He used alliteration, and wanted to know more about her. For a moment, Riley wanted to reach out and poke the guy to see if he was real, or if someone had gone to the trouble of drugging her Ginger Ale. Somehow Riley didn’t think that would impress, Mr. Smith though, so she settled for shrugging her shoulders.

”What more does a girl do in New York City?” she asked blithely, ”The rent is too high, the entertainment is too expensive…but you live and party anyway.”

”It’s a truly amazing city. Even moreso to a nineteen year old with illusions of grandeur. It all worked out though, and here I am, making mutants uncomfortable and half-waiting for my dress to fall apart because a mutant made it.”

Now for the real question, ”What about you? I can tell you’re not from around here.”

”Also.” she chanced, ”Are you going to make me call you Mr Smith all nght? If so, I might just have to name you in my head to keep my sanity.”

A short dismissive shrug and then a surprisingly cynical outlook of the city and life in general was Riley's initial response and Zephyr couldn't help but raise an inquisitive eyebrow; this was different from what he'd seen thus far yet also seemed rather honest. He'd thought the girl was doing rather well for herself to make it to an event like this, quite possibly he'd misread the situation. Asking now though would do little good, better to simply keep listening and so he motioned for her to continue.

"...and half-waiting for my dress to fall apart because a mutant made it.”[/color]

"That would be fitting." He murmured.

Seeing the girls questioning look and realizing he'd been heard Zephyr shook his head briefly before elucidating. "Not in the way you might think. I was referring to your portrayal of Godiva, are you familiar with the story?" Seeing no immediate recognition in the brunettes eyes the hessian slowly shifted his gaze to the remnants of the party as he spoke.

"She was a lords wife whose beauty was said to be unmatched. One day she argued with her husband over his harsh treatment of their vassals and he put forth that unless she were willing to walk naked through the town nothing would change."

He paused in his narration a moment to glance at his companion and judge her reaction before continuing on. "As you might imagine she accepted the challenge and went into the town with nothing but her own dignity. However," he gestured to the remaining guests with one hand. "she was so revered that none dared look at her or even acknowledged her presence."

He turned his head back to Riley with an openly amused expression on his face. "The one poor soul who did look though was immediately struck blind. The parallels are unbelievably fitting wouldn't you say?" He smirked, just slightly. "Much like your dress."

Was he imagining it or was that just a hint of crimson on the girls cheeks? Before he could attempt to comment on it though the soubrette shifted the subject and proffered a question he'd been half anticipating. Namely, who was he?

"I was wondering when you'd ask. I came here from London a year or so younger than you were and spent a good deal of time doing various odd jobs before I somehow managed to get into university."

"As far as a name well... while it's tempting to watch you unravel it would hardly be fair. You can call me Oliver."

A blush? No, but Riley paid rapt attention to the story that her companion was telling. The woman had heard the legend before, but never told quite that way. He’d left out the part about her hair! Riley didn’t say anything though, he was doing a good job with the story. And the thinly veiled flattery.

”I’m not sure anyone would be blinded if the dress fell apart.” Riley said with a chuckle of her own, ”I also don’t think I’m held in high enough standing that everyone would avert their eyes, so for modesty’s sake I’d rather leave that situation to the imagination. “

The accent, it appeared, was real. If that was a strange thing to think, Riley didn’t notice. Rich people in New York did the strangest things sometimes, faking an English accent wouldn’t have even registered on the weird scale.

He’d been there since he was younger than 19. That was interesting. It seemed, though, that his talents had gotten him a bit further than hers. He was in university, and his name was Oliver.

”Oliver?” Riley said, ”Are you sure it’s not John?” Maybe he was making it up, but if not, she’d get a chance to gauge his sense of humor.

There were other interesting things to learn though, and Riley decided to give in to her curious nature. ”And which University? It’s one thing New York definitely has in abundance.”

The light, almost rueful laughter, which shook Riley’s shoulders caused her hair, and other areas, to bounce slightly even as she playfully dismissed the elementals somewhat discursive compliments. The smile which now seemed to be ever present on her lips though signaled to the hessian that the soubrette would likely have little against prolonging the metaphor.

“Hmm, just imagination?” He hummed in a faint tone of mock disappointment as he trailed his gaze from the floor up to her eyes. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short; it needn’t necessarily be literal blindness of sight, it could just as easily refer to the sense of stunning you’re audience.”

Giving a slightly self-depreciating shrug which was almost entirely feigned the elemental returned the gamines smile. “Granted that’s just my own take on the matter but, for what it’s worth, I’d say you’ve easily managed both with at least one person here.”

All technically true, but then an opinion could hardly be wrong after all. Whether the girl would discern or care about such a distinction was a matter he had no immediate intention of investigating.


“Oliver? Are you sure it’s not John?”[/color]

Of the things he’d thought she might question his name had not been one of them, especially when he’d deigned to give her one which was genuine. Still he wasn’t beyond appreciating the slight irony and, after pausing just briefly to judge the brunettes tone, a smirk once again began to tug at his lips as he replied, “Ah, that would be my middle name.”

Again, the truth, whether she interpreted it correctly well, he could hardly be blamed for any assumptions she might make.

The inquiry into his university was met with barely any hesitation at all; it was a question he’d faced all too often that the simple response was close to automatic in a setting such as this. Still he did his best to reign in the usual hubris he put forth when dealing with potential clients and instead attempted to affect a more modest mien as he simply said.

“Yale”