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Rhys gave a little shrug at first, eyeing the trucks he had left to visit. "I saw a fancy grilled cheese truck back that way," he said while scratching his head. He would have said more if the Captain's antics hadn't caught his attention, causing him to smile something more genuine as he watched. Chubbs, in the meantime, was just butt wagging and letting his tongue loll out. His attention had moved from Captain to the people passing by with their fresh plates of food. He looked about ready to start begging for some of whatever they were having...

"Excited little fella," Rhys continued, still smiling despite his attention going back to June. "I'm actually not sure. Kinda hoping for a burger truck, but I was gonna check 'em all out. If you wanna tag along?"

Thorne chuckled at Chel's response, his eyes flickering with amusement. "Oh? And since when did you ever play fair?" He said, leaning his chin in the palm of his hand cocking his head at her. "Ah, like an arrow straight to my heart!" He jested, looking hurt for all of two seconds before his grin returned. "Not even one?"

Meanwhile, Maeve was enjoying the masses. Her eyes flared with delight when she saw Leila approach, a laugh coiling in her throat like a spell. "Darling, you know you don't have to pay me for a kiss," she said, her voice dipping with devious intent.

She looked back at Hux, amused at the mans own attitude. This was someone she could get to like. "Well then, you'll just have to let me buy you a drink sometime," she purred, never one to miss up an opportunity to flirt. Maeve straightened up and gestured Hux closer, her expression vulpine and amused. "Maeve," she retorted, knowing exactly what he meant to say. "I don't think we had the pleasure."

Thorne glanced from Chel to Margaery as Maeve took over flirting and kissing (eventually), expression simplistic with delight at being out at a fair where people weren't dying. It was really ******** nice.

"We have a Zinfandel that would go well with this one, if you'd like," he said leisurely, having been lectured to death and the gates of hell by Maeve on the importance of cheese-and-wine pairings earlier in their friendship together. He didn't know it like the back of his hand like she did, but he knew it well enough to recommend brands.

After a few moments of rustling around, he presented the bottle to her and grinned. "It's best with beef too. Or a nice steak."

Maeve was a true socialite, and watching her flirt around with such ease was a little thrilling. "Come on... you know I'm not big on special treatment," Leila offered back in a casual voice that did only a halfway job at taming her expression. "Lemme pay. If it's not for the kiss, it can be for a picture?" For all the grace with which the redhead was handling their exchange, the older woman was a leaf in the wind, at a loss for what to do with her hands.

"Also, I didn't know you and Thorne new each other. How've you been?" She grinned over at her friend, running her fingers sheepishly through her hair. God, this was probably awkward. "I don't remember, have you met my wife yet? She's a couple rows that way selling candles, if you wanna go say hi or spend some money later. Quality s**t, too."

"Zinfandel sounds superb."

Margaery handed over the money for the cheese, and Hux passed on his crinkled cash for the heavy bottle of red. As soon as the wine was passed over to her, the woman with the shaved head set to digging her keys out of the purse she had hanging from one arm. She twisted in her on-hand wine opener and popped off the cork with a practiced ease. She took a bite of the cheese she'd hastily unwrapped, then took a swig of the ********, Hux, try this. Try this right now."

Huxtable chuckled at his sister's enthusiasm, taking the bit of cheese she passed to him and giving it a good chew before washing it down with the dry, fruity alcohol. It was exactly as his sister had described. Superb. He took another swig, and so did she.

Already, Margaery's cheeks were turning a pinkish hue. Hux rolled his eyes at her. "Light weight." He said, as she took another sip.

"Whatever," she replied. "I get drunk for cheap."

"True." Hux returned his attention to the beautiful woman behind the wine booth, grabbing one of the pens supposedly used to sign up for their cheese and wine newsletter and, instead, using it to hastily scribble his number on a piece of parchment. "Call me some time," he said to her, a devilish grin making his handsome features shine through. "I never turn down a free drink with a good-looking woman."

And with that, the duo departed- drinking, eating, and laughing as they continued their path through the dressed-up and incredibly lively city.

As expected, there were several other dogs out that day, and several more people out to coo at the dogs. Some of the strangers had good manners in passing up the canines without much interference, but others simply reached out to pet Schatzie wantonly, heedless of the dog’s potential temperaments. Some stopped him to ask for pets, and he allowed those who looked more like introverts than extroverts to avoid unwanted conversation. He was hungry, and his dog didn’t need strangers’ hands all over him to live - however, Alois needed food unless he wanted to fall into a coma and die. Not that such was an impending consequence, but his hanger levels touted it so.

Alois passed a few more before he overheard a clip of conversation from a ginger in a dress to a couple other females. He then realized, decidedly, that said ginger was not of the female sex, but definitely partook in the women’s gender. The comment coming from him (or was he supposed to use ‚her‘?) caught his interest for how delightfully uncouth and forward it was, inciting offense from people who weren’t even involved in the conversation. As he passed the offended party, he commented offhandedly to them. „He’s not fixed,“ he offered with a shrug.

Schatzie stuck close in their meandering through the crowded street in good manners. Mostly the wall of humans became exactly that to the dog, and Alois preferred it that way. They caught up somewhat to the ginger, to which Alois offered a compliment. „Nice dress. Looks like it keeps people at bay.“ His eyes still scanned the food trucks, and in a blessed moment of opportunity, he spotted one with a not-so-clever intimation of german food - ‚Das Food Truck‘. Target acquired.

Once he was certain no one was going to fall, the hand dropped back to his side. He let out a low grunt, "Sorry. The kids."

After getting a better look of the guy he had bumped into, he tilted his head. There was some sense of familiarity here, but Shun couldn't quite place it.

"Are you hurt at all?" he asked, more as a formality than having any real sense of concern.

Shun tilted his head at the mention of stitches. There were plenty of ways in which someone would require them, but one event was at the forefront of his mind. A lot of people had been hurt that day. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, though.

But sure enough, it was quickly confirmed.

"I was, yes... I was one of the two detectives who had been on the upper levels," he replied before looking him over. Wait. He did look kind of like the guy that got his back shredded by one of the weres.

It's just as well that there's so much to distract her and therefore him, to lead him away from the wistful little twist of having a bit of family nearby.

With a discreet glance to make sure the booth owner's attention is engaged elsewhere, he manifests a grimace that says plenty what he thinks about the booth's contents, and his do you like those is half-incredulous.

She's already seen his restless hands, the way he touches everything in gas stations, in little pagan bookstores. And knowing that she might be able to perceive what other people likely can't--that his restraint in touching all these little strange and unknowably fragile handmade fripperies is slowly driving him up the wall, his hands fidgety in his pockets and at one point reaching up to rake fingers through his hair before he remembers he's wearing a hat. It's too much for him, and so he reaches out to very gently touch a paper mache kitten ear, a grounding little concession.

It had been easier when he'd had food to carry but the Oreo had vanished in a couple of minutes--longer than it should have taken to eat a single cookie but shorter than food normally lasted with him, picked over as it was; he ate as slowly and with as much labored-over enjoyment as America did quickly and with voracious greed. He'd licked his thumb after.

There is a chicken, in a lacey apron. He indicates it with his elbow. "Halfway to a beer coozie," he says.