They always say, don't judge a book by its cover. Appearance isn't everything. Appearance can be deceiving. Rotten, gnawed-at-the-edges water-warped leather would make the cover of this book. It would be oily and decaying to the point of smelling like an old sick dog blanket, and the chickenscratch scrawled title would read: 1. Just one. It used to be 15, but things in this slum always fall apart.

But that's just the cover. Inside Apartment 15 of the Shitty Ass Ghetto Villas, it's bright and loud and pleasant. Like a carnival. There had been a time when it was nothing but empty space and silence and unopened boxes, but from that lonely existence life has sprung. Sure, there's still the boxes around, still that yard-long clawmark in the carpet, but now there's Stuff, and Stuff in abundance. Christmas lights here and there, and when plugged in, softly illuminate posters and paintings that half-sane people would have thrown out long ago.

A beat-to-all-hell Goodwill rocking chair with one missing arm sits in one corner, a TV on an old metal keg in the other. The TV has foil antennas, and perches there like a happy, curious insect. Several matchbox cars park along the floor, almost treacherously, waiting for an idle foot to come down upon them. A mullet wig hat drapes over the side of a cheap radio on a cardboard box, overlooking a stamped-on, stained small smiley face rug. A half-empty six pack of beer sits on a chair that's been pulled into the middle of the kitchen, the table there relatively empty. Two huge cowboy boots stand triumphant on the fridge top. This place is small, cramped with all this Stuff, but nothing no one would notice. This is a fun place to be. It's Jay's Place.

And currently, there's a few knocks at the door. "Little pigs, little pigs," Nevada's voice comes. "Let me in!" Lower, he adds, apparently to himself,"Shh, quiet in there, dammit."

Long distance to the room: Yi washes onto the scene beach belly up, flooded and drowned.

From afar, to the room, Nevada pictures their apartment sort of like in the Secret of Nihm. You know, how all the rats and mice used bits of human stuff to pack together a cool hideyhole?

Long distance to the room: Yi hasn't watched Secret of Nimh in sucha looooooong time. But yah! :)

And even in the depths of Apt. 15, comes the muffled sounds of a struggling shower that belts out some warmer lukewarm water behind a closed bathroom door. The Canto-Gnawer could be heard either singing, or humming really loudly, the strains of something foreign. This time, laid over the bed in the larger bedroom, is a black something wrapped in plastic from the dry cleaners. The black lends its looks somber enough to be funeral material, but classy enough to be a cocktail slash evening gown in a restaurant, at least. The bed itself is surprisingly neatly made, despite the condition of the rest of the apartment, and sports some mismatched pillows cased one with the Lion King covering, Simba cub eyeing the looker with an attitude that just can't wait to be King, and another just a plain fading blue slip.

"Huh? Well, oh this is just great." The eyeroll is audible in Nevada's voice. "The shower. I'm stuck out here while Mulan an her Canto ass is in the shower. Singin, too." After a slight pause: "Not that badly, eitha." The doorknob jiggles, twists slightly, and there's a quiet scrabbling noise. "Oh, shut up, I know what I'm doin'," Nevada's grunt can be heard, and after a moment, the door opens with a loud creak. Pocketing the small twist of metal, the Galliard steps inside. He's wet from the rain, slick and sleek, his clothes Salvation Armied. He's got on wounded camoulflage, and a gray hooded sweatshirt. It's unzipped slightly over a jangling chokechain and a muscled bare chest, and the single pocket has a ghost of a bulge in it. Nevada swipes a hand through his watered-down hair, a stomper boot kicking back to shut the door behind him. "Mulan," he calls, clearing his throat. "I'm home."

The singing immediately stops, as well as the sound of the shower being turned off.

"Keep goin', Fortune Cookie," the Galliard calls, a slightly guilty grin going on. "Don't mind me." He tucks his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, stepping over a cardboard box on his swaggering way into the kitchen.

Yi was done showering anyway, just getting the last bits of dirt from her hair. A minute or so of shuffling, and she opens up the door with a wet towel-wrapped head of hair, navy blue t-shirt and grey shorts on. She glances around for the galliard. "Hey, Cowboy," she calls with a short chuckle. "What's up?" Then, she remembers the dress. Doh... hope he didn't see it yet. She hurries into the bedroom.

"Mmmnnh," he answers, head tilted up, drinking from a carton of milk. When she mysteriously disappears off into the bedroom, his gray eyes follow and bring a smirk along. "Runnin' away from me, Mulan?" he asks, sticking the milk back in the fridge.

Yi moves the dress to a more discreet location, like...the closet that's been there all along. "No, nothing," she calls innocently, coming back towards the kitchen calmly and drying her hair with the towel.

Nevada leans on the edge of the fridge door, watching as she returns. With a childish grin, he reaches out to steal her towel and scrub at his own wet head with it. He bumps the door shut with his hip, then snaps at the Ragabash playfully with the towel. "You up to somethin', Falls-from-the-Rafters?"

Yi acks and dodges the towel, getting a brush from it on her thigh as she laughs. "I don't /fall/ from them," she sticks her tongue out playfully. "And I'm not planning anything, Cowboy." She makes a grab for the towel, wet hair clinging to her face.

Nevada annoyingly keeps the towel away, before he balls it up and tosses it at her. "Well, I am," he says, grinning a little now, his hair sticking up crazily.

Yi catches the towel and wraps her hair up in it again. "Oh?" her eye glints a bit with curiosity.

"Yeah." The Galliard grins at her, leaning in the open kitchen doorframe. "I got this plan, right, where I make good on my word an take you out for some fine cuisine. We eat stuff I can't even spell."

Yi laughs, finishing drying her hair for what she could gather, and unwraps the towel from her head to lay around her shoulders. Is that a hint of a blush in there? "And you were planning on this when?" she grins smally, trying to will that color that wants to rise away.

"Pretty damn soon, is when," Nevada answers, his grin only broadening. "I'm starvin an all we got is skettios. But.. " He shakes his head. "I'm supposed to be all Galliardy, an' say something like... Tonight is the night, Three-Blades-Yi. The stars are shining and the breeze is blowing, and I see it in the sky. The evening is ripe for the picking. Like a nose or something presumably." He beams at her, so she knows he's just an adorable ragamuffin little shit. "Plus, I got to see this mysterious dress you keep hintin at."

Yi laughs at the last part of Nevada's monologue about picking, and blushes a second after it. She never thought she'd get dressed up for anyone, and totally unexpecting of Nevada. "Well, if such an evening should herald the coming of two diamonds in the rough, then I should go change into the dress. And dry my hair some more."

"For real?" Nevada eyes her. "Well, what are you waiting for then?" That little grin loses its obnoxious edge.

Blushing with embarrassed smirk a little, Yi nods and disappears towards the bedroom to slip into the dress. There's the sound of a hairdryer, as she dries her hair and then some shuffling and clearer sounds of plastic against clothing.

Re-emerging, Yi ducks her head a bit, though the smile is there. Two medium-wide straps fit over the shoulders that connects to a V-cut but somewhat modest black dress, the body slim fitted over her curves. Backless, with just another string to tie it behind, the hem of the skirt flows down past her knees to the feet, one side of the long skirt slitted to just above the knees to add flexibility in walking. And of course, coordinated black heels. The typist shudders, but imagines she must look pretty good in it.

As the Ragabash makes her entrance, Nevada stands faced away from her at the far end of the room. His old wet clothes have been draped on the one arm of the rocking chair, sloughed off, in favor of the new. The suit is a dark ink blue, sleek on his tall body. Somewhat large on him. Simplistic, and smart-looking, its second-handedness proves it more dashing this time around. Once, it'd been for a board meeting or an office party, but now it's what makes Nevada Madison look like a halfway decent young man.

Presently, he's humming as he runs a cheap black plastic comb through his hair in the mirror. His gray eyes change focus, spotting Yi in the mirror. The Galliard turns, arms lowering to his sides as he appraises her with a glance. A smile breaks in, and he lets out a soft whistle. "Ma'am," he and his exaggerrated accent murmur,"Yeh shore do clean up nice."

Yi gives Nevada a once over too, and moves closer to check her own self out in the mirror. Self-conciousness sets in moreso, all that skin. Or maybe that it's just cold. "As do you. You look quite handsome in that suit, Mr. Madison," she grins.

"We're not so po' guttah trash now," Nevada agrees with a warm grin. He turns to the mirror, pushing the comb through his hair one last time. He tilts his head, then reaches over to comb just a bit at Yi's dark hair. "Diamond in the rough.. you're tellin' me."

Yi smiles into the mirror, and lifts a hand to adjust the lapels on the galliard. "A Desert-Prince, indeed," she murmurs as she gazes at the two of them in the mirror. "So then, Charming, where is this castle banquet of yours?"

What a picture they make. The far east and the wild west. The dregs of society all dressed up. The Galliard looks away from the reflection, his gray eyes touching hers. A grin shows, and his chin lifts. "Right this way if you will, my lady," he informs in his noblest English accent. "The night is young, and you are beautiful, and a fabulous feast awaits us. Much dancing and wine and tales to be had, I assure you, tender princess, so get your hoodrat ass in my brokeshit hooptie a-s-a-p, ho." He offers a gallant arm.

Yi probably doesn't understand a lot of that ebonix, but laughs nonetheless and takes the gallant galliard's arm. For someone who doesn't walk in heels a lot, she is surprisingly steady in them.

It is a beautiful night. Clouds glide over the darkening dome of the sky, and the half-moonlight sparkles in the after-rain. Even the Shitty Ass Ghetto Villa seems just a hint more magical as the Bone-Gnawers stroll on out. Nevada walks with her proudly, his stride smooth and even except for the occasional hitch. His shoes are larger than necessary, the price to pay for more than battered sneaks. The chariot awaits; dewdropped, the Mystery Machine and its fuzzy dice sit quietly in the lot. As Nevada unlocks and draws open the door for Yi, he smiles sideways at her, saying,"Gotta hurry, though. It turns into a pumpkin at midnight." After a pause, he asks, "You know the fairytale? Cinderella?"

Yi laughs and nods, "What girl doesn't know the story of Cinderella?" She slips into the seat, mindful of the dress and all, and smiles at the galliard waiting.

"Well, this'll be like the Disney version, but not quite," Nevada says as he circles the car, slipping into the driver's side. He eyes her, turning the ignition. "You know.. with the singing mice?"

Yi listens to the engine roar to life, and grins. "I liked the round one who wanted all the cheese." She bats at the fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror.

"Then do I ever got somethin for you, Mulan," Nevada says with a grin, snorting slightly as he looks over his shoulder, backing out. The drive's accompanied by the staticky radio, and in itself not very long. For a wild and reckless wolf boy, the Galliard drives carefully, blendly smoothly into traffic. He wouldn't have a license to show a police officer, but he looks old enough to drive. The trip comes to an end as Nevada pulls into the parking lot, a brightly-lit building looming near. Wide walls of windows showcase pleasant scenes of people talking, eating. Flurries of waiters wade in among the tables. Nicely-dressed men and women and even a few children make their way inside. Some are here for celebrations, special occasions, or simply food the French way. Either way, this is the Maison du Soleil.

"Wow," Yi murmurs, eyes rather glittering in the brightly lit parking lot. She glances around at the other vehicles, most of them significantly Mercedes Benz, BMW, and the occassional Toyota or Honda and other cars of the recent ages. Not a pinto in sight. "This is some place," she smiles at Nevada. "For a banquet."

Nevada smiles back. "Hey, you deserve it, sista." He unbuckles, climbs out -- and, with an amused snort, crosses around the side of the beat-up brokedown Mystery Machine to open Yi's door for her, gentlemanly as hell. "Me 'n the boys," he murmurs with a light grin,"We used to eat outta the dumpsta here for so long. Guess tonight I'll find out if the stuff tastes just as good when it's on a warm plate."

Yi gives a light laugh as she steps out of the vehicle smoothly. "What do they serve here? Snails?" She grins at the galliard, smoothing the dress a little.

Nevada shuts the door, checking the handle to make sure it's locked. The action's reflexive if anything; anyone who wants to steal the Mystery Machine can /have it/. "Snails? I dare you, Mulan!" He grins at her, an excited play-bounce in his trying-to-be-dignified walk across the lot. "I'm not so sure what they got... but whatever it is, it's good. Y'know those Frenchies'll eat anythin."

"I read somewhere they liked horses too," Yi muses as the pair walk as dignified as possible towards the entrance. She steals a glance at another entering couple, and tries to look normal with slipping an arm around Nevada's and striding elegantly. Goin' with the wild wild west. A thought occurs, and she glances up at Nevada. "How're we supposed to pay for this?" she asks in hushed tone. "I don't exactly have that big a walletbag."

"Relax," Nevada whispers, gently squeezing her shoulder. "This dinner brought t'us by a friend of mine." He lets an impish grin show. "Don' worry, I got everything under contro -- " "Bonsoir, Madame et Monsieur," a waiter interrupts with a nervous cough. He's a short, sleek, darkhaired little man that seems like a coiled spring. His hands twitter in constant motion, wringing over each other, as he watches the pair. "Welcome," he says,"Table for two?" Nevada nods his head. He scans the interior, the nicely-lit atmosphere teeming with fine food and good times. "We'd like a table by a window," he adds, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. The waiter hesitates, nods. "Follow me, s'il vous plait." Several conversations stop and some heads turn as they pass. Perhaps it's the dress that Yi wears. Perhaps it's the way Nevada looks cleaned up. Perhaps it's the fact that on a very basic and instinctual level, the human beings have become aware that two very dangerous and ancient predators are in their midst. Either way.

There's a brief observation of the sleek little man, and then some more brief glances to people who have likened to staring momentarily before they remember their manners and go back to eating their pureed horse. "Tsk, where are their manners," Yi chuckles lowly in a whisper to Nevada, while moving to sit down at the chair across a table adorned simply with white table cloth, silverware (gasp silver) and a clipped rose in a clear glass vase of water.

"Here you are, and here you are," the waiter is saying as he's laying down the menus. He looks ill at ease, eyes shifting from one werewolf to the other as they sit down at the table. "Je m'appelle Jean-Claude. My name is Jean-Claude. Euh. What would you both like to drink?" The Galliard's attention seems riveted on the fork in front of him. After touching it, and the world not ending right then and there, his eyes trail back up to the waiter. "I'll have a Sprite," he says, shifting slightly in his seat. "And she'll have.. " He looks to Yi.

"The same," Yi says sweetly to the waiter, eyes holding back some comment about Van Damme family. She shifts her purse to a spot beside the chair and the window, looking at the forks and knives too. So many of them, gah! Her eyes belie the comment about Van Damme to Nevada in some way.

"Ah.. then I will be back," the waiter replies, scribbling down before he leaves. He's all too eager to do so. "Prat'icly doin' cartwheels," Nevada observes, looking amused. He grins at Yi from overtop his menu. He's holding it upside down, and hasn't noticed yet. "So, wah. Order whateva ya want, Yi." He shifts in his seat.

Yi gazes over the menu, completely boggled by the french spelling, but glad there's at least english explanations. "You want to try the S-cargo?" she gazes at Nevada with a sort of daring glint in eye.

"What's an -- " Nevada rightsides his menu smoothly. "-- s-cargo?" He squints, then pops up his brows. "Oh. Snails. Yeah, yeah why not." His grin wobbles slightly on one side. He shifts again in his seat. "Yeah. Snails. What I'm gonna try." He sets down the menu. "Couldn't hurt, right?"

Yi laughs softly, casting a glance around the room at the various people and their bubbly. "Probably not," she muses, seeing one of the plates a waiter carries with swirly shellcreatures nicely prepared. "Or... fee-lay, min-ion?" Her eye casts over the pronounciation guides beside the french. "Steak."

"Feelay minion. You are too cute." Nevada snorts. "Steak's good, tho'. Could always use more. Someday I'm ganna have to meet that Matt guy." He's fidgeting slightly, though not as much as the waiter that returns bearing drinks. He eyes them uncertainly, as if interrupting something, making himself meek and quiet as he sets down their glasses. "Are you ready to order?" he asks, his French accent starting to slip.

Yi gives the menu a once over, then gives the waiter an appraising look. Her accent, though, is naturally British tinged. "Filet mignon, medium rare, with baked potato and salad on the side." She glances to Nevada.

"And?" Jean-Claude clears his throat, eyes Nevada. "The same," he says,"But with escargot instead of the baked potato." The waiter scribbles this down, inspects the both of them, then collects the menus. "Anything else?" he asks. Nevada waves him off. When they're alone once more, the Galliard shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Feelay minion. Woo wee. Them's some good eatin'. So, Yi.. "

Yi looks back to Nevada once the waiter leaves, and tilts her head to him. "Mm?" Some might notice she's rather stiff in the dress, force of habit from schooling days of olde.

"You think I could clear this room if I stand up and yell rarr?" Nevada grins lopsidedly at her. "Poor little sheep." He shakes his head. "Gets kinda old after a while, tho'. -- them bein' afraid, not yellin rarr, that is."

Yi's smile creeps over her features, a little mischieviously. "I kind of wonder what would happen if they were not afraid of us. Then what would we do about it?"

"D'know." Nevada shrugs his shoulders. "I think 'bout it sometimes. How things'd be diffren, y'know? Maybe I could get along wi'dem betta, an' not have 'em fearin' my wrath evry five seconds." He leans back in his chair.

Nodding, Yi glances up as a waiter arrives not too long after. She sips her soda, and thanks the waiter as the man moves off to gather more orders in an attempt to make some extra tips. Her eyes go first to the oddly swirled shells of the snails dripping with light sauce on Nevada's plate. "Who goes first?" she asks with another questioning look to the odd tool that was placed beside Nev's plate.

"Mmm-mhhm," Nevada murmurs, eyeballing the food. His tone includes a side-order of sarcasm. "Gahh. I guess I really gotta eat this stuff. The big bad Boneboy what I am." He picks up the strange device, holding it close, his eyes crossing to focus on it. "Y'know," he says,"You hear about these kinda things from alien abductees on them FOX ufo shows.. "

Yi looks at the device as well, thinking. "Yeah, but then you see those things," she points to the snailshells, "on nature shows. At least they're not wriggling." She chuckles, hiding that shudder. "Mini-Wyrms, I think. So... them first, or steak first?"

Nevada squirms a little. "Ahh.. actually." Hand wobbling slightly, he sets down the utensil. "Ah.. you go first. I think. Whatever." He shifts in his seat, looking antsy. "Uh. Steak. Yeah."

Yi giggles softly, seeing the galliard squirm. "Steak then," she says, picking up a knife and fork and going at it. Heaven on earth, filet mignon... and medium rare divine. Chewing a little, she swallows and licks the inside of her lips. "S'good stuff," she smiles.

"Bon appeteet, or whatever, right?" The Galliard tries to grin at her., squirming uncomfortably. Sweat has sprung up on his brow, and he's trying hard not to giggle. He fails. "Uh... Yi, y'know how I said," he begins, chewing hard on his lip,"That this dinna was brought to us by this friend a mine... ?"

Yi tilts her head after swallowing one of the pieces of steak. "Yeah?" She arches an eyebrow at the galliard, that paranoidish feeling creeping back. "Which friend? Long distance to the room: Yi has 'Teenage Mutant Gninja Gnawers' stuck in her head.

Nevada, clearly fighting for control, whispers: "The one in my pants."

The Galliard snaps a glance over his shoulder, then looks back, as a hand disappears under the table. There's a quiet zip! and a quiet squeak. Blowing out a relieved, eye-rolling breath, Nevada composes himself once more. He leans his arms on the table, depositing something there, leaning to shield it from any looks that should come their way across the room. In a deadly quiet voice, he explains,"This is Wallclimber. Wally, fa short. And god damn is he one impatient little sumbitch."

A small fuzzy black mouse puffs on the tablecloth, starting to wash its little face with little pink hands.

Yi leans over her dish to have a look. As Wally washes his face her suppresses an 'Kawaii!' comment. As a waiter walks by, she quickly places her hands over the galliard's to hide the mouse, looking for all the world like they're just a couple sharing an intimate conversation, and then glances back down at the mouse beneath. "And how did he help us get our dinner?"

"Does, Yi. How does." Nevada's hands wiggle as the mouse noses about. "Rememba I said I could talk t'animals? A lil' trick what Kaz taught me." The Galliard grins slowly. "Wally an' I, we got a deal. I saved him from Wa'Mart. He gets us chow. Freedom fa' food. Easy like 'at." He pauses. "He says hi."

Yi still hunches over to provide some more cover for Wally. She wiggles a finger with a smile to the mouse. "Hey Wally, thanks for dinner," she whispers softly. "Well... let's partake of our lovely evening's food," she glances up to Nevada.

"Partake away, yo." He brushes a thumb over the mouse. "Remember what I said... y'gotta be perfect still --- even if loud, an even when the commotion begin," he says, speaking to the little animal in a hushed whisper. "This the last time we speak t'each otha, lil totem-cousin. Mulan here, she say thank you. I says thank you. Make a lot a little Wallys, Wallclimber." His hand folds, slips fingers up under the mouse. He stirs the prone animal into his filet mignon and surrounding rice, making sure to spoon sauce over it. As he moves, his eyes never leave Yi. "So," he says, nodding to her plate. "How's it taste?"

Yi seems to sense the galliard's eyes on her and looks up at him. After swallowing, she answers quietly, "Bit better than what I cook everyday." She gazes back at him. "Not going to try the snail?" She glances briefly down at the mouse nibbling away then back again. And feels just the smallest flush rising in her face from her self-consciousness.

Nevada smiles, a ghost of a blush on his face as well. "No, I'm not ganna try those snails. I think I've lost my appetite. What with this DEAD MOUSE IN MY FOOD!" Face reddened with rage, he stands up fast, his mouth drawing back in a curl of disgust. Nearby people are already starting to stare as the waiters, sensing an imminent disaster, pause before hurrying their way over. Calmly, but quickly. No need to make a scene.

Yi blinks a few times before finally getting the picture. Oy Nevada... She swallows, stands up, and appropriately shrieks like all hell has broken loose right on the dinner table. "AIYA!!!! Lou-syu!!" comes ripping over the restaurant's quiet ambiance as she flails and rounds the table to hug Nevada, eyes completely wide with a good show of fear and maybe some 'oh Gaia this is embarrassing'.

Nevada, absolutely appalled, contorts his face like the second mask of the two-part symbol of dramatics. "Good God!" he groans, herding Yi to the side, protecting her from the evil dish. In passing, he murmurs "Faint" to her, before shooting the waiters up with a disgusted glance. How DARE they!

The Canto-Gnawer puts on a show with her pointing and whimpering, and as Wally even adds a touch with the slightest twitch, she makes sure to see it and aims her scream out right over the restaurant and its customers before cutting off her shriek, limply placing a hand to her forehead and falling back against Nevada. Catch me my prince!

Expertly, the Galliard catches her, sweeping her up into his arms. The first waiter that reaches them, hands spread, is saying something about calming down -- before Nevada thrusts the 'unconscious' female into his arms. "Do you call this fine food?" he demands of the second waiter, ripping the plate off the table. "Do you! Look at -- " and he sneezes, sharply. He wipes a hand quickly across his nose, his fingers lightly dusted with the reason that their pepper shaker seemed to have gone missing during the meal. "Look at this! You --- " Sneeze. "I can't -- " Sneeze. "I'm allergahey.. allergaho... allerga-- " Sneeze. " The plate wobbles dangerously every time he sneezes. Bleary-eyed, annoyed, he shoves zee food avec dead mouse into the face of Jean-Claude. The waiter blinks, eyes crossing to focus on the plate, and he accepts it, nervously. "Uh... m'sier... please, come this way, uh.. " Nevada, sneezing with rage, scoops Yi out of the bewildered arms of a waiter as he stomps off after another.

Makes-a-Scene strikes again.

Yi tries very hard not to regain consciousness, even as a slight drop of sauce spluts on her cheek. The dead mouse flops off her arm from the toss and onto the floor, skittering away instantly under the nearest tablecloth. Others look on with some horror, some from the horrors of the food, and others who are just taken aback by the sheer rage that has suddenly burst into the evening meal. And still others poke their food warily.

A talk with the manager, much disquiet, some Persuasion, and a whole hell lot of sneezing later...

Nevada carries Yi to the gardenside cafe-like tables outside. Earlier rain has caused patrons to choose their seating inside, the tables lightly dewed. The Galliard wipes down a chair with his sleeve before he gently shifts the Canto-Gnawer down into it. The breeze is cool and the moon is shiny, and Nevada might be cuter if he could stop sneezing so much. "Dinner in ten minutes," he says with a snort, and with an almost regal flair, the slippery white trash assumes the chair like a throne. "Am I good, or -- " Sneeze. "What. Gah. Y'know.. there's the right way. And there's the wrong way. And then.. then.. " He sneezes. "There's the Gnawer way."

Yi cracks open an eye briefly, scanning for the waiters and such. Then she 'revives' and gets up to hug Nevada amiably. "Lovely dinner and quite the scene," she says, sniffing briefly at the pepper scent. Then she lets go and laughs, glancing at the waiters through the window. "Think we should depart before they get suspicious?" She grins at the galliard. "I think Wally might find some more interesting scraps along the way in the back."

Nevada hugs back, comfortably, smelling like pepper and kerosene up close. He grins at her. "Just hope he got out aw right," he says, and chuckles slightly. "Never got to try 'em snails, but that's OK. I say we split." He's up on his feet, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket. "An' I hope you liked your feelay minion, Mulan. Y'earned it."

Yi ducks her head curtly, smiling at the galliard. "Ah but you've earned more than just a piece of steak for this one, Makes-A-Scene," she giggles softly before adjusting the wallet bag she somehow picked up along the way out. "Let's go, na? These heels are getting to me." She looks down at her feet, barely visible under the black hem of the dress. "And remind me never to shriek like that again." She clears her throat, slightly embarrassed by such a show.

"Our carriage awaits," Nevada says, indicating the Mystery Machine in yonder parking lot. "Hope it ain't turned into no punkin yet tho'." He smiles, turning her a look with a roguish smile. "Mulan, I just wanna say that... " He pauses. His eyes drop. "Huh, y'know, no damn wonder they was lookin' at me funny." Apparently having forgotten from Wally extraction, his barn door's wide open there. The Galliard hehs, and zips up, though he's fairly certain everyone wants to look at his smileyface boxers.

Yi follows Nevada's gaze down as they stop at the Mystery Machine, and then looks away politely as he zips the pants back up. She giggles softly, and then turns her eyes back to him. "What did you want to say?" she queries, curious. Her hand pats the metal roof of the car. Nope, no pumpkin yet.

"I just wanted to say," Nevada begins again, clearing his throat. "You like fambly. Ya mean a lot to me. Lots 'n lots. I wanna make sure you all dressed up nice and you can eat at nice places an have hunky prince charmins with cartoon hearts around they heads tryin' to woo ya, and I mean woo-woo wit' flowas an candy, not John Woo, wit' guns an fight scenes." A pause. "But they betta be good prince charmins, is all I'm sayin, the bastards. If they aine, I'll have to kung fu 'em, y'know. An I don't even know no kung fu, but I can fake it, an' thaz that much mo' scarier." He leans against the car, suited arms folding. "Guess I'm trine to say, thank you, Yi, an' I love you so much." He adds,"Even if y'all scream like a girl."

Yi smiles warmly at the comments. "You are quite the charming Desert-Prince, Nevada," she replies quietly, feeling that flush coming up. "And I'll make sure I have enough sense to pick one out of the pile that's as sweet as you are." She backs up, opening the door. "And I do not scream like that all the time. Consider yourself special." She chuckles, giving the galliard a small wink before getting in the car. And thus ends the Bella Notte, as Prince Charming takes the reigns to Mystery Pumpkin Mobile and scoots the car back towards the Gnawers' apartment in the villa.