Katherine
Finley, for one, thought this would either be the *Best* Idea that they'd ever had, or, the worst.

But, he and Owen had gotten into kahoots, joyfully putting the idea of a late-night breakfast double-date with them and their respective partners (although, Fin wasn't sure *Entirely* If Owen would refer to Uriel that way, but, regardless), and, just so happening to not really tell either party about the *Full* Details.

Getting Ares to agree to come was entirely easy. Late night adventures had been part of their whole dynamic, long before they'd started dating. A quick text with a little smiley face had been all it'd took to get their hot-headed sweetheart to come along; he'd met them in the lobby and laced their hands together as soon as they could.

Plus, Isakstad was beautiful at night - and the cold was finally letting up from the brutal Scandinavian winter. Fin was comfortable in a (gifted) hoodie and ripped jeans. While there was no true substitute for timbits, the corner diner in town wasn't half-bad. 

"Here," He said to Ares, pointing up at the sign. If he was nervous about how Ares would react to Uriel and Owen *Just so happening* By, he tried not to show it (though, he didn't doubt Ares's ability to read them). "They've got great iced coffees, I think Hatsume said."
Willie
Owen was weaving an odd path between streetlights, bouncing on his toes looking for Finley. A shock of bluish—well, nowadays, greenish—blond hair gave his partner in collusion away in the now-familiar setting of signs written in Swedish and corners dotted with invisible cats' steps. Ares, hanging onto them, looked like he was telling them the story he had relayed to him the day before, miming some horrendous tale of sour gummy worms and pocket change. It still struck him as a little odd, seeing him so casually tender (in his firecracker sort of way), but something warm hummed in the boy's chest at the sight. Such an oddity was one that could only be good.

It was nearly too warm out for his old leather jacket, creaking reassuringly with his every move over the sun-warmed pavement that had just barely been dipped into shadow for the night, but it sat square on his shoulders anyhow. Perhaps he didn't *Need* Armour to lay waste to some waffles with his dearest friends, but Owen had perhaps overstated his confidence that this was, indeed, a great idea.

And if it wasn't, then spouting orange juice through his straw at Ares would be! *All in good fun.*

In his fretting hand was Uriel's, light as a feather but solidly gripped in his fingers; he pushed the button for the crosswalk and looked back at them. He smiled at them, crooked as always, background blurring away ever so slightly so that he might take in how their one stray lock of snow caught the breeze of passing cars. Properly lacing their fingers together, he planted a kiss on the back of their hand and pulled them across the street.

"This way! Waffles, waffles this way. *Shhh, hahah.*"

 *Act natural.*

Out of the blue, his other hand clamped down on Finley's skull with a triumphant "*EYAH!!!*" That *Hopefully* Wouldn't cause a power blackout or a heart attack. Eh. Best to start the night off with a bang, anyhow! Definitely not the nerves.
Marva
It was always a welcome change of pace to be whisked away from their own head. 
 
Orpheus and Eurydice traveled hand and hand through the midnight summer air, with an important amendment to the myth— for tragedy did not meet the pair at the end, only waffles at an unusual hour. 

Uriel couldn't help but blink in sleepy surprise when they were invited along. A double date was a fascinating idea, albeit confusing in practice— they had little idea what the acceptable amount of PDA would be in a group setting, or if it would just be another night with the band. 

However, Owen had said the word *Date*, and the threads in their brain tangled and twisted at the sweet syllables. *Date*, he said, and Uriel followed like the hapless fool they were. 

They were dressed in a somewhat different attire than their usual. After all, this was a *Date*, and the fantasy of a stammering, blushing Owen eyeing Uriel up and down was too sweet to only leave in the realm of their imagination. A brown, baggy turtleneck, a plaid skirt, and tights to keep warm hung from their lanky frame, and a vintage, old looking gold pendant necklace glittered around their neck. It was something they had sheepishly asked their mother to have, a long time ago. 

The shock of blue-green hair was easy to spot, especially with no one around. Owen gave Finley a karate chop, and Uriel couldn't help but let out a small laugh at that, their gloved hands covering their mouth to hide the impolite action. Their eyes slid over to Ares in the midst of the two friends' squabble, looking dead on at him with their murky expression. Being around Owen and Finley at this time of night was easy— Ares, less so, even if Finley was around. 

It was... Complicated, is all. They didn't bear any ill will towards the rowdy boy, but it didn't change that fact. 

They smile, nonetheless. "It's good to see you all. I am happy I didn't sleep through— I don't think I've ever done anything akin to this, after all."
Henry
Why did they not *Tell* Him? Owen and Finley, tricky little bastards. Finley had hyped this up, and of course it wasn't hard to get Ares out of his dorm but they completely failed to mention the complete *Coincidence* Of Owen and Uriel being here too. *A date will be fun,* They said. *It'll be just like always,* They said. Yeah, right. 

The anger didn't soak very far, though, and his initial reaction made Owen and Fin laugh. Apparently his wide open mouth, utterly shocked expression and playfully acting like this was betrayal of the highest degree was humorous. 

"Yes, yes, Owen, we know where the waffles are. Chill your shit." The tall boy snickered, before turning his gaze slightly towards Finley. "Iced coffee, hm? Well I guess we'll just have to find out for ourselves then, aye?" A smile. 

Similarly to Owen and Uriel, Ares had Finley pulled close to his side. Of course, the fact this *Was similar to Owen and Uriel* Did not slip past Ares' attention. Good for Owen— about damn time. Thats all he could really think on the matter. 
_ _

Ares' arm rested softly across Finley's shoulders as they walked, comfortably pressed into their side. The four of them walked through the crisp and cool night air, Ares and Finley were slightly ahead but still quite close. The stars hung above them in silence, and it was late enough for the perfect twilight zone of no one else being outside but none of the restaurants being closed. Ares loved this time of night. So far, this was all shaping up to be quite the wonderful outing, even if they hadn't quite reached their destination yet. 

Ares looked the complete opposite to the walking academia pinterest board on the far side of him— quite alarming in fact. The two were completely different sides of the partner spectrum it appeared, with Uriel being the one your parents would want you to date and Ares being the one that all the cautionary tales and educational videos about peer pressure warned you about. Sucks for Finley's parents, a thought like that made Ares silently laugh. The boy was covered in spikes, from the rim of his hood to the toe of his platform boots. With every step the chains linked to his belt loops clinked and echoed, his layered necklaces followed in a similar sound. Layered on top of his hoodie was a thick denim jacket, every inch covered in patches, band logos and symbols. It was a sight to see, but Ares loved it. If Owen thought he was overdressed for the occasion with a leather jacket, he could be comforted by the poster child of bad decisions walking next to Finley. 

It wasn't long before they all stood under the sign of the place Finley had decided. They pointed upwards at it, and Ares stepped forward to hold the door open for everyone. He shoved his boot down at the base, looked at the rest of the group, dramatically threw his hand open and bowed slightly.

"Ladies first." The boy spoke with a playful and familiar bastard smirk.
Katherine
Owen chopping into Fin's shoulder sent an (expected) burst of static shooting through Fin's hair as they yelped, and subsequently had to pat down again. The concern melted into laughter as Fin patted down their hair again, muttering in French as he went to work on his (faded) dye-job with one free hand. It would have been easier with two, but, Finley was far too comfortable holding hands with his dearly beloved to loosen his grip.

"Merci, mon amour," They said to Ares, both for not *Immediately* Turning Owen and Uriel away, and for opening the door. The little spikes looped around his hood made him look handsome, they thought, if a bit dangerous (which was fine with Finley. They seemed to like dangerous). Finley popped their head up and gave Ares a swift peck on the cheek on the way in, winding around the entrance and waiting up for Owen and Uriel to head in. 

It was a cute little place, about the same size of a normal diner back home, rounded out along the walls and the smell of frying food almost made Finley nostaglic - though, he wasn't quite sure for what. They got the group a booth, and happily plunked down in one of the too-hard plastic seats, patting the place beside him for Ares to join them. As good of company Uriel and Owen were, and despite the fact this was *Literally Finley and Owen's idea originally*, Fin already had taken a note that he wanted to bring Ares back here, if they could. And why not? A quiet little place to exist with the person they loved.

"Come sit," They said, to their absolute walking warning sign of a boyfriend, and two much more respectable mates in between. "Is this okay? It seemed alright from the door."

In hindsight, Finley realised their mother would have had an absolute *Fit* Upon seeing Ares in person. She would despise him, and the literal rock band they'd all three assembled. The thought made him smile. She might not have even liked Owen, which was strange - most (*Most*) people liked Owen.

But, either way, Finley smiled up at their friends, and hoped it would work out. A good group effort, he'd described it to Owen. A chance for them all to be together without too much pressure. Being at the Cradle was hard enough on it's own without drama between friends.
Willie
"A proper *Gentleman*, you are!"

Owen curtsied sarcastically to Ares as he passed through the door but the grin cracked across his face was as real as he thought a day like this would never be; that is to say, the divot in his cheek seemed to be etched into the corner of his smile permanently, giving the gesture an odd sincerity to it. He shook his hair out for dramatic effect. It was tied away from his face and spilling down his back in red waves, curling at the ends, air-dried after a shower.

The boy's hand drifted back to rest in his pocket, fingertips brushing a couple of the little embroidered flowers that sat on his hip and flared around his ankles—before he sat down, he made sure to softly headbutt the careful artisan in the shoulder. He rubbed his cheek a little on their soft sweater before floating after Finley: *Thankyouthankyouthankyou.*

"It's just fine, Fin." He sat. Hidden by the back of the booth, his restless fingers idly rubbed the far side of Uriel's waist.

Truth be told, he was probably overthinking worse than his drummer—*Going places* With *People* For reasons other than travelling as a band, where his place was outlined clear and solid, was... Different. So much so that it had been a fight to get out the door, angry-whispering at himself all the way through making himself pretty, or what passed for it compared to his usual. *Everyone can tell that you're usually a mess*, he told himself. *Your outfit is ridiculous. Your jacket's too bulky.* His leg bounced, heel tapping fast on tile. *What do* You *Even have to try so hard for anyway? Everything you do looks so silly.*

*Oh, shut* Up *Already.*
_ _

Wrenching his focus out of his skull and out towards the lovelier side of his eye sockets, Owen thought instead about the scrunch of Ares' nose when he laughed at something, the errant lock of blond hair Finley had missed when he spooked them, and Uriel's... Well, *Uriel*. The tiring feed of misery couldn't say much about the beauty on his arm, all cirrus cloud edges and drops of cool dew, sweet on his tongue like-

"Chocolate syrup..."
Marva
I write either tn or tmrw

I'm not feeling too well
Henry
Ares was the last to sit down. The tall boy let his friends... And Uriel... Sit down first, and offered to take the seat that was left. Ares did small behaviours like this frequently as of recent, something something *Finally* Considering other people. Sounded gross, Ares didn't want to think about it. It worked out so Owen and Uriel were on one side of the table, and Finley and Ares were directly across from them. 

"It seems like a great place, *Cariño*." Ares pressed his forehead to the top of Finley's head for the briefest of seconds, simply signalling a gesture of reassurance. Ares did this often, Finley always smiled. Ares' voice was quiet, specifically speaking to Fin and Fin alone, before quickly returning to be present at table.

Ares was a firecracker mix of being far too mature for his own good, and immature as a reckless dog. As soon as he sat down, he rested his head in his hand and messed around with the preset utensils laid out in front of him. Surprisingly, Ares was relaxed and at ease. He didn't feel pent up like usual, no need to be aggressive or bite before he could bark. He simply was enjoying a time with Finley and the *Other* Two that decided to tag along. The thought made him snicker silently, it was always fun to tease Owen. 

"*Oi, nena, tú ves buena.*" Ares leaned his face forward towards the ginger, with a wink and a bastard smirk that spelt nothing but trouble. A favourite joke of Ares' recently, which originally was born out of malice but blossomed into something that could be laughed at, was referring to Owen with flirtatious feminine terms in Spanish. In front of Uriel and Finley, it was even more amusing. "*¿Vienes seguido por aquí?*" 
_ _

This would be fun. Ares "Bastard" Morales was back at it again. Never ending teasing of those close to him, a chronic poke-the-bear-with-a-stick participant. He never let down the opportunity to crack a laugh, or make fun of those around him. Owen was particularly fun, because he responded to it in a certain way that made Ares snicker. A genuine laugh not many brought out of him. 

Beneath the table, Ares reached for Finley's hand and held it tight. Another silent reassurance that he knew Finley would appreciate. With a single squeeze, Fin was alerted that it was all simply a joke, and Ares was doing this to bother Owen. Cracking some fun, simple as that. 

It didn't take long for a waiter to come and ask if they wanted to get started with drinks of any kind, clearly frustrated with the late night appearance of a bunch of teenagers.
Katherine
"You're gaaayy," Fin drawled, a snicker pulling on their voice as they teasingly jabbed Ares with a pointed elbow, gazing up at him with an unmistakable expression of fondness. Underneath the table, he laced his fingers with Ares's, rubbing their thumb across the back of his hand. "And during pride month, huh? Owen, you scandalous, scandalous man.

A polite enough server came by and asked them for drinks, a smiling girl named (Finley wasn't really listening, but he thought it was April), with red hair like Owen's. She grinned, and gestured between them.
"Gingers!" She chirped. "I feel like I should take your order first."

Fin, through a laugh, gestured across the table to Owen and Uriel, motioning for them to go first by way of politeness. They flipped over the laminated menu with a free hand, squinting at the little English lettering under their half-baked knowledge of Swedish. They'd considered pancakes.

Really, a while back, Fin might have considered this whole event to be a *Non-zero* Possibility, but not entirely plausible. The riffs between Owen and Ares had worried them for a while, a *Good* Long while, but the familiar camaraderie between the trio (and good ol' Uriel, dependable and well-intentioned, if at times misinformed), had built back up, and Finley comfortably blew some faded bangs from their face and settled back into the booth.
Willie
Even after so long now being the subject of Ares' flirtatious attacks on his hard-won composure, Owen still couldn't help but turn bright red at his jab. It wasn't that it was *Working*, really, just that...

"*...Dos i chwarae efo dy nain,*" He spat, through an inexplicable grin that held back laughter. "*Slebog.*" Two could play at that game. His heels knocked rhythmically against the bottom of his seat.

Hopefully, he had taught Uriel at least enough of his mother tongue for them to find that funnier than Ares... Oh, what an ugly side of him the bastard brought out. It was his own fault, really.

As if he couldn't turn any redder, though, he was singled out almost immediately by the waitress—he could have sworn she had access to his bingo card of doom, lodged between melted folds in his brain, but judging by her little laugh at the less-than-proud yelp he let out when she spoke to him, the possibility *Might* Have been there that she wasn't out to make his head explode. *Unlike somebody.*

Somehow, with minimal restarts or thoughts of combusting on the spot (compensated by some unintentionally furious seat-kicking), Owen managed to speak the magic words that would summon him some strawberry lemonade.

Though his heart beat just a little too fast, it was full; his three favourite people in the world, at that sweet moment in time, were contained with him in one diner booth at sundown. At his side, in between the two of them, Owen's fingers moved from the small of Uri's back to the gloved shape of their fingers, humming to himself some summery song that smelled to him like sun-warmed pavement.
Marva
It was a strange feeling to be at a diner like this— no less with *Friends*, plural. The light fingers drumming against their waist bring them back to the present; Owen was their anchor in more than one way, Uriel mused, as they lightly rested their head against his shoulder. 

Ares shot some coy Spanish Owen's way, and the boy so lovingly attached to their arm responds in turn. His remark is the first thing to break Uriel's composure; the albino, sitting stock still in the booth as if booting up for the last 5 minutes, finally cracked an expression. 

They blinked, one at a time, the gears in their brain slowly churning until... The corners of their eyes crinkled, their mouth turned upwards in an odd, yet not forced motion, and Uriel *Smiled.* Not only that, but their head sagged down, their shoulders shaking in amusement as laughter took control of their thin frame. "*Je ne devrais pas être surpris en train de rire de ça*," They muttered, hiding their smile with a gloved hand. 

"And for the missus?" The waitress chirps, and Uriel quickly regains their composure. Considering their current feminine dress, the comment was to be expected. 

"May I have the..." They squint, looking down at the menu as if it was the first time they've seen it (it was, in reality. Uriel had looked at the menu, of course, but they didn't actually *Read* It— the ability for comprehension was something only recently gained, after all) . "Parfait? Ah... With the fruit, please." 

Their eyes drift over to the pair sitting across from them. Finley and Ares were certainly a pair— oddly enough, they were the closest thing Uriel had for a "Romantic benchmark." Their mother did not have any one else in her life, and they were never close with anyone before— and so, they stared keenly (a bit *Too* Keenly) at the pair's mannerisms, subconsciously mimicking them to the redhead beside them. 

"You two should order now. Oh, and— pardon me for forgetting, but do you have any chamomile?"
Henry
Ares dramatically gasped at Owen's words, pressing his palm to his chest with a look of pure violation. The same harrowed look of a victorian woman watching her husband fall deathly ill from the plague. Almost pale with shock, Ares gripped the fabric of the hoodie around his chest. He had absolutely no clue what Owen said. 

"How dare you?!" A smirk broke his disgusted expression for a moment, as he stifled a snicker. Uriel cracking a similar expression made Ares raise an eyebrow. *They knew what he had said... Of course they did. Horrible.* Ares playfully rolled his eyes and leaned dramatically into Finley.

"Ay, I cannot believe you hurt me so, Owen. After all my kindness." He wailed, before breaking out into a laugh and straightening himself back up— only sightly. The taller boy remained leaned down to look over Fin's shoulder at the menu they were holding. Of course Ares had his own, but why would he look at that. 

"*Cabrón.*" Ares sneered at Owen with a playful smile. 

Back to the menu. None of the drinks caught his eye, but he would get whatever came with a straw. He had a devious plan that would surely get proper revenge on the ginger sitting across from him. Ares' troublemaker brain grinned with mischief— the similar feeling that always burned in Ares' chest when he was about to make a poor decision. 

"I'll just have a coke." He looked at the waitress once Owen and Uriel had finished. Ares was judging Uriel's order. Tea? Ares was totally sure Owen had picked them up by swiping through Tinder outside of a retirement home.

Ares looked over at Fin. "What do you want, amor?"
Katherine
"*Que est ce?"* Asked Fin, amusement sprinkled in their gaze at the terror they were surely unleashing on the place. He hadn't caught on to enough Welsh, yet - a few phrases were all they could really place. But it seemed to make Uriel laugh - Fin snickered, still giving Ares's shoulder a reassuring pat from whatever dramatics were transpiring.

The waitress looked between them with some strange mix of confusion, bewilderment, and maybe amusement mixed in, nodding slowly as she penned their orders down. What a strange collection of people.
She looked at Uriel, speaking somewhat around the madness - "Sure! I've got a bit left. I'll bring it out."

Fin, patient indicted by fondness for their companions, nodded, and pointed to an iced coffee with some sort of floral punch to it. 
"I'll try this, please."

It seemed there was no rest for the wicked, indeed, if caffeine bothered Fin. It didn't, much, most days, a little lilt of the heart and nothing else.

"Sure. A tea, a cola, an iced coffee, and, ah - I'm sorry, what did you like?"

She peered down at Owen, who had, the first time, only said something in Welsh. Not that she knew it was Welsh. She actually mistook it for something akin to a Slavic language, at first.

Fin leaned up to Ares's ear and, quietly, said, "Look. They're absolutely nuts over each other. I think it's sweet."
Willie
Owen already thought that he was pretty funny, but Uriel collapsing into a fit of giggles (a *Fit* By their standards alone, perhaps, but a fit nonetheless) made the pleasantly crackling idea shoot straight through his head. Half an accomplished lyricist at his green age, and yet making the so-often cast-porcelain beauty beside him giggle was his proudest achievement in any language.

At least, that was what the wide, giddy grin spreading over his face suggested to his bandmates. The auburn-framed boy tried to look at Ares with a look of smug satisfaction, but the rapid blush kind of smothered the attempt.

Ares' response clicked a *Little* Better than its provocation. Owen's doe eyes widened, a slightly-crooked canine catching on his lip as he bit his mouth shut in a desperate attempt to cook up a response. The boy was never usually one to succumb to a dick-measuring contest to impress a date (he had never before been in a situation where that had become a relevant choice he'd needed to make, but at some point or another he had seen someone else do it, and decided he was above it), but Uriel's cheek on his shoulder had a history of bolstering his confidence in actually *Winning* Such a match, and his friend had a habit of challenging him to the sort.

"*Haliad hallt,*" He hissed through a tidal wave of barely-held back laughter of his own, popping the *T*. He loved this game. Well and truly. He was still ruffling his invisible peacock feathers when the waitress locked eyes with him by accident, and he nearly made an *Incredibly* Embarrassing squeak.

*Shush, he totally caught it before it left the cannon.*

"I! I like chocolate milk fine, d-*Thanks*!"

It was ever astounding how quickly smoothness deserted him. He wondered how he ever got himself a place as the frontman of a metal band; *Probably because it was mostly screaming about imminent death and shredding for dear life*, he reasoned. Both were things he, individually, simply excelled at.
_ _

The minutes ticked by, and soon they less ticked but melted more calmly down toward dusk like the butter he could smell seeping into someone else's dinner in the booth behind him. In the twenty seconds he had even had his chocolate milk in front of him, Owen seemed to have blissfully downed half of it without blinking.
Marva
Uriel places their hand ontop of Owen's, looking over at him with a gaze not usually present on their face; focused and warm instead of cool and spaced out. "No need to say such words, dear friend of mine." They say, the slightest hint of a sing-song tone in their voice. "You will be a bad influence on Finley. If you all curse like sailors, it will stop being as impactful, yes?" 

The corner of their mouth raises in amusement. It was nice to be able to let loose like this— Uriel wasn't one for making jokes, but their light prod or two was something they weren't used to saying out loud. It made them the slightest bit nervous that their attempt to fit in with the mood was misplaced, and they flicker their gaze around for a quick glance into everyone's eyes . It couldn't hurt to double check— and, despite Uriel's pallid face, they couldn't help but nervously knead Owen's palm with their strong hands as they intricacies of social interaction finally showed themselves.

At least Owen was being his normal self and shoveling chocolate milk into his cheeks. Uriel takes a sip of their tea— it's hot, but good enough. Not as good as their mother's tea, but it couldn't be helped. They stir in some more sugar, and smile at the crowd.
Henry
Uriel spoke with a tease Ares had not seen out of their dead serious face. Jokes. Who knew they'd be capable. 

He stuck his tongue out at them in response. A wide open, *Blegh.*

Which quickly switched when the waitress came back around. The spiked boy gave a quick but appreciative thanks when she slid all of their drinks across the table. His mother may have raised a bastard, but at the *Very least* He was kind to service workers. 

Despite that, he knew what he was about to do next would have gotten him smacked upside the head by his mama, but he didn't care. *This is gonna be so funny,* His mind snickered. 

Tucking his fingers around the rim of his drink, Ares took a sip of the soda. In all honesty, he only ordered it because he knew he would get a straw with it. 

With a sly hand, Ares ripped a small piece from a stray napkin on the table and slid it into his mouth without anyone noticing. Except maybe Uriel... Their eyes were always unsettlingly alert to Ares. Whatever, they wouldn't say anything anyways. 

A single swift moment and suddenly Owen had a small spitball directly in the centre of his forehead. It hit with a dull *Thwap* And stuck perfectly against the gingers skin. 

Ares lowered the straw from his mouth and let out a wild boisterous laugh. A cackle, if you will. Leaning forward to catch his breath, the boy looked at Owen with a bastard smirk. 

"Wanna keep up the shit talking, *Pendejo*?" His words poured out through laughter. 

Ares was frankly acting like a child, but it was genuinely too much fun.
Katherine
A stifled laugh became a muffled wheeze as Fin put their head down on the table, tapping it with their palm.

 It wasn't really that funny, in all honesty - he had shot spitballs at Nadia (whenever she *Didn't* Threaten him with swift vengeance in the form of dunking them in Lost Lagoon), but, the sight of Owen with one directly on his forehead like a sniper's well-trained second-eye was, arguably, much funnier than the ones that had littered their sister's side of their mother's clunky old car.

"Hold on, hold on," They wheezed, sitting up, taking a deep breath. They flickered a few stray pieces of dyed hair from their eyes. "Sorry, Owen, mate - you just look very, very funny."

He picked up his iced coffee and gave it a taste test, nodding in a general sense of approval. They'd had better back home, but, it couldn't be helped. 

A few more snickers poked out of their mouth as they tried not to look back up at Owen, and most *Certainly* Not at Ares, because they knew as soon as they did, they'd burst into laughter again, and they wanted to keep some degree of composure in a public place.
Willie
Owen had spent long enough around Ares to know the twinkle in his eyes for the warning it was, but that offered him no hints yet about exactly what kind of trouble he was in. He cocked his head a little at his bandmate's drink, eyeing the condensation curiously; a big brown doe eye looked down the barrel of a straw and understood a moment too late.

Truthfully, he would have applauded such a perfect shot, but out of sheer shock he was *Stunned*.

The fool that he was had no rebuttal, no smooth way to save himself from this—the redhead merely forgot to blink, unintentionally shooting his friends a comically befuddled expression that no doubt made their sides split even harder. He had a very delicate decision to make. Ares was regaining his composure (whatever cow shit that meant in his case), but Finley was on the verge of howling in the middle of the evening rush—Owen decided, then, that his path was clear. He was going to make his drummer piss himself.

"What?? Wh-uh??" Owen laid the bewilderment on thick, his lip quivering, but ever so carefully as to not shake off the spitball. "*Funny?!* I-I had my suspicions, but, but—"

By any honourable crocodile's standards, he was downright *Distraught*, despite the grin threatening to yank his already-red features out of position. He quickly reached across the table (with the hand Uriel wasn't kneading, of course), grabbing Finley by the collar and forcing them to look at him even closer.

"Give it to me *Straight*, man, you're the only bloke I can trust t-to give me the *Truth*!" The redhead rattled them a couple times for emphasis, watery puppy eyes cranked to full power. "*My eyes are too close together, they are, isn't it?!*" He was fighting hard now to keep it together, but he couldn't stop yet. It was rare that funny things popped into his head fully formed, and by every spike on Ares' ensemble, he was going to see it through.

_ _
"Oh *God*, it's true, I've always *Knooowwwn!*", he wailed, desperately shaking his fistful of Fin's shirt. By some otherworldly stroke of magic, the spitball still hadn't budged.