempts at stealth-dancing were met only with a tightening of his arm around her waist in a subconscious attempt to hold her still, but he turned back to her in time to catch the lip bite which was as effective as her ninja-moves weren't. An actual discrete moment of resolve-weakening manifested on his face, clearly visible before he returned to the safety of his drink.

The swig granted him a split second to compose his thoughts. He was never entirely happy with the fact that any decent heels made her taller than he was, but it was certainly convenient that he didn't have to stoop to murmur in her ear: he could just lower his voice, distractedly running his eyes over what felt to him, not quite drunk enough yet, like a sea of people. No wonder he'd gravitated to a pirate.

"You were running around like a chicken with its head off, figured you'd be busy." A beat, and even quieter without so much as a flicker of change in his expression. "Being seen with you makes my head so ********' big my ears are gonna seem tiny."

The best that could be said was that he tolerated her almost-dancing. He certainly didn't contribute. He just maneuvered his glass around her to drain it, an attempt to hide his grin, and then set it aside to rest his hand on her shoulder, very much as though he was going to start reciprocating her steps. He didn't, of course. He leaned back against the nearest table instead.

He was more tense under her hands than he looked, sharply aware of too-many-eyes, still as uncomfortable with public displays of affection as he was proud to be seen with her (if proud was the right word for the almost gloating sensation). The fact that he was still keeping an intermittent eye on Lawrence served as the final nail in the coffin of his ability to relax.

"So my birthday," he said casually, after a beat. The words flowed a little easier than they were normally wont to, whether because he'd rehearsed or because he had a few drinks in him. "I've been thinking about it and I'm not sure I could cope with the guilt of your humiliating defeat at skee ball, and I'm way too greedy with those little popping cap things to share my tickets. So, although I am pained to say it and appreciate the thought that went into them, maybe you oughta cancel those reservations which, by the way, I didn't know Chuck E. Cheese took." He paused, because whether or not he'd rehearsed the actual words he'd been turning the idea over for months, half-formed on a bad night in a tiny room and unfolding ever since. "I don't know if you already ran off and made plans but I'm glad you bullied me into swimming and realized that I haven't been ice skating in a long time."

Eye going wide, America pulled back to look at Taym's face. Her own was wide-eyed and bright and after a moment her lips compressed to hold and muffle the high-pitch scream of excitement that followed. There was jumping up and down and dancing around being held in, her body practically vibrating with it until she threw herself at him one more, arms around his neck, legs cradled between the knees of his coolguy lean.

Bouncing a little, she managed to get out, "Yes let's go! I haven't been in forever!" And then, voice dropping lower, "Maybe you should go back first after all, otherwise I'm gonna get all improper with you right on this table and Scotland will cry about ruining the furniture."

Halfway between mortification and delight, Taym spent the duration of her freakout trying unsuccessfully to hold her still, making ineffectual shushing sounds, and failing to stifle a big dopey grin. His eyes darted up over her shoulder nervously, more engaged in dealing with potential raised eyebrows than in watching her lose her mind.

"Don't," he said, "make that offer more tempting than it already is. He'd probably set fire to the bar." He held her at arm's length, making an attempt to disentangle himself, because being told that she wanted to be couple-y and social had made his knees buckle but he was several drinks shy of that outweighing his need to not be at the center of a scene, however minor. "So: new plans. No cornrows, no EZ cheez, but you've already made good on the gift. Stop trying to dance with me. Stop."

He unthinkingly reached up to right the pencil behind his ear, which probably didn't help matters at all, and he hesitated but didn't quite leave the magnetic sphere of her influence. "I wanna go crash Paige and Cee's party," he informed her matter-of-factly. Stay with me or stay here, went the postscript which he could not quite bring himself to articulate.

Jordan leaned on the bar, tracing his index finger around the edge of an empty shot glass and watching the proceedings with a somewhat fuzzy-headed tranquility. He had nowhere to go and nobody to be, the sensible part of his mind was currently inhabiting a golem, and the interests and conflicts of the various members of the crowd were entertaining. He contemplated going over to coo at the minipets, then decided against it because that would mean getting up.

His gaze eventually wandered back to Rep. "Maybe I should add smoking to my expanding list of vices," he mused aloud, mostly to himself.

"Mm. I haven't been kissing anyone. But it'd give me something to do with my mouth." Jordan picked up the shot glass and raised one eyebrow. "This seems very empty," he said mournfully.

"Excuse me," Jordan said haughtily. "I will admit to metro, but hipster, that's uncalled for." His mouth curved in a sly smile; he'd seen that. He extended the glass. "If you don't mind. I'd be grateful."