#i won't touch the escargot though

[dxsole]

"I'm the, uh, jester...of class then." Waylon concedes, slipping down further in his seat. "You're still the Queen though." She earns herself a salute for her status.

"French is good." He's more of an Italian guy himself, but he's dabbled in French cuisine before. Mostly against his will. He still pulls a face at escargot. "I dunno 'bout all that. Not sure how much I wanna eat some...slimy critter. You might have to trick me into it— stick it in peanut butter or somethin'." That was a tactic usually saved for dogs but looking at his scruffy appearance now, maybe that's not so far-fetched.

His mood improves at the idea of her being more than pretty. "Hm, gorgeous? You're always gorgeous too." Waylon does groan a bit at her proposition, head rolling back dramatically, exposing his throat to her. "I...I can promise that. I won't like it. But I can." Head rolls back down, looking at her with darkened eyes. "S'not fair. I'm gonna wanna touch you."

"Awwww," It's said with a hearty laugh. "I am the king of class, baby." He wasn't but after so many rendezvous' with other reporters, informants, and the like, you get to know what constitutes as a classy restaurant or not.

And while Waylon would be happy with an artery-clogging burger from a place that earned itself a D from the Department of Health, he doesn't mind trying to impress. Especially when he's a bit too tipsy to think logically.

Ah, even sober he might try and impress. Blaire was a classy woman, she didn't belong in the shitholes he frequented. "Someplace with...wine older than me and steak fresher than you. Or veal. Or chicken— whatever it is you eat." He does smile at the thought of her dressing up for him. She's done it before but usually with the intention of it all coming off again. "You'll be pretty no matter what you wear. An' everyone's gonna be jealous of me if I come in with you. You'll make me the envy of the entire West Coast."