Yamcha  	Tangential tarry managing its way back toward that which rooted their current predicament, ever of a mind to labor over expectations and delivery when mere attendance and pleasantries should have served more than enough to reward the lass's agreement against carefully walled reason. Undoubtedly, this sort of circular bumbling was accepted like the fine print of a crudely written document, full knowing of the attachments that so often came with conducting business with West City's infamous buffoon of a bachelor. After all, he could hardly orient himself properly to find his way over to the home plate when anxious broods snapped into ditzy impulse, and that was literally his sole obligation as the "designated hitter." Maybe Kurumi ought to just bowl him over and prove the worth of a bat-bearer's mettle, were her hand-eye coordination not subject to question as far as basic kitchen procedures were concerned with even the slightest bit of pressure hanging over.
  	Subject to adamant debate depending on the defendant, whether or not the innocent presence of live-in slurping noodles or simply idling about compared to the distressing whistle of fastballs inside and close, but ultimately moot anyhow; Kurumi looked to prefer beating on the beaters as the foremost reason for donning Taitans' sunshine and scarlet. Hope lay in his imagined defeat, at the least, for Yamcha hardly looked the picture of dejection in spite of forfeited playing cards. Lo', the safety net that came with friendly familiarity underneath whatever precarious tower they sought to build off the aforementioned slips of plastic-guarded paper! No small wonder why the whole construct was wont to tumble into ruin only then to scatter across the winds for whatever foul happened to be the scar-faced "charmer's" undoing, though present acknowledgements were farthest still from reducing those imagined "points" as he had sardonically alluded.
  	Better for it, even? If that much could be garnered from Kurumi's thin attempts to mask, daresay, underlying opinion. The founder of his surer footing, and short bit of epiphany thereafter that such a thing was commonplace when rightly grounded -- as opposed to flailing off in whatever unnatural flights he had brought all paws four into. Weird, in a word, the pervading sensation equally humbling as it was reassuring to his bizarre obsession with his own impressions unto others. That came with the scarcely crossed territory of genuine admissions and conversation past whatever glossy walls of his own he sought to keep up whilst hiding an anxious sweat from (un)fortunate dates.
  	A hopeless endeavor in itself, putting on those airs before eyes that should be seen as owlish in their wisdom were it not for their frequent leers. Breathe easier, Yamcha, and do keep the curious trace of features long-since known to a minimum. Any "caught" looks were easily written off as oblivious startle to the setting playing out between, demanding of his immediate straighten away. What an ungracious guest he was, at that, leaving the poor fellow to work around his win's stem and skew the proper presentation of plates placed in harmony across from one another. Yamcha nearly sitting on his hands, suddenly erected high in his posture while scattering surveillance was put to appropriate use, dancing over the sheen of an attractive sear put upon so succulent a cut.
  	The ancillary fixings alongside, while deserving of some praise in their own right, played fiddles second and third with potatoes and greenery respectively, but who could blame him? The last time he had gotten cozy with a halfway decent morsel, it had been too much so in the worst play of the phrase, nestled snug against nasty burns. Salivation was setting in, and best be for the both of them that he kept his tongue from rolling out his maw, which should be counted as no small feat with the warm reception crossing his mouth with open beam. The pointy ones just raring to go, and he would take it into his mitts were they sitting outside in some chintzy stall. Respectable enough, their confines, even if it was partially peculiar. Boasting forte with a dish that required asymmetrical utensils? About as odd as their namesake apparently went.
  	... And look at that, a side of ketchup in a metal sauce cup set beside her "basket" treated to the luxuries of a smaller plate. Spared no expense, this establishment. All the while, Yamcha's shifting glances turned across the way to catch an odd hold of suss watch, brows perking up from their resting station whilst he brandished dopey enthusiasm as a convenient riposte -- short cant as though to express, "hm?" An opportunistic escapist, he was not, and thus found himself saved by dinner's very bell as he began unfolding the neat bundle of napkin and its safely swaddled utensils. Ironic that he should fare better with a knife than chopsticks misunderstood as harmless, but that should hopefully be the way of it. Left to the privacy afforded to twosomes on the town, he could take up arms and pay a responsive nod over toward her own dish, leading with the up-angled just of his jaw.
  	"Geddit wrapped up when you're done," presumptuous on two fronts: that she'd not finish a beefy salad, and that he'd get to take whatever spoils were brought home in the... doggie bag. Two stalks of silver brought into fists, each commanding space between his plate in plants of anticipation while he brought himself back over the sizzling aromas by way of loom. But... he's waiting patiently. Ladies first, and all that. "... Oh!" The fork could rest for a second, set down to take up the glass too square across from her meal for any stickler's liking. Pulling drink into hoist, he angled it out toward, even if she was against those sips deemed too dangerous.
  	"To, uhh..." he did not think what was becoming a toast through, pinching along the brow before lighting up with... well, it was something. "Wolves and octopus... es. Pack of our own."
Just a City Girl  	A great deal of respect kept itself for her former peers, albeit not technically her own. Ohh, how distressing of a learned factor would that have turned out to be? Considerably, but surely one among them frustratingly enough may attempt optimistic spin some way or another. As it stood, it was commendable enough to endure them with such a brave face all the while. Only from inside knowledge that went both ways, fully aware how the man across could look and did to any unprepared for him, in addition to the inflexible arrangements of wait personnel.
  	None should be more thankful for the arrival than the cleaned-up canid, though his own flairs of evasion were measured and found wanting, it was too difficult a task for the would-be disciplinarian sat prickled by some sense of amiss when she was taking it upon herself to relieve the service of her dishes half way after clearing the landing. Careful shift and the reach thereafter; hefty platters even if mostly vegetables and the starchy side following suit. Therein murmurs of courtesy indicative of 'thank you' passed the woman's mouth when unable to swiftly assist with both, and afterward, only then did she make minor re-arrangements to dishes on her side.
  	And thus leading on to presumptuous feeds already as the basket was in closer proximity than the main source of salad. Odds of clearing both in full was slim, thus Yamcha was not off-base when minimal ingest were often Kurumi's fate. Nevertheless, a little patience could go a long way and in this instance, its lack thereof spurred extensive increase of prior narrows, regaining the half-full shape midst exchanging glances between platters, baskets, and the like. Here, Kurumi's look settled in nigh maximum capacity with a clear message: don't 'hm' her! Neither an escapist, nor expert on poker faces when it should benefit him most. It produced instead the airs of gall and drew sharpening dour into smooth-over and elevation slight of leftward brow.
  	However, words refrained from their impending fall and spent airs instead to treat the moment to long, but soundless sigh. Cue greenish motes flickered between he and the busied worker, gauging when was safer to start drilling into a careless host's earnest insistence, "You... want to wrap a salad," without the whole inflection of inquiry, and flat enough to convey her flatness quite clearly, as if the firm dip along brow had not already been enough to go by, or the curbed impulses to wrap herself tighter, for the short beat of nearing 'done' with a pushy host who had already exacerbated the quills of Kurumi may yet subject him to, though furthest from that of a sea-creature there.
  	No please, no slight ease implicating it as a friendly suggestion either. Smooth Mr. Cassanova E. Wolf, smooth. About as greased as that fumble into, then away from his utensils, surely. Excused for but a moment, hardening expressions lent themselves over to a temporary soften and the perplexed contortion belonging to her countenance. Perhaps his evasions were not so clumsy as originally perceived, although evidence remained considerably stacked against Yamcha's unofficial not guilty plea. One oafish mitt sought out to conquer glass steams and ensured to bring her in on the matter by alluding towards some kind of toast. Do not mind the dark-haired woman inspecting for one moment, the whole of his visible side, then looking back over the collection of seats surrounding them.
  	A few moments more and the residential super-star had won his reluctant company over to partake along with him. Maintaining still that the fluid therein was of a dangerous nature given incident prior, but too upon empty stomachs even though the food was there now before them. Allow her that moment to take in the sentiment, permitting herself thereafter to emit one short mirthful burst, "H'eh," ... that wasn't how- ... oh, forget correction in the now, when the sentiment had tossed the former burst into a modest fadeout. Displayed through the thorough alteration of expression, quick enough to miss although complexion may, but ah ... blame the lighting and through the glass if need be. Dominant hand reached base-side for the pinch and lift to meet at a half-way between with a matching tilt de minor cozily beside.
  	" 'A pack of our own' works enough, I think."