Operation mingle at a party like a normal human and not seem like such a complete changeling is certainly ... operating. Winter's gotten herself a small plate of finger foods and she chain munches on grapes and pieces of cauliflower, chimpmunkish as she scans the crowd for a safe spot to slot herself.
And soon she thinks she may have found it. Easily confident Tybalt Zettler. Tibblet Zibblet. (Brain, stop. There is no need.) It's actually surprising to see his attention unmonopolized by anyone else at the moment. She approaches casually, tilting her head to the side once she's beside him. "Alright, boss, I've cased the joint," she starts in a low and conspiratorial whisper, then points at several different party guests with a pristine baby carrot. "And I'm r-reasonably positive that guy, her, him and mmmaybe him are the only ones you couldn't easily hustle at chess."
If Tibblet is surprised by actual fae child Winter Carmichael lighting at his elbow, he doesn't show it. There's a raise of his eyebrow, certainly, but it's just so that he can be certain he catches every word. Because this sounds like the beginnings of a worthy scheme. Who is he to deny that. He follows the baby carrot's path with his eyes, scoffing imperceptibly at the last one. He doesn't know that guy at all, but he doesn't look like a threat. He puts his untouched quarter-glass of Franzia just near his lips, to make this a private conversation. "Higher odds on them just means we'll make more when I win, anyway. I can take 'em."
A pleased and scheming smile spreads across Winter's lips. She crosses one arm over her torso, catching the elbow of the other as she crunches the carrot. It should give her a bit more time to think of how to proceed, but Winter doesn't have the manners to wait before she's finished chewing to go on. "High risk, high reward," she says into the heel of her hand, brows tipping up. "And you get more glory in the end. If we can turn this dinner into a chess tournament, we'll be kings by the end of the night." She has no intention, but it's fun to pretend.
Tybalt leans against the wall behind him, feigning cooler than he has any right to. The effect is not, unfortunately, as Bond Casino Heist as he's setting up in his imagination. He nods, slowly considering much longer than he should." It'd be good. One more small time gig. Rob them blind before we hit the big leagues."
He doesn't necessarily have any intention on following through, either, but he still lets the corner of his mouth turn up, surveying the scene. Sort of carefully. He points out a problem with the tip of his pinkie, lacking a carrot, "Of course we'll have to turn the Jenga into a chessboard."
Now it's her turn to trace a line through the air with her eyes. They come to rest on the giant Jenga and her own little grin broadens by tiny measures. "Ah, damn." Winter snaps her fingers, clucking and then ducking her head in mock disappointment. "I'm just not much of a whittler." She only stumbles over those words a bit. "How're your Transfigurations? Hate to call the whole thing off."
A dangerous question, as he seems to always be laying in wait for someone to ask him about the only subject he legitimately does really well in. He may as well be chirping when he answers maybe too quickly, "Oh, don't worry, I'm a prodigy." He takes his wand out and into his sleeve. He probably shouldn't ruin Laszlo's party just yet, but he's got to keep the illusion up. He pretends to pull it back, to reconsider. "Or should we collect bets first."
An impressive snort of laughter rushes out of her, caught and stifled in the palm of her hand. She grins behind her fingers, plainly delighted with Tybalt's bravado. Something about the effortless surety of 'don't worry, I'm a prodigy' hits in just the right way. Letting him go off with his wand is tempting, and though Winter has a soft spot for mayhem, she also, generally, tries to keep the chaos of the victimless kind. This is Laszlo's party, after all, and it seems like Armani had worked very hard on it. "Bets first," she replies, dropping her hand from her face once her smile's back under control. "Maybe someone just happens to have a chess set on hand."
It might not seem very notable that Tybalt doesn't argue this stance, and gamely tucks his wand back into his pocket. But it is, because if Tybalt really wanted to ruin the party, he would've done so by now. Luckily, he's been lulled into self-satisfaction by the laughter, and it's an agreeable state.
He leans a little conspiratorially closer, wishing he had sunglasses very much to stare across the scene. "What's a good bet worth these days? I've heard your ear's close to the ground."
Still, Winter replies as though she is a seasoned bookie, come from a long and prestigious line of successful turf accountants. She is absolutely not, and perhaps it shows. "Oh, confidence runs high among chess-players, so the bets are equally big. Dozen dragots, easy." She glances sidelong at Tybalt with a cat-like smile. "What would you w-w-wager on yourself, hm?"
Tybalt has never bet one thing in his life, and wouldn't know if a bookie was robbing him blind or not. He nods, serious, even as the corner of his mouth ticks up. If he was also a cat, he'd probably be purring in some mischievous contentment. Not entirely uncommon for him, but it's nice.
"If I was betting, oh twenty, easy, per game. But no one else should bet that. Or we'd have to pay them?"
It's a question because, again,he's never bet one thing in his life.
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peckenpaugh2019-10-20 09:54 pm
Tybalt & Winter
And soon she thinks she may have found it. Easily confident Tybalt Zettler. Tibblet Zibblet. (Brain, stop. There is no need.) It's actually surprising to see his attention unmonopolized by anyone else at the moment. She approaches casually, tilting her head to the side once she's beside him. "Alright, boss, I've cased the joint," she starts in a low and conspiratorial whisper, then points at several different party guests with a pristine baby carrot. "And I'm r-reasonably positive that guy, her, him and mmmaybe him are the only ones you couldn't easily hustle at chess."
Tybalt & Winter
Tybalt & Winter
Tybalt & Winter
He doesn't necessarily have any intention on following through, either, but he still lets the corner of his mouth turn up, surveying the scene. Sort of carefully. He points out a problem with the tip of his pinkie, lacking a carrot, "Of course we'll have to turn the Jenga into a chessboard."
Tybalt & Winter
Tybalt & Winter
Tybalt & Winter
Tybalt & Winter
He leans a little conspiratorially closer, wishing he had sunglasses very much to stare across the scene. "What's a good bet worth these days? I've heard your ear's close to the ground."
He hasn't.
Tybalt & Winter
Tybalt & Winter
"If I was betting, oh twenty, easy, per game. But no one else should bet that. Or we'd have to pay them?"
It's a question because, again,he's never bet one thing in his life.