<strong>Malcolm Wade -- An Argument for Temperance</strong><br/><br/>The waitress hadn't even returned with Mal's drink when not one, but two attractive young ladies walked up and introduced themselves one after another. Both Mal and Mr. Hatcher rose from their seats and extended their hands in welcome. From the somewhat relieved expression on Hatcher's face, Mal gathered these must have been some of the other psychics he was expecting. Malcolm returned a nod to each of the women and introduced himself.<br/><br/>"Pleasure to meet you, Kathleen, Miss Tate. I'm Malcolm Wade." He considered introducing Cathy, but decided to hold off; he was curious to see if they noticed her on their own, and if they did, whether they mentioned her. Besides, he thought Hatcher might not take the thought of being in the company of a spirit very well, especially if he'd already met a few malicious ones.<br/><br/>As the four stood introducing themselves, the waitress reappeared with Mal's drink in a wide-mouthed glass, perhaps 3/4s full with dark amber-hued nectar. When she was within four steps of the group, Malcolm had about a quarter second to wish he hadn't ordered a drink after all. Her left foot caught on a pulled-out chair's leg as she weaved around the occupied tables, and the poor girl came sprawling toward Malcolm with an expression of puzzlement that instantly gave way to abject panic. The glass flew from her serving tray and its contents splashed over Miss Tate's already attractive chest, soaking the poor woman's shirt.<br/><br/>The waitress's landing, meanwhile, held far more impact, as she slammed bodily against Malcolm and the two fell back onto the table. Mal's head gave a solid *THumP* against the tableclothed cherry oak, dimly aware of Cathy's hysterical laughter in the background. The waitress mumbled something that might have been an apology infused with the extraordinary twin qualities of insincerity and apathy, while simultaneously glaring at Malcolm with the sort of anger usually reserved for attempted muggers or telemarketers. Mal attempted to help the girl off of him, only to finally realize he had been holding onto her breasts the entire time.<br/><br/>As the waitress staggered back to her feet and stormed off, the last shreds of her dignity trailing behind her, Mal managed to sit up and slide off the table himself. He shook his head a couple times and gave a little wave to the other diners, who were watching with the kind of rapt attention often paid to traffic accidents. Wiping himself off, he finally noticed the fate of his drink -- and Miss Tate -- and a quiet whimper of disappointment escaped him; if he hadn't needed a drink earlier, he certainly did now. He pulled out a clean red handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to the woman with a weakly apologetic smile.<br/><br/>"So, um...where were we?"