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Asimov gave Chel an OK sign. Each of her fingernails was painted a different pretty color with white french tips. But her attention was all for the pretty lady (and pretty dude). "How much for a kiss, hey?" She waggled her eyebrows at Maeve agreeably. "He'll settle for one, but I'll take… hmmm… at least three. Probably four. However many you want to give."



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Lucas finally got done with the grumpy gus he was talking to, and Sunny took this opportunity to pounce. "You didn't say you'd be here," she said, inserting herself under his arm. She was dressed up today, her natty hoodie traded out for a drapey, poncho-esque shirt in the purples she was so fond of. "With how boring your house is I just figured you didn't like art!"

"I am working," said Sunny primly. "Dipshits out for first fridays always like giving money to artsy-looking girls for star charts. And it's not a scam, because my charts are accurate."

She peered up at Lucas, pushing the brim of her hat back. "D'you want one? They're art more'n anything, you know. You can put it on the wall."

Hux chuckled at the woman behind the booth, eyes alight with amusement and mouth seemingly curved into a permanent grin. "Maybe two..." He said. "Another time, though. I'm not into the idea of paying for affection. I will, however, pay for my sister's bottle of wine." He winked at the woman. "I'm Hux, by the way. Can't remember whether or not I introduced myself before..." He shuffled through his wallet, pulling out a few bills as Margaery peered at the list of wines available.

She looked at the man with one raised eye. "What would go best with the flavor of the cheese, do you think?" She asked, assuming that the man would know more about wine than she... though she could, of course, whip up one fine sangria when the occasion called for it. "Whatever it is, that's the one I'll buy." She smiled brightly.

Just like at Rider-Waiter, the cheese and wine turned kissing booth was busy. He chuckled at the woman he thought had heard introduce herself as Asimov when she mentioned him and continued to flirt with the pin-up woman. "Seems like she's more than willing to grab a few kisses. I'll pay for one for her." He laughed.

She's in a summery little white sundress and broad brimmed straw hat, the heels in question a pair of white strappy things, with little blue bows adding a bit of color. There's a flash of blue feathers peeking about the hat, and then Mr. Bitterberry is flying up and off into the festival, likely to leave his mark on some poor artist's work and possibly steal something shiny from another.

With a laugh for the bird seeming to hand her off to a new chaperone, she lifts her skirt a little to show off an extensive amount of leg to go with the shoes for the full effect of how nice they truly were. "Aren't they just? Picked 'em up in Nebraska of all places. Now let's get some fancy cheese and look at folks do the art. I wanna get somethin' to put up in the Sweet Pea!"

There's local art stalls and students with blankets full of wares all over, not to mention a number of people browsing who took the event as reason to dress up as a bit of art themselves. It was all very colorful and vibrant, and some live music in the distant gave the place a definite feel of festival.

She loves it, is swaying her hips even as she leads him to the first stop. Which wasn't art, but instead a food stall that advertised basically fried everything. But especially junkfood.

Eve had her own table selling hand-poured candles down the way, making Leila responsible for all the shopping to find some new bits and pieces to add to their duplex's decor. Failing that, she'd at least find a treat for them to share later -- there was a swell selection of the kind of overdecorated sweets her wife loved to indulge in, and Leila was the type who lived to spoil those she loved. So, wearing a breezy butter-colored sundress, she wove her way briskly around taking scattered mental notes for her second pass through the vendors. It was only natural her eyes fall on a familiar-looking cheese-and-wine display, staffed by a somewhat more familiar woman.

A small blush dusted her cheekbones as she moseyed slowly over, trying not to look too eager to see Maeve again, but the asymmetrical smile she had on her face was giving her away and part of her knew it. The look was broken momentarily when she stopped to exchange a flurry of texts with an Eve wanting updates, but the instant Leila's phone was back in her purse she was leaning in towards the younger redhead. "Hey," she said, giving a brief but pointed glance at the Kissing Booth sign. "Evey says hi, too. You open, I hope? Looks like you're popular, so I can wait my turn."

She also gave a nod and a friendly wave to Thorne.

She knows by now his feelings about food--probably she'd think of them as snooty and so maybe it'll be a surprise when he orders a deep-fried oreo, and then a second because, as he darkly puts it, he doesn't put food theft past her.

He still startles at a sudden loud noise near his ear; he still moves neatly and gracefully in just such a way that he avoids touching anyone in the press of people, even her. But the atmosphere is festive, as is her enthusiasm, and when he collects the little paper boat with approximately eight thousand calories contained therein he looks as close to relaxed as he ever has with her, and he reminds her straight-faced that he needs to find a beer coozie shaped like a chicken, or at least like some type of barnyard animal; he's trying to goad her into telling him what she's looking for in terms of would-be camper decor. He asks how Mr. Bitterberry is, and it's a roundabout way both of asking how she is, and of trying to say see? I'm not scared even though, of course, he is.

His smile just got a tad wider when she couldn't put a name to the event they were at. He expected in about a year or two if someone asked about this event he probably wouldn't know its name either, so he couldn't really fault her for that. "First for everything, huh?" he said eyes falling briefly to the two pups. Chubbs was leaning down and trying to sniff at Captain's face, butt still wagging in all his excitement.

"Well I just got here, so this one's my first whatever-this-is, too. If there's as many food stands the next time it's held, I'll probably be coming back." Rhys gestured past her, at the long line of food trucks all ready to serve...well, whatever it is that they served. Food trucks were a hit and miss sort of deal, at least by his experience, either serving the best or the worst kinds of food. In this case, he was definitely hoping for the former since he did intend to grab a bite before heading home.