"Now, see, that's just plain mean." Hardison points at the guy again with a tsking noise. "That's you yankin' my chain just to be mean about it. Clearly, you an' Eliot are cut from the same damn cloth, man." He shakes his head sorrowfully and glances aside to the bar, where Parker's topping up someone's glass while not appearing to watch them.
Hardison humphs in irritation as Steve continues to try and play innocent. "Don't you go tryin' to grift me, man, your poker face ain't that good," he insists.
"Hah! See! I knew it, man! I knew you were just yankin' my chain. An' you weren't even doin' a good job of it!" They aren't attracting any attention to speak of, barely even curious glances, which... might be an indication that people are used to watching the owner get worked up in the dining room and don't really think anything of it.
If Steve's paying attention he might here the subtle roar of a well-tuned muscle car's engine as it pulls up outside, then the tick of the engine as it's shut off and the slam of a car door. About the same time he might get the sense of another Sentinel nearby, that peculiar feel of expectant tension in their air, even there's no scent to it yet.
"And damn right he will- Wait. No. Me comin' over to talk's fine!" He shoots an accusing glance at Parker, who still doesn't seem to be paying them any attention. "It's you he's gonna be grouchy at. "What you even doin'-"
Hardison stops babbling as the front door swings open, and then the distinct scent of Sentinel hits the room as a slightly short, very blocky guy in jeans and flannel, slightly longish hair falling around his face in windswept disarray, stalks into the room and makes an immediate bee-line for their table. "Dammit, Hardison!" he growls, in voice that's about as rough as he looks.
"... an' I think I'ma go an' let him get his grouch on at you!" Hardison offers, while pushing his chair abruptly back from the table. "Hey man." He flutters his fingers at the approaching man--Eliot, Steve doubtless knows both from whatever photos Chin managed to dig up and from Hardison's reaction--and offers him a huge, shit-eating grin. "Just keepin' your boy here company while he waited on you. I'll have Parker bring a couple beers to the back room for you, just holler if you need anything!" And he's off striding for the bar like a man on a mission while the newcomer watches him in--probably fond--exasperation before turning back to Steve.
He stalks the rest of the way over, nostrils flaring subtly as he takes in the guy's scent, and the fact that Danny's is a very noticeable overlay to it. "We can talk in the back room," is all he says, though it's easy for someone who knows how to read the tension in him, the fact that he's not poised to fight, but he's ready to if he has to.
Steve and Eliot Meeting, Portland - Friday
Hardison humphs in irritation as Steve continues to try and play innocent. "Don't you go tryin' to grift me, man, your poker face ain't that good," he insists.
"Hah! See! I knew it, man! I knew you were just yankin' my chain. An' you weren't even doin' a good job of it!" They aren't attracting any attention to speak of, barely even curious glances, which... might be an indication that people are used to watching the owner get worked up in the dining room and don't really think anything of it.
If Steve's paying attention he might here the subtle roar of a well-tuned muscle car's engine as it pulls up outside, then the tick of the engine as it's shut off and the slam of a car door. About the same time he might get the sense of another Sentinel nearby, that peculiar feel of expectant tension in their air, even there's no scent to it yet.
"And damn right he will- Wait. No. Me comin' over to talk's fine!" He shoots an accusing glance at Parker, who still doesn't seem to be paying them any attention. "It's you he's gonna be grouchy at. "What you even doin'-"
Hardison stops babbling as the front door swings open, and then the distinct scent of Sentinel hits the room as a slightly short, very blocky guy in jeans and flannel, slightly longish hair falling around his face in windswept disarray, stalks into the room and makes an immediate bee-line for their table. "Dammit, Hardison!" he growls, in voice that's about as rough as he looks.
"... an' I think I'ma go an' let him get his grouch on at you!" Hardison offers, while pushing his chair abruptly back from the table. "Hey man." He flutters his fingers at the approaching man--Eliot, Steve doubtless knows both from whatever photos Chin managed to dig up and from Hardison's reaction--and offers him a huge, shit-eating grin. "Just keepin' your boy here company while he waited on you. I'll have Parker bring a couple beers to the back room for you, just holler if you need anything!" And he's off striding for the bar like a man on a mission while the newcomer watches him in--probably fond--exasperation before turning back to Steve.
He stalks the rest of the way over, nostrils flaring subtly as he takes in the guy's scent, and the fact that Danny's is a very noticeable overlay to it. "We can talk in the back room," is all he says, though it's easy for someone who knows how to read the tension in him, the fact that he's not poised to fight, but he's ready to if he has to.