<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Ava watched as he reached for the pitcher, refilling the glass he drained only seconds before while she held her cup. She had barely touched it, hands wrapped around the she, cold sweat of condensation that clung to the glass. Mindful of her manners, she did not allow herself to do as she wished; shamelessly guzzle the cool contents to douse the desert in her mouth. Even if she had decided to act on the urge she would have been distracted by Wes, who made a big deal out of the simple pleasure, consumed it as though it were liquid gold. His unusual, sunny disposition had returned and briefly she wondered how natural the temperament was, if it was fabrication to conceal his true feelings or if it was genuine. The former was more disconcerting than the latter, but thus far it was not exactly what she would consider problematic behavior. If anything it made things easier, more irritating in equal measure . . . But, easier. It also helped that she was no longer the focus. As he leaned back, and began to respond to her question-- a question that was far less interesting than the ones he posed-- she was grateful to be out of the spotlight hanging over her head, beaming down on her to expose the secrets she hid. <br/>
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“Ah. So that’s where that funny accent comes from,” she muttered, taking a longer sip of her water. It was slightly made in jest. After all, her own voice was laced with a refined drawl, more present in certain words and phrases. Far from the harsh twang yokels spoke with, her speech was rounder and softer; pronounced and enunciated for the most part, but her non-rhotic accent hid her ‘R’ sounds at times. <br/>
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She listened while he spoke fondly of his hometown, a smile gracing his face. That sense of pride he possessed was enviable. While she loved Louisiana, it being the only home she knew and its rich, colorful culture, she didn’t have too many happy memories that evoked that kind of sentiment. But, it wasn’t the ugly kind of jealousy. There was a glimmer of admiration, the desire to have that kind of adoration for herself. He stopped short, however. Stopped like he had suddenly stepped into a puddle of mud, and treated quickly so as not to be sucked into the pit. Instead he skirted around it, avoiding the mess of unresolved memories so that he could turn the question on her. <br/>
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“Born and raised.” It was without the same luster of his response, but certainly not lacking in conviction. “I grew up in Mandeville, across Lake Pontchartrain.” Mandeville was an affluent town, a tight-knit community bonded by wealth and status that she had integrated into when she was taken in. “It’s a little stiff over there, but it’s home.” She nodded as the waitress returned as promised. True to his word the Hunter was famished, ordering a sizable amount of food. Ava, on the other hand, lost a significant amount of her appetite, unsure of whether she could stomach a whole meal. <br/>
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“If I could have some toast with eggs that would be lovely.” She said, handing the menu back to the woman.<br/>
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“I’ll put that order in for you. Should be out in a jiff.” With a cheery smile she was off to do just that, making her way back toward the kitchen. <br/>
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“So do you live close to here, then? Have you settled down somewhere?” To her, Wes looked like the type to move around a lot, not really put down roots. In her minimal experience with lone Hunters, she knew it made tracking difficult if there was a need to pack up every time a target was on the move to some other grounds to threaten. “Since I’m not feeling well . . . I’d be willing to pay for a room for you. Of course it would be under the condition that you tell me what I’d like to know. Perhaps in the morning?” It was a selfish offer. She knew that she wouldn’t be ready before fatigue set in. If she could keep him close until morning it meant she could get the information she needed before she returned home.</span>