8265/The Entertainment Budget

The Entertainment Budget
Date of Scene:	11 July 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Silver and Zatanna enjoy a night out at Club Mjolnir wherein they discuss fame, family, fascinations.
Cast of Characters:	Zatanna Zatara, Silver Sable

---

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
When Silver said the work on Zatanna's new security system would start the next day, she wasn't kidding. Although Zee felt like there were maybe better things to do, but she owes it to Silver's employees not to let them wander around a heavily warded mystical sanctum unattended. The day was spent lowering wards, raising them again, and helping to fit new systems so that they wouldn't intrude on other more magical fixtures. There's still a great deal of work to be done, but Zatanna is happy with that extra bit of security the new system is beginning to provide.

As the workers clear up for the day, leaving their equipment in tidy stacks so as to not clutter up the place, Zatanna pulls out her phone and the business card Silver gave her with her personal line. She grins a wicked little grin to herself for a moment before she dials the number, holding it up to her ear and letting it ring.

Silver Sable has posed:
It rings twice before being picked up. "Sablinova," a woman says. A Symkarian accent carries clearly through the lines. The answer's curt, to the point.

Silver's in her penthouse, tending to domestic tasks. Like cleaning a stack of weapons laid out in front of her. It's probably tedious and basic labor but it's the sort of thing she does for the fun of it. Or the meditative quality of making a dirty thing clean. Or the soldier's endless fiddling fascination with their equipment.

Maybe all three.

Grey tank top, loose-fitting denim jeans. Some might be shocked to see Sablinova in such a state of casual wear. Unthinkable!

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Hello, Sablinova," Zee purrs into the phone in such a way Silver might practically hear the grin on her face. One hand holds the phone to her ear while the elbow rests in the palm of her other hand. She is relatively dressed down for having spent the whole day around the house - a simple, form-fitting black tee and a pair of jeans. Nothing fancy, but also enough to make sure the workers don't think she lazes around in her pajamas all day.

"It's Zatanna Zatara," she adds, just in case the teasing tone and joyful lilt in her voice don't give it away. She holds the phone up to her ear, pacing back and forth in the main foyer of Shadowcrest. She pauses for a moment to catch her reflection in an ornately framed mirror, her hand rising to tuck an errant strand behind her ear.

Silver Sable has posed:
"Miss Zatara," Silver says. Does her tone brighten? Just a little? She at least sets down the steel hardware in her hands, pins the cell phone between ear and shoulder so she can wipe grease and grime from her fingertips with a damp rag.

"I hope the installation went well. My people should be done soon-- if... you need them to hurry, we can arrange to come back another day. Security is not something you should do in haste," Silver warns the raven-haired sorceress.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee cannot help but grin at herself in the mirror, listening to the professionalism coming down the line. She meets her own eyes in the reflection, as though plotting out her next conversational riposte.

"No, no they're just packing up now," the Magicienne glances at one of the workers, far enough away and professional enough in bearing to not listen in, "I told them to take all the time they need. They said they're finished with the south wing and they're going to start on the north tomorrow morning."

A pause. Zatanna gives the worker another look before strolling casually into the parlor and out of earshot: "This is actually more of a social call."

Silver Sable has posed:
"Oh. Oh!" Silver sits upright and half turns away from the task in front of her.

"I am sorry for misunderstanding, then." Fingers are dried and cleaned with a chemical cloth. She rises, and walks to the kitchen. It looks very well established, fully stocked, and rarely used. Silver's not the sort of person who is wholly comfortable with domestic staff.

Oh well. Always microwavables in the fridge, which is what she regards now. The phone's shifted to her other ear. "... so... what is up?" she says, after an awkward few seconds of silence.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna grins on the other end of the phone, clutching it to her ear as she trods up the stairs towards her boudoir. She smiles politely at one of the workmen coming back down the other way but quickly continues along her way.

"Oh, you know," she says airily, a hand idly flicking her hair away from her neck as she steps into her private quarters and looks at herself in a gilded mirror that takes in her whole body, "Wondering if I can tempt you away from your busy work schedule for a night out?"

Zee waves a flourishing hand at the mirror and its enchantment kicks into action. While she remains the same, the clothes on her reflection change completely with every flick of her wrist. A little black dress? Hm. Maybe. Jeans and a t-shirt? No. Her stage outfit? Now that would raise some eyebrows. The vague thrum of something arcane filters through the phone receiver as she speaks.

Silver Sable has posed:
There's a few seconds of pause as Sablinova tries to parse that. Zatanna had been flirty, but... stage magicians are celebrities. Celebrities are all flirty. And they tend to be over-familiar. Still.

Sablinova stalls for a second by reading the instructions for a microwavable meal. Some kind of enchilada. The silver-haired mercenary startles when it occurs to her that-- well, Zatanna can't /see/ her stalling.

Just an awkward too long to respond.

"Er, yes! Yes," Silver blurts out. "Sorry. Uh..." She takes a slow breath.

"Miss Zatara, you're very thoughtful to offer, but... you are client." A fork savages the plastic liner to let steam escape and Silver tosses the food on the revolving tray. The microwave beeps to buttons being pushed and starts a yellow-lit low hum.

"It might be taken as unprofessional for us to see each other. Socially," she amends, a half-beat later. "Any security consultant will tell you, is always bad to mix business with pleasure. I'd have to bill you for phone calls like this."

A beat. "Er, that was a joke," Silver clarifies.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's grin fades away in an instant, her dark brows furrowing as she looks at her reflection in the mirror. As if on cue, the enchantment ends and she is once again looking at herself without any sort of magical additions or flair. When she speaks again her voice is by no means cold or distant, but a lot of the mirth seems to have fallen out of the bottom of it.

"What part was a joke?" she asks, drumming her fingers against the phone thoughtfully for a moment. Now it's her turn to be quiet for a long time. She stares out through the window, watching the workmen gather their equipment into their vans while they chat with one another.

When it seems like the connection may have been unceremoniously severed, she speaks up: "I can appreciate professionalism. If you're worried about how it will look - if that's all you're worried about - then don't. I know a few night spots where ... well, let's just say these people and your clientele don't run in the same circles. That venn diagram crosses over at me and that's about it."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver palms her face. "The, uh. Part about charging for phone calls," she explains. Round and round the food goes. Some kind of teriyaki and rice bowl. The scent of soy sauce and vegetables assails her nostrils. "We don't charge service fees like that. Flat rate."

Sigh.

"I'm not worried about how it would look for me, Miss Zatara. I worry for you," Silver advises the woman in a canned tone. Like she doesn't wholly agree with herself. "My reputation is as the head of an international consortium of private military contractors." Mercenaries, with nicer suits. "The tabloids care very little about who I am seen with."

"You, though, live much more in the public eye. At the moment, I work for you. I don't know how Gotham is about such things, but it would raise some eyebrows in Europe for such a thing, I think."

Silver pivots the phone away from her face so she can sigh and pinch the bridge of her nose at her own overdeveloped sense of professional ethics. A fork on the counter is eyed, and she prods herself in the hip with it out of sheer vexatious frustration.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I'm an adult, Silver," Zatanna answers perhaps more brusquely than intended, "And I've been in the public eye for a long, long time. If I started worrying about what tabloids thought ... "

She trails off, staring down at the discreet vans now forming a convoy and wheeling out of Shadowcrest's drive into the street below. The manor is empty again, and the silence of it all weighs on her. She shrugs her shoulders in agitation, turning back around and looking at herself in the mirror once again. She locks eyes with herself, determined.

"I don't need you to spare my feelings. My life has been full of people telling me what the right course of action is."

Her eyes alight on a framed photo of a man with a pencil moustache wearing a top hat and tails not unlike a more masculine version of her stage outfit. She looks away.

"I appreciate your concern. You're thinking about the security of my reputation as well as my person. But I'm not about to start staying in and reading books because some asshole with a newspaper column has opinions."

A pause, and the smile returns to her voice: "Besides, controversy breeds notoriety and notoriety sells tickets just as well as fame."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver looks as if she's unsure to be relieved or apprehensive for a few seconds. But then the warmth comes back to Zatanna's voice and a smile crosses Silver's expression, albeit unbeknowsnt to her.

"Well. When everyone asks later, you can tell them at least I offered some token resistance," Silver tells Zatanna with amusement in her voice. "It would be rude of me to decline such a polite invitation, no? Let us meet then."

She eyes the food on the counter and picks it up. The mercenary toes open the lid of a stainless trash can and holds it over the container.

"Dinner, then? Or just drinks?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Oh, you're not getting away with quick drinks after that," Zatanna laughs down the phone, "Trying to throw me off? That's dinner minimum. Maybe even dinner and a show. We'll see."

A triumphant grin crosses Zee's face as she once again regards herself in the mirror. She glances at the photo of the man with the moustache once again and reaches out, placing it face down on the table. Satisfied, she speaks back to the phone.

"I'll meet you. How long do you need?" Something about the tone of Zatanna's voice suggests she herself needs no time at all, but such are the perks of magic and mysticism.

Silver Sable has posed:
*thumpf* The microwaved food hits the bottom of the trash can. "Good timing, I was just starting to think about being hungry," Silver lies.

She glances at her attire in her reflection, the floor-to-ceiling windows heavily tinted to keep people from behind able to see through them. Also, bulletproof. Because Silver's paranoia runs about the same length as her capacity for foresight.

"Depends on where we're going," Silver replies, cautiously, and heads to her bedroom. Feet pad silently on carpet thick enough to pass for forest moss as she transitions from her somewhat stark living room to her somewhat stark master suites. A spartan aesthetic? Or is does Sablinova just not keep a lot of 'stuff' around?

"Can dress quickly if we're going somewhere casual. Might take me a few minutes to get my tuxedo out of the closet if it's more formal than that," she advises Zee.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Let's go with casual," Zatanna suggests, the reflection in the mirror once again magically cycling through her wardrobe and trying the clothes on for her, "I'll be there in thirty."

Be where? She doesn't leave time for the question, instead clicking her phone shut. Satisfied with the outfit she's chosen for herself, she swaggers over to her wardrobe and swings it wide with a dramatic flair.

Later ...

It's only been a half hour since Zatanna made her phone call. The Friday night traffic would be bedlam. But magic makes that of precious little concern. Almost precisely half an hour later there is a brief rush of air in the hall outside Silver's apartment, a flash of light and then the sound of a hand gently knocking on the door.

Silver Sable has posed:
"Oh. Ah... very well," Silver replies. She almost offers 'I'll clear the helipad' but Zatanna signs off, and the mercenary eyes her phone warily as 'Zatanna Zataras contact information fades from the Call screen. "Thirty minutes."

When Zatanna knocks there's a glimmering of electronic awareness from the door, a minor barrier compared to the elevator access most people take. < A moment, > comes a disembodied voice from the other side of the door. The soundproofing's enough that Silver can't be heard until heavy mechanical gears churn and the door (apparently stolen from a bank vault) is lifted onto a track and slides fully sideways. Two inch, blastproof, certainly. Sablinova's in a business-style outfit with a neatly fitted jacket and slender, tapered pants. Both are in white, and the undershirt is a gunmetal grey that almost shines in the right light, worn casually open under her throat. Her main concession to the informal attire is switching boots for stylish black pumps with a modest heel. Little stud earrings set with tourmaline are in her ears and a smartwatch is mounted on a designer bangle on her left wrist. But she smiles at Zatanna, and steps partially through the door. "You weren't kidding about thirty minutes."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna takes the moment Silver needs to open the door in order to find her light and center herself on the 'stage'. So many years as a stage magician had given her quite the feeling for it, and it doesn't take more than a second. When the door open she is across the hall, leaning casually against the wall as though she hadn't just used magic to teleport herself mere moments ago. The whole outfit she's thrown together is plain to see, standing far enough away as to let Silver take in the whole thing.

When Zatanna said casual it's clear she was already thinking about how to subvert that without dressing up so much as to throw off the balance. In the end, she's gone for what looks like a more casual version of her stage ensemble. A pair of fishnet stockings cover her long legs, ending at a pair of black denim shorts that cover a touch more than her 'formal' bikini bottoms but not by any great margin. Above that she wears a black knitted cardigan with a front that ends halfway down her midriff but a back that hangs down to her knees to give the allusion of a coat and tails. The collar hangs loose, showing off one pale shoulder and her décolletage. She's gone without the hat, her black hair hanging loose and a little wild. On her feet she wears a pair of ankle-high black boots. She wears a pair of golden hoops surrounding small sapphire pentacles in her ears - another element of her stagewear.

"Oh, I don't kid about time," Zee laughs, her flashy reveal over now as she begins to close the distance between them, "It might not get the joke. Don't you look nice!"

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver looks at Zatanna's outfit, then at hers, then breaks out laughing. The business casual look for Sablinova International is clearly a little different than the one for Zatara Entertainment. "Should have conferred more," she says, wryly, and shakes her head in amusement. "You look very good, too. I hope I'm not overdressed."

Silver steps into the hall and palms the doorlock. The portal trundles shut nad *thunks* into place, recessed into the frame in such a way that there's no means of prying or cutting into it.

"I think Club Mjolnir was mentioned," Silver tells Zatanna, and starts towards the elevator. She doesn't press how Zee got there-- magic, presumably. "Food and drinks and sometimes a fight. Makes for a good show, da?" she inquires of the sorceress.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I'm afraid I've only got two speeds and they're casual or showgirl formal - I thought you'd probably appreciate my own eclectic mix of the two."

Zee steps aside to allow Silver to lead the way to the elevator, although as soon as the mercenary is in mid-stride she sidles up alongside her. She loops arms with her, as though it were the most casual thing in the world, and walks alongside her in the direction of the elevator.

"A show? Oh, I always like a show. I don't get to see many from the audience perspective after all."

Silver Sable has posed:
"You carry it off well," Silver says. The silver-haired woman tenses just a little when Zatanna takes her arm but relaxes quickly. Reflexes, more than anything, though she looks a little surprised at the casual familiarity.

Not upset. Just surprised.

"I think you're one of the few who can carry off the showgirl appearance in her day to day life," Silver informs Zatanna. The elevator whispers quickly downwards with no stops, towards a private garage under the building. "Anyone else it would look ... I don't know if there's a good word for it. Like they are just pretending to have the confidence to wear it. You wear your confidence like a second skin."

A black SUV pulls up and a driver dismounts the vehicle, hustling over to get the door for Silver and Zatanna. He's in a chauffers outfit, which is also clearly bulletproofed and cut to conceal a firearm. "Lady Sablinova," he says, tugging his cap at Sablinova. "Miss," he bids Zatanna, and offers her a hand into the vehicle.

Once they're settled he hustles to the driver's side and gets it. The car barely rocks on the shocks; must be reinforced. The interior is pure luxury, at least the back part of it. The front, though, is revealed to look like a military vehicle or armored car.

"Where to, mum?" he inquires of Silver.

"Club Mjolnir, Franklin, thank you," Silver says, and crosses her legs at the knee.

"Yes mum." Her driver/bodyguard rolls the divider window back up and the car smoothly accelerates into the street with little sound of the engine toiling.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna pays little to no attention to the sudden tensing in Silver's arm, continuing to hang off of it even as they step into the elevator. She runs her fingers up and down the mercenary's white sleeve, tilting her head and listening intently as she speaks. After, Zee gives her a mock-sheepish look but her dark-painted lips nevertheless part into a wide grin.

"You're going to make me blush," Zee chides, "But believe me: the first time I wore my ?costume'? You could've fried an egg on my face. But then I thought, if J'onn can wear a speedo and suspenders, I was positively overdressed by comparison."

As they arrive in the garage, the magicienne raises her eyebrows at the armored car and the chauffer. She gratefully takes his offered hand as she climbs into the SUV, sidling up alongside Silver once they're both. Despite the spacious backseat, Zatanna doesn't seem interested in taking advantage and spreading out.

"After taking a look at ?'your security I'm even more convinced I picked the right consultant."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver settles comfortably in the seat, leg crossing towards Zee and twisting just a little so she can speak with the magicienne. When Zatanna relates her story about the costume and a fried egg, Silver flashes a tight and amused grin before pushing her silver-colored hair behind her ear again. "Da. Can imagine. I don't like wearing skirts, even. Dresses, sometimes, for formal affairs. Easier to conceal a weapon in a suit or tuxedo."

"And you did. Pick the right consultant," Silver clarifies. "We've had experience all over the world, protecting celebrities and politicians. Corporate leaders."

She looks out the window for a moment. Dark-tinted. Like her penthouse. "And it's something I'm good at."

The drive to Mjolnir is not eventful, nor is it terribly long. The driver's dreadfully reliable, never speeding, always coming to full stops. Once there, he casually pulls up onto the curb (displacing a few pedestrians) and dismounts with a quick step to open the door for the ladies.

"Thank you," Silver murmurs to her chauffeur. "I imagine we'll be a few hours at least. Why don't you go get some dinner? I'll call if I need you."

"Too kind, mum," her driver says, and clambers back into the vehicle to drive off.

"Shall we?" Silver says, tilting her head and moving her feet to the large club doors.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I'm more of a briefs and tuxedo shirt girl myself," Zatanna explains with a grin, patting her bare thighs with her open palms, "Nowhere to hide a weapon there, but I don't really need one."

As the SUV pulls up at Club Mjolnir, Zee climbs out after Silver and takes the place in. When bidden, she loops her arm with Silver's again and mounts the steps up towards the doors before the pair step inside.

Her eyes widen a little at the viking motif, unable to keep the broad grin off her face. She takes it in without a word, bobbing her head slightly to the thrum of the music. She looks at the dance floor, mischief clear in them as she cranes her neck to speak into Silver's ear. Close enough for her breath to tickle her earlobe, loud enough to be heard over the din.

"Drinks first?"

Silver Sable has posed:
"Drinks," Silver agrees, and twines her elbow with Zatanna's. They're of a height with their footwear factored in, and she smiles reflexively at the feeling of breath against her ear. They push through the crowd fairly easily and make their way to the bar. It's not separate from the dance floor, but it's at least in a slightly segregated area so the noise isn't as all consuming.

"What's your drink?" she asks of Zatanna, and rests her palm on the bartop for balance. Silver spots the bartender and he recognizes her-- he comes hustling over quickly and smiles at them both.

"Miss Silver, good to see ya. What'll it be, ladies?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
When Zee speaks to Silver, she continues to stay close to her ear despite the music not being quite as loud. She flips through a menu on the bartop, picking something out in a flash.

"A Manhattan," says Zatanna, letting Silver know what her drink is and letting her handle the orders. As she does, the magicienne leans her elbows against the bar and takes in the Club.

"So, what makes this place stick out as your bar of choice? Do you have a thing for strong Nordic types?" She glances up as some glasses shatter and a fight breaks out across the room, par for the course by the sound of it, "Not that I can't see the appeal." Though when she says it, she's no longer looking at the brawling Norse enthusiasts.

As the drinks arrive, Zatanna takes her and looks to Silver: "Do you have a usual table? Somewhere to sit and revel in glories past and still to come?"

Silver Sable has posed:
"Was sitting there when I threw a shot glass at Thor's thick skull," Silver says, gesturing at the end of one of the long tables. She smiles fondly at the memory. "I will have vesper," she bids the bartender. "Low. On ice."

They drift to the table and they settle into it, across from one another. Silver rests her fingers on her elbows, arms folding. Faint silver lines are visible below the cuffs of her sleeves on her exposed forearms, the sort of scars one doesn't get from gardening.

"Could say that," Silver says, finally. She bites on a bar pretzel. "Symkarians are not as dour as we seem. We enjoy drinking and revelry. We fight and love passionately. Drinking... just helps get some inhibitions down. Ever seen someone do traditional Serbian dances? Imagine them trying that with bottle of vodka in their belly."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Thor?"

Zatanna juts out her lower lip and gives Silver an impressed look, "I've never met him, personally, but that's quite a feather in your cap. Throwing a shot glass at an actual deity."

Underneath the table, she taps her foot along to the beat of the music. Occasionally, her foot taps against Silver's. Not every time, but often enough that it may not be an accident. Zee says nothing, only raising her eyebrows and smiling half to herself and half to her date.

"And don't worry, I never thought you were dour," almost absent mindedly, Zatanna flicks a playing card into view from some hidden place within her sleeve, "I watched you back at the house. Nobody who is all business and grim reality reacts that way to magic."

She turns the card in her hand, playing it across her fingers. Then, with a snap, it is engulfed in a small plume of blue flame and vanishes as though it was never there.

"Your heart skipped a beat," Zatanna explains, as though she can read her mind, "And I'd never ask you to admit it, but I'm sure it's true."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver laughs appreciatively at the magic trick. "Maybe a little," she acknowledges.

Drinks arrive. "As for Thor... he had it coming. Flirted with me. Told me he 'considered' courting me. Like I am slab of beef at merchant's," Silver says, and sniffs contemptuously. "Grew angry when I did not fawn and flutter over him like lovesick schoolgirl, and when the churl turned to sulk and storm off, I..." She shrugs, smiling with an insincere modesty. "Well. As I said. We are passionate people."

If Silver complains about the gentle nudging to her foot, she doesn't say anything. Once the waiter's gone, though, she eyes her drink, then looks up at Zatanna. "Miss Zatara, I... must be direct. When you invited me, were you planning a social drink, or a date?" she asks, finally. "I don't want to have awkward conversation about things later if the evening takes a turn towards confused."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"This is a date," Zee states plainly, not in the least abashed or hesitant to lay it all out there. Some magicians may play into the smoke and mirrors, but certain aspects of Zatanna's life necessitate the direct approach, "That is to say, that was my intention. If you'd rather it be a social drink, I'll behave. I'm a big girl and I'm not about to stomp my feet and storm off if you tell me thanks but no thanks."

Despite the supreme confidence, however, Zatanna has a tell. The occasional tapping of foot against foot beneath the table stops, and she crosses her legs instead. On the table, she runs a finger up and down the stem of her glass and reaches the other hand up to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead.

"I'm not Thor, after all," she grins, picking up the Manhattan and taking a sip.

Silver Sable has posed:
"Then, won't throw glass at your head," Silver assures Zatanna, with a flickering grin. "Just don't treat me like possible addition to your harem," she adds, a beat later.

Her smile flickers and she holds Zatanna's gaze steadily. Her eyes are not as vivid as Zatanna's, more stormcloud than Aegean. But they're firm and quite resolute. "I am involved with someone," Silver says to Zatanna. "Romantically. It is friendly, and open. But again-- think you should know," Silver tells Zatanna.

"I am sorry if I'm being over-direct. I don't like causing contention or strife, and everyone seems to lie to themselves as much to anyone else. I don't like being dishonest," she clarifies.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I'm not the marrying kind," Zatanna explains, repaying directness with a direct answer of her own, "I wanted to be clear that I didn't come here just to have a nice social drink with the woman who designed my security system. Ulterior motives? You betcha. But my life is, uh, well, it's complicated. I'm not about to settle down. I don't think someone in my position can do that, and if they do they're being irresponsible and insincere."

Zee breathes, her foot jittering in the air under the table as she speaks. The only visible sign of her nerves thankfully obscured from view. She shrugs her shoulders lightly.

"I guess for someone with so much responsibility on their shoulders I might be a bit infuriating - and I'm sorry if I've caused you any frustration. All I'll say is I'm here, and I've laid out what I'm thinking as plainly as I can. I don't believe in making extended commitments because who knows if I'll keep them. Those men who broke into Shadowcrest? They aren't the only ones like them. One of them could succeed one day and then - "

Zee snaps her fingers, a gout of smoke and a spark flying noisily into the air from where they made contact.

"Poof. I'm gone. I'd rather make every day count than spend my time working for a payoff I might never get."

Silver Sable has posed:
"Symkaria's largely Greek Orthodox; trust me. Not marrying, either," Silver says, curling knuckles against her breastbone. "Don't mind ulterior motives. Just want to make sure I'm not going to offend you by misreading your intentions," she explains.

Silver's fingernails scrape a hollow note from the rim of her glass. "I've been a soldier since I was sixteen. Carried machine guns and fought insurgent Communists when most Americans are in school. Life /is/ short," she agrees.

A foot brushes against Zatanna's. "But, on other hand-- what is a life worth living unlesss it is one lived to the fullest? Probst," she says, and hoists her drink on dangling fingertips to toast Zatanna. It's thrown back in a gulp and she wiggles it at a passing waitress before puttiing it down. "Another," she requests.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee's expression becomes serious as she listens to Silver, her mouth a concerned line. Only after the brief life story is completed does she lift her own glass, the broad grin returning once more to illuminate her features as she inclines her head and holds the Manhattan aloft.

"Cheers to you," she says, finishing off the last bits of the drink before plucking the cherry from the bottom of the glass by the stem. She looks at it for a moment, popping it into her mouth. After a moment she retrieves just the stem, dropping it into the glass so she can get in on the next round of drinks as well, "That would've probably been a good time to tie the stem in a knot with my tongue, huh? But I'm pretty sure nobody can do that, and I've met Superman. That guy can do anything. Except curse, I guess."

She glances down at the table and then back up at Silver, eyes finding hers as she brushes her foot up and down the inside of her calf with renewed gusto. When the waiter is gone, she speaks again.

"I appreciate the honesty. Lying and bending the truth is my stock in trade. It's good to be reminded that the truth works better sometimes."

Silver Sable has posed:
"I certainly would have enjoyed the show, Zatanna," Silver says, impishly. "The cherry tying. It is... quite a trick. I'm only good with ropes," she adds, sipping her drink with a mischevious expression.

"Haven't met Superman. Thor, yes. Few metahumans."

Another pretzel crunches between her teeth. "I... one thing, I like, about America. Women are free to express affection to anyone they admire," Silver says. Fingernails scrape against old, lacquered hardwood. "Couldn't have a drink like this in Symkaria. Not without a local vicar railing about it in church. I'm not... I don't know. I have dated men and women. I don't find a preference for either. You?" she asks, genuinely curious.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna considers that for a moment, taking a pretzel of her own but tumbling it end over end across her knuckles rather than immediately eating it. She shrugs her shoulders, "No preference, not really. It just never seemed like something set it stone for me. I've heard it described that way, but just ... no preference. Once upon a time I might've tried to fit into a role but now? Who has time for that."

She waves a dismissive hand through the air, "And anyone who has an issue with that? They've got nothing better to do. Anybody I've ever felt attracted to, and they to me? We've given it a try. I never really thought about it in terms beyond that. It's exhausting."

She flicks the pretzel into the air with her thumb and catches it in her mouth, crunching it and finishing the mouthful before she speaks again: "My longest relationship was with a man, though. Although I won't say it was my most uncomfortable one." She leaves it there.

Silver Sable has posed:
"I've... never been in a relationship. Not a real one," Silver admits. She tucks her hair behind one ear. "Flings. Puppy love, when I was a girl. I live in field tents and private jets. It's rare for me to be anywhere more than a few weeks at a time; I'm in New York because we landed the UN contract, and by far it's more than any other contracting we have."

"Like I said. Life is short," she reminds Zatanna, and accepts her refilled drink from the passing waitress.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Do you think you'll stay in New York very long?"

Zee leans back in her seat, chest thrust forward as she brings her hands up to run through her hair and draw it back behind her shoulders. Everything about the motion is languid and carefree, yet so rife with a sense of the theatrical. From the way her pale throat is exposed to the way she stretches to highlight the curves even against the loose-fitting cardigan.

And then she's resting her hands on the table again, running her index finger casually up and down the stem of her new Manhattan's glass in a lazy, idle motion.

"I have a home, of course, but I tend to be a bit of a wanderer myself. I suppose that comes from being able to be wherever you like."

Silver Sable has posed:
"Long is ... complicated. I've moved my household here, if that's what you mean," Silver says. Zatanna's motion isn't lost on her, but she covers a flickering glance by shaking out her own hair with a tousle of fingernails and looks over at the fight as it concludes and the two men stagger out of the fighting pit.

"I'm overseeing the UN contracts now; biggest one we have currently." A matter of public record, as it was somewhat contentious for Sablinova International to secure so many embassies as clients at once. "But need to travel still. Weekends, sometimes week or two at a time for some things."

Her smile goes lopsided. "Would kill to be able to just wriggle nose and be anywhere I wished. Like American show, BeWitched?" she jokes. "I would save a lot of time wasted in flight. Not to mention the cost of reactor-drive aeroplanes," the mercenary adds with an irritated expression.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
If Zee catches Silver looking, she makes no obvious show of it save for a broad smile as her hands lower back down to the table.It seems as though she cannot go more than a few moments without some sort of show to draw the mercenary's eye back to her. It's small wonder she makes her living on the stage.

"I think I read something about that," Zatanna says, her eyes not leaving Silver despite the raucous shouting elsewhere in the bar, "Or I glanced at a newspaper somewhere. I can be woefully uninformed sometimes. It's hard enough keeping up with all the hocus pocus, you know?"

The talk of BeWitched prompts a laugh from her, and she wriggles her nose in return while giving Silver her most smouldering of looks.

"I don't magic myself hither and yon all that often. It's usually easier to fly. I mean, fly," she waves her arms slightly like wings, "Not fly." She moves a hand on a diagonal trajectory upwards, like a plane taking off.

"But if you ever need to take the mystic express somewhere, I don't suppose I mind playing magic Uber if it's you asking."

Silver Sable has posed:
"That's a kind offer, Zatanna," Silver says with a flickering grin through her brows. She turns to face Zee once more, flicking her head to keep her hair out of her way. "But maybe not well advised-- I'm something of a workaholic. Everything is urgent, everything is priority." Fingers wiggle once through the air in a declarative slash. "Would be real emergency the first few times, but I think you'd get tired of whisking me around the world because I forgot toothbrush," she says with a dry humor.

"What is it like? Being magician," she asks, curiousity shifting.

The waitress comes by again. "Two more," Silver bids the woman, gesturing at Zatanna's Manhattan, then at both of them.

"I mean, with the flying, and the lightning. Not the, uh..." She searches for the word, fails to find it, and does the 'floating thumb' trick with a quirked brow and playful grin.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna watches every movement that Silver makes. Occasionally she will shift in her seat, crossing her legs one way or another or stretching them out to once again brush over her's under the table. She doesn't fidget, but nor can she sit still either. Always on show.

She lifts her Manhattan to her lips, taking a sip of it and letting the question hang in the air. She mulls it over, wetting her lips with her tongue as she sets the glass once more down on the table.

Then she leans forward, reaching across to clasp Silver's hand as it performs the simple illusion. She lifts her other up underneath it, cupping both her hands in hers and rising from her seat partly to lean her elbows on the table. Her eyes meet the mercenary's, and her darkly painted lips quirk into a broad grin.

"It's magic."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver gives Zatanna a bemused smile as the magician leans over the table. Her hands remain relaxed in Zatanna's palms, clearly percieving no threat from the raven-haired woman. "Is cute answer," Silver concedes. "But, does not answer my question, either." Her smile almost threatens to become a grin. "Is this you being evasive for sake of flirting, or evasive because of something like 'magician's rules'?" she asks with playful emphasis on the words.

The waiter arrives, drops off two more Manhattans for both women. Despite the raucous environment no one seems to be paying them much mind, or at least no more mind than anyone else. One of Silver's hands rolls over and she absently drags a neatly manicured nail along the inside of Zatanna's wrist, holding the magician's clear-eyed gaze all the while.

A brow and playful grin quirk momentarily at Zatanna. As if proving Silver can keep up her end of a game of making others jump.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"For the sake of flirting," Zee answers plainly, still leaning forward across the table and paying the waiter absolutely no mind as she shines the full light of her attention wholly on Silver, "If there's a real magician's code, nobody told me. And if they did, I don't think I'd care all that much. As far as I'm concerned, the magic is in me so it's mine."

As the nail runs across the sensitive flesh of her wrist, Zatanna draws in a shuddered breath and bites her lip for a moment. For whatever reason, the single motion seems to have run through her like a live wire. She whispers "no fair" and then slides away to rest back in the seat, leaving her hand extended across the table towards Silver.

"It's hard to explain. Just something I've always been able to do. Say the word backwards, make sure I mean it and there you go. The hard part's not leaning on it too much. It wears you down - like that trick with the wine glass - I had to take a nap after that. But as for what it's like, well, it really is like magic. I don't know how else I'd describe it."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver's eyes crinkle at the complaint and she releaes Zee's hands, though lets her fingers rest on Zee's palm. Fingertips continue to draw idle and aimless circles on Zee's palm with no discernable pattern.

"Suppose it is like trying to explain color to a blind person," she concedes. With her free hand Silver picks up her drink and sips it cautiously. It's held on her tongue with her lips on the cup. After a second, her expression brightens slightly. "That's quite good," she tells Zatanna, and sets the drink down.

"Backwards, though." She considers Zatanna with an intruiged expression and rests her chin on the heel of her palm, elbow propping on the table. "I wasn't listening, I suppose. Why backwards? I thought it was all mystic language. Ancient Slavic, or Latin, or something," Silver says.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I suppose the backwards isn't really necessary," Zee answers, her forehead creasing slightly as she gives it some thought, "But I've never had much luck doing it any other way. That's - well, that's just how I learned to do it. It's easier. Like driving a car. Maybe you learned with a stick. You could drive an automatic, but it doesn't feel right or the same. You just need to do it your way."

The corners of Zatanna's mouth quirk up and she nods in agreement, keeping one hand flat and palm up on the table to enjoy the light contact between the pair of. Her other hand lifts her glass to her mouth, nodding in agreement as she finishes the second Manhattan and begins on the third.

"It's all backwards," she explains, shifting slightly in her seat to give Silver a conspiratorial smile, "Think of something you want, or that you'd like to see. Just something small."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver nods along in comprehension at the explanation. It seems an apt enough analogy, at least to the point she doesn't question it immediately. Under the table her foot sways and brushes against the inside of Zatanna's ankle and calf, a lazy line of motion. It seems the drinks are helping unwind some of that traditional Symkarian stiffness.

"Something?" Silver stops and thinks about it for a second, then looks up at the ceiling for inspiration. "How about... a bird," she says, to Zatanna. "I used to hear the petrels crying in the forest as a little girl." Eyes brighten in expctation, as Silver's clearly taken with the idea of another dramatic gesture from the theatre that /is/ Zatanna's company.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Alright," Zatanna says, squaring her shoulders and taking on the air of a professional magician, "A bird. A petrel. Okay, so that's - that's lertep."

When she says the word nothing happens, as though she is saying it without the requisite gravity and intention the magic requires. She casts around for a moment, looking to the small wooden napkin dispenser tucked away to one side of the table. She begins to pluck several free, laying them haphazardly out on the table before gathering them together into a pile. She slowly begins to bundle them up between her palms as she speaks.

"So, actual matter is easier to change than just bringing something out of nothing. We could do it the other way but," Zee shrugs her shoulders, rolling her eyes to one side, "I want to be awake in a few hours time." She winks. Underneath the table she stretches out her leg, her calf running against Silver's own with a distant swish of fabric upon fabric.

"Now, we have it gathered up here in my hands," she holds them open slightly, letting Silver see the bundled napkins before closing them once more, "I concentrate. I picture in my mind what I want and lertep!"

Her word seems to shudder in the air, chiseling her will into the rock of reality. As she speaks, she parts her hand and a brief flash of light fills the air before a snowy white bird emerges. It steps from the light fully formed, stepping across the table and tilting its head to one side to regard Silver curiously. A moment later it flaps its wings, buffeting the pair with wind as it soars up and disappears into the rafters.

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver's jaw goes slack and she twists her neck to watch with delight as the bird flies skywards. The flash of light and sudden airbound motion get the attention of most of the bar patrons. A few seem to recognize Zatanna and murmur in surprise, though at least the one person trying to snap a quick candid with their phone is being discreet about it.

"Bozhe moi," Silver mutters, spellbound (in the figurative sense). Her stormcloud gaze goes back to Zatanna's face and she closes her mouth with a mildly embarassed expression. "Well. Color me impressed," she concedes. "I've never seen magic like that. Up close, I mean, that wasn't sleight of hand. Unless you are precognitive? Came here with, uh, little bird up your sleeve?" she asks, gesturing at the billowy fabric around Zatanna's shoulders.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"No tricks," Zatanna says with a shake of her head, her eyes not leaving Silver's own even as the bird flutters off to more comfortable vantages, "No illusions. Just magic. That's what you wanted to see, right? What I do? That is, what I really do."

"Besides, do you really think I could hide that bird in this without you noticing?"

Zee holds out one of her arms, pulling open the loose sleeve to show nothing concealed there. Satisfied, she picks up her glass once again and finishes off the last of her third Manhattan.

"No, he's from wherever it is magic comes from. As real as you and me when a moment ago he was nothing but paper napkins."

Underneath the table her foot once again lifts to brush against Silver's foot and calf, before moving higher to trace along the inside of her knee and the place where her thigh begins. Then once again trailing it back downwards towards the floor.

"Did I satisfy all your curiosity?"

Silver Sable has posed:
"Not remotely," Silver says, in a sultry, purling alto. "But the night's young yet, isn't it?"

A slow smile spreads as Zatanna probes her leg, and she lets it fade into a canine indenting her lower before she resumes her more stoic (if now quite relaxed) expression. A few drinks seem to be unkinking some of the stiffness in her neck and shoulders, letting her slouch comfortably.

The waitress detours by again. "Refill?" she inquires, gesturing with a pleasant smile. "None for me, thank you," Silver says, and rests her fingers across the mouth of her glass.

"Some food then?" the waitress offers.

Silver lifts an inquiring brow at Zatanna. "Well? We've had drinks and a show. Still interested in dinner, or have I expired all of /your/ curiousity?" she says, turning Zatanna's question back on her with an impish expression.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Not on your life, Sablinova."

Zee finishes off the last of her drink, handing the glass off to the waitress before turning her attention fully back to Silver. Her foot is no longer roaming quite as expeditiously as it was, although it does continue to tap against Silver's in rhythm with the music.

In the brief lull in the conversation, Zatanna's eyes find the mercenaries. Her lips part just slightly, a sigh of air escaping her before she clamps her teeth down against her bottom lip and bites it. Once more she stretches a hand out across the table, laying it with the palm facing upwards. She relaxes in her seat - not that she ever had much trouble relaxing - and smiles again.

"You have my undivided attention."

Silver Sable has posed:
"The food here /is/ pretty good," Silver assures Zatanna. Her palm slides over Zatanna's with a caress of her fingertips, though her eyes focus on the waitress-- who is politely trying not to smile too much at the obvious flirting between the women.

"Well, the special's a short rack of lamb, and there's a brisket thats been marinating for a week in our house marinade," she offers. Her pen taps once on the notepad, ready.

"Small order of brisket for me, please," Silver requests when prompted, and turns curious eyes towards Zatanna. This is not a good restaurant for the heart-healthy crowd; most of the food is variations on steak, mutton, or pork, and some seafood fare. Vegetables largely seem to be served as sides, garnish, or deep-fried.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"I'll have the rack of lamb," Zatanna asks of the waitress, her head lulling back and a sigh escaping her as Silver's fingers trace lines across her palm. The nature of the food does not seem to concern her at all. Perhaps there are spells to forestall cholesterol.

Zee herself seems completely nonplussed about being seen flirting openly with a woman in a public space. Fame and notoriety being two sides of the same coin, lifes too short, and all of that. She shifts again in her seat, always looking to make herself yet more comfortable. Her order given to the waitress, she now speaks to Silver.

"I always feel like the special is what the chef's most proud of," she explains, "And I feel like you always put a little more into work that you're proud of."

Silver Sable has posed:
"Would agree," Silver says, nodding. She thanks their waitress and dismisses her with a brief nod before looking back to Zatanna, then examining the traced path of fingernails along the subtle creases in Zatanna's smooth palm. Silver's hands are well-manicured, but there's a little roughness to them that can only come with a lot of years of hard, dedicated work and fitness.

"The brisket is good; I've had it before. Has to be good," she amends. "It takes a week to age and prepare. Means lots of careful checking and inspection. If brisket goes bad or is sour, then they can't serve any until the next decanting. Takes a lot of dediction to put that much work into something. Don't want to have disappointment when it comes up flat, da?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"A creature of habit, huh?" Zatanna asks, her eyes half-lidded and her posture almost liquid. When she speaks, her voice is perhaps a little breathier than normal, "That's good. What other habits do you have?"

It's a simple thing, barely noticeable, but the motion has Zatanna enthralled. Her hand stretched out on the table and Silver's traced lines make her seem utterly relaxed and stimulated in equal measure. Occasionally her fingers crook upwards to brush against her, trailing over the underside of her finger or across a callus that is the product of hard work.

At the moment, it seems as though her hand is the absolute center of her universe. When she speaks, it is barely audible above the din: "You can do that all night."

Silver Sable has posed:
"All night? My that's a promising entendre," Silver says, grinning a bit wider at Zatanna. "We haven't even eaten dinner yet."

She considers the question then, transferring her gaze down to the sussurance of finger against palm. "Tend to wake early. Exercise. Business, all day. Drinks at night, usually here, sometimes home alone. Exercise again. Sleep." A weary exhale slips past her lips and she retracts her hands, finally, folding her palms over her elbows and looking out at the din of dancers and revelers.

"International security work sounds glamorous, da. But is mostly a lot of time in planes and hotels. Sleeping in tents. Doesn't leave a lot of time for... personal hobbies," she admits. "Don't have much that doesn't revolve around being a soldier."

Eyes move to the table, back to Zatanna's face. "I like to read books, sometimes?" she offers, with a lamely apologetic shrug and a crestfallen expression. "Not as glamorous as being magician, I think."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A moment after Silver's hand leaves Zee's, she slowly retracts it back across the table. It's an obvious difference between the pair. The mercenary is able to sit still as needs be, while the magicienne must be always in motion. With no drink glass to fondle, what looks like a small silver coin seems to just pop out of her palm as though conjured. She rolls it up and down her knuckles, though her blue eyes never once leave Silver's own.

"It sounds like it takes dedication," Zatanna replies, giving the coin a little kick with her little finger and sending it spinning into the air before she catches it between her thumb and forefinger only to set it rolling again, "Someone as successful as you've obviously been, it'd be very easy to drop stakes in a cushy office somewhere and delegate, delegate, delegate. But your name is on the door, and your name means something, so you put everything you've got into it."

The coin disappears from her hand as quickly as it came, vanishing with deft sleight of hand: "I'll admit I didn't expect the CEO of the company when I reached out to your people. Seeing you climb out of that Jeep is what sold me, I think."

Silver Sable has posed:
"Zatara's good old name, from Northern Italy. Romani roots," Silver tells Zatara. "At least, might be cousins of yours somewhere. Your name also is flagged for ... well, you have a certain social presence as a celebrity," she admits. "We are pragmatic about advertising needs, and someone with your reputation for charisma and society? Nothing beats a personal endorsement."

She drums fingers on her arm. "You paid a substantial deposit up front, you indicated there was a recent threat to your system... all these things, move you up in priority."

The stool creaks as she shifts and recrosses her legs. The toe of her stiletto pumps rests against the inside of Zatanna's calf again, casually reclaiming that space under the table.

"I'm in town anyway, it's nice day, I don't have any crushingly urgent work-- it seemed like a small thing for me to provide a consultation."

"Also, I wanted to see if you were as fascinating in person as you seemed on the telly. That part, I'm finding to be pleasantly true," she says with another sly, impudent grin.

The food's delivered and Silver sits upright so the plate can be set in front of her. A napkin's unwrapped from around the utensils and she rests it carefully across her thigh.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's eyes do not glance down at the table, although the way she begins to grin as Silver's foot once again brushes her calf is anything but coincidental.

"As for the deposit," she purrs, waving a hand airily, "I wanted to make sure you all took it seriously. I have a bit of a personal code. If I'm going to shell out for something? I'm going to get the best."

As the food arrives, Zee flashes the waitress a bright smile. Nothing long or lingering. Unwilling, it seems, to draw her gaze away from Silver for more than a scant half second. She looks down at the short rack of lamb, the ribs fanned out across the plate. Most might tackle this with their fingers, but Zatanna's refinement forbids it. She mimics Silver, unwrapping her cutlery and laying the napkin out over her lap.

"It's good to hear I'm fascinating," she admits, pausing a moment before digging in, "Although I must admit I don't put on a show for ?'every visitor. I was trying to impress you. Mission accomplished, I'd say."

Silver Sable has posed:
"Mm, I was /very/ impressed. I thought you had the show well in hand," Silver tells Zatanna. She cuts into her brisket with relish, though she's equally fastidious about it as Zatanna is. There's a little refinement in her motions, someone who eats that way out of practice rather than merely feigning good manners. It's not hard to envision her at state dinners or formal banquets, with a mile of long tables sitting social elites.

"But I'm glad to hear I merited some special attention," comes the amendment a few seconds later. Silver grins at Zatanna past a bite of brisket on her fork. "So, why impress me? I'm just your security consultant," she tells Zatanna. "I know who you are because, all over news and internet media. You're quite famous. Outside of certain circles, many Americans don't even know my company exists. Let alone who the CEO is."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna wields the knife and fork well enough that she need only glance down once at the plate to ensure they are both in place. She lifts a bite of meat to her mouth and eats it, mulling the question over. When she swallows the mouthful she lays the fork down on the side of the plate, careful not to gesticulate with it.

"I do my research," Zee explains, an enigmatic little smile playing across her dark lips, "Security consultants aren't regular objects of media scrutiny, no, but you land a big contract like you did? Your name popped up while I was looking into high-end security and it didn't take too much digging to find out a little more about you."

She leans forward across the table, eyes locked on Silver's and a conspiratorial note in her voice: "A real life aristocrat roaming the world as a soldier of fortune? I was fascinated. I had to see if you matched up to the idea in my head."

Once more, Zee cuts a sliver of lamb from her place. She deposits it in her mouth and chews thoroughly, a close-lipped smile as she lets her words hang in the air for a moment. Only after she's finished the mouthful does she add:

"You did. And then some."

Silver Sable has posed:
A pleased smile curls the corner of Silver's mouth. "Mm. That was diligent of you," Silver congratulates her date. "In this day and age, it's hard not to do some cyberstalking. I admit I have little advantage here; we had a dossiere assembled for you quite some time ago. Nothing too interesting, of course, but it cuts down on boring conversations about 'siblings' and 'family tree'."

She slices more brisket free, chews. "I am technically aristocracy, but it's not like Americans think it is. Symkaria's never tolerated much decadence in our aristocracy. It's what preserved order when the Bolshevik revolution gripped Russia; my great-great grandfather was both duke and high-ranking military general. Hard to overthrow man who has bled in the snow with his troops. It's like the Brits, who sold commissions of rank to the nobility. Except our aristocrats take it much more seriously."

She sweeps up the last sauce on her plate with a bit of brisket and finishes her meal off with a slow, savouring drag of the fork tines between her lips.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zee fills every lull in the conversation with something else. A long look. A shift in her seat that just so happens to cause her leg to brush against Silver's under the table. She seems incapable of not filling each moment with some captivating gesture or look. Her sense of timing remains impeccable, and she finishes her own plate shortly after Silver does.

"It's still very intriguing," Zee answers, setting her plate and cutlery to one side so she can once again place her hands on the table, "All that history. Being able to look at old photographs? Paintings? And say ?I'm connected'. They can keep all the decadence and gold leaf. You have a name that's writ large on the land itself."

She pauses a moment, considering something: "I suppose I know how that is. What it's like trying to live up to it."

Silver Sable has posed:
"Da. The family shadow can cast very long," Silver agress, matching Zatanna's thoughtful tone. She slides her plate aside and curls her fingers into Zee's. "Can be a lonely adventure, standing in that line or stepping away from it."

The plates are taken smoothly away and the check's left on the table. Silver eyes it, then eyes Zatanna, and a grin spreads across her lips which still bear some of that minimal application of gloss. Silver's not much one for makeup, aside from that and a bit of mascara.

"Is this the part where we fight over the check?" she asks with a lighthearted tone. "I'd like to pay, if you don't mind. I picked the place, after all-- it seems only fair," she suggests.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Fight for it?" Zee's eyes flick over to the fighting pit and the raucous crowd surrounding it, "I'm sure it'd be a hell of a show but ,,, I prefer to keep my audience of one."

She gestures to the cheque with the hand not holding Silver's, tilting her head forward in obeisance.

"Go ahead."

Only then does Zatanna take her eyes off Silver, casting a gaze out over the rest of Club Mjolnir as though she's only now taking the venue in after spending the last good, long while entirely ensnared in their conversation.

"Do we dance now? Take a long walk?" Zee asks as Silver handles the check, "I hope it isn't 'say goodnight.'"

Silver Sable has posed:
"Mmm. Dinner, drinks, and show," Silver tells Zatanna, and slides to her feet. "Should have said 'dancing' up front with initial offer. I think three is good for one evening, da?" she says with a mischevious expression.

Silver doesn't accessorize with a purse, so her credit cards just get tucked into her suit breast pocket again. "Maybe not long walk, but drive? I could drop you at your home. Would give us time to talk in the car," she suggests. "Unless, you want to *poof*," she says. An airward toss of fingers illustrates the gesture that probably comes with teleportation.

"Would understand if you'd rather be home fast. I should have offered to meet you here instead of making you ride in car, da?" she asks with a flickering grin.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Well, next time I'll make sure to include dancing as part of the deal," Zee grins, leaving the promise of a potential next time hanging in the air between them.

Zee rises to her feet as the check is paid, steady on her feet despite sitting for so long and being three drinks in. She shakes her head at the suggestion of simply teleporting away: "You're not getting away from me that easy, Sablinova. Besides, teleportation is tiring."

She steps around the table, planting both hands on Silver's shoulders and leaning down to whisper in her ear. Her breath tickling the earlobe, the curve of her jaw brushing against her's: "Drive me home. Let's talk."

Silver Sable has posed:
Silver's eyes flicker in surprise when Zatanna slides her arms over Silver's lean shoulders. She's built like a tennis player under that suit, no matter how cleanly its cut. Almost reflexively a hand rises and she rests her palm on the curve of Zatanna's waist, just above her hipbone.

"All right," Silver murmurs back, and her lips almost brush the edge of Zatanna's proud cheekbone. Almost. And then she's moving fluidly towards the exit, hooking her arm with Zatanna's again so they're exiting as a duo.

And with that same clockwork efficiency, her driver pulls around the corner in just a few moments, parks, and offers the ladies a hand into the SUV. "Some traffic tonite, mum. I'll try to have you both home safely and in good time," he bids them, and closes the door. The heavy black SUV pulls into traffic and starts the smooth ride back to Shadowcrest, bearing Silver and Zatanna cradled safely as two birds in a nest.