2025-03-04 - Proper Witchy Vibes

Beyond performances, playing a character, and other side projects Morag involves herself in, there are some handfuls of hours that belong to her alone in which to go explore the park. Far from dance attire, she's wearing jeans and a cozy knit cardigan (the weather is starting to suggest spring, tricked her into wearing short sleeves, but the sweater is still necessary as the day cools off), and she's all curiosity as she seeks out this shop. It came highly recommended, after all, and there are so many bits and bobs to look at. The goal may be tea, the promised loose leaf brew, but she’s gotten wholly caught up exploring all the cubbies with their trinkets and knickknacks and whiffs of magic. Ironic, for the occult to hold fascination given where they are, but here she is, eyebrows drawn as she’s running her fingers over a basket full of polished crystals that promise to be good for just about problem you need them to solve.

The front door of the shop swings open, letting in some of the chill of the outdoors in a quick blast of air, and in comes Cedric. He's got his nose in his phone, brow lined with furrows and corners of his lips downturned as his fingers fly over the screen at a rapid pace, typing something out. It speaks to some familiarity with Stirring that he can navigate straight to the back while relying purely on peripheral vision, because whatever he's typing out requires paragraphs apparently.

He doesn't linger at the tea, having known precisely what he wanted and also exactly how much of it to get when he walked in the door. So he's back there no more than a moment or two before he's reversing directions, and that's when he notices Mags, because Cedric's actually looking around now, phone tucked into a pocket of his trousers. It's always hard to say whether or not he's coming or going from work given he's seemingly always on the schedule, but he looks unhurried now, dressed for warmth in a sweater and jacket combo. "Amethyst is supposed to be good for stress reduction, isn't it?" he says in lieu of greeting, eyes on some of the purple crystals in the basket Morag is looking over. "Hope that's not too necessary for you though, yeah?"

It’s easy enough to overlook those comings and goings of other patrons, distracted as she is. This busy fellow bustling through may have gotten a glance but no more, so it isn’t until she’s spoken to directly that Morag recognizes who breezed through that door. She doesn’t look up when he speaks, his voice is enough to know him by, but she smiles. The amethyst in question is plucked out of the basket to roll the smooth purple stone in her palm. “Not so much as some, I think,” she answers, now glancing up. He is a very busy man, after all. “It’s certainly pretty though.”

She straightens, head tilted as she regards him. “You came through in such a rush, didn’t even see. In desperate need of tea, were you?” she asks, with understanding that’s lightly teasing, because of course an Englishman might be taken so.

Cedric takes her in for just the briefest of moments, a quick up-down look that ends with a warmth to his eyes, and a smile curving his lips. "It is," he agrees. "Very pretty." He reaches into the basket to select an amethyst of his own, one that he sets in his palm and frowns thoughtfully at. There's a small divot that he rubs his thumb into, a natural fit. "It's nice. You into this sort of thing?" The way he asks is without judgment, just natural curiosity. And as he asks, he's weighing his own stone in his hand, debating on buying it by the looks of it.

His other hand lifts to show the selection of teas he's picked out. Lady Grey features most prominently, along with a couple of herbal blends. "Desperate?" He makes an amused noise in his throat, not quite laughter but almost, and gives a shake of his head. "I ran out at work and thought to restock, is all. I like a brew near the end of the night to get me through the last push and cleanup." Then he looks over Morag for any potential purchases she might be making. "Just browsing?"

Oh, it lands. That quick look, those words. Mags doesn’t look away, she’s a stubborn thing, and it puts some color in her cheeks while she watches him steadily, eyes dark and pleased til he goes back to the stones.

Her crystal was round, the worry stone he chose catches her eye, and she reaches to touch thoughtfully, let her fingers smooth over that hollow. When he asks the question, she answers with a soft hum of assent. “I don’t know that I think any of it is real,” she amends, gently setting her amethyst back to scoop up a worry stone of obsidian, smooth black and reflective, so she can try for herself. “But I suppose it’s always more fun to believe than not.” She says it like she supposes he’ll get it. Cats and cream and all that.

And of course, belief in magic became a lot less theoretical when she came here.

The teas are looked over with approval, the Lady Grey given particular note. “Got caught up with the browsing,” she agrees, only now glancing towards the back of the shop where the actual Stirring happens. “Came to get tea, since you mentioned it the other night. I like a cuppa end of day as well. Serendipitous,” she adds, looking back to him. “That we keep running into each other.”

Cedric holds the stone flat in his palm as Mags reaches a hand out. After, he rubs his thumb into the divot again, the same repetitive circular motion over and over. It is soothing, in its own way. He wraps his fingers around it, decision made.

"I like to think it is," he muses, his tone distant as he looks off, to the side. Then he's more focused, clarity in his eyes as he returns his gaze to Morag. "Even if it's just, what's it called? The placebo effect?" Cedric's head shakes, just a little bit. "I mean, I'm not saying they're going to cure you of anything, but maybe having some shiny rock around might make your day a little better. Might just help with stress reduction or something."

Then he gestures around them, though not to indicate the store they're in, but, "Spellbound's magic, ain't it? Stranger things have happened."

When they move onto the topic of tea, Cedric is no less interested, even if it's a more mundane topic. After all, yes, he is an Englishman. "I'm steadily working my way through their stock," he tells Mags. "Bit of fun, that. Trying something new each time." He lifts one of the blends he's selected. "Hibiscus!"

Mags makes that soft hum of agreement again for his words - that he’d like to think so, and the gesture of taking the stone. Stake a little claim on a little bit of magic, real or imagined. “We all have our good luck charms and our superstitions. If it helps, it helps,” she agrees — and as for the magic of Spellbound, real, true, and incontrovertible…Stranger things have happened. He says it, Mags shakes her head reflexively, though her eyes stay on him. “Truer words were never spoken, chef,” she says, and it might be fair to suppose that she’s speaking of Spellbound - might just as likely be speaking of him.

She’s appropriately attentive to his tea choices, raising her eyebrows at the bold choice of tea, nodding along - there’s that quirk of a smile at the corner of her mouth, like she might be amused. It’s the exclamation mark, that little implied enthusiasm for hibiscus. But it brings her back to task, the whole reason she came in the first place, and she sets crystals aside to move towards the back of the store. “Come along then,” she says, holding out a hand to beckon him with her. “If you’ve got a few minutes to spare. Being such a connoisseur, you can show me what you like the best.”

"We've had them since our ancestors were first discovering fire," Cedric agrees, on the topic of superstitions. He thinks on his own for a moment of silent contemplation, then adds, "Any day I skip lunch is a day that's bound to be the worst day on the line possible, so even if it's just a slice of toast, I always make a point of eating." See, there. A superstition. He flashes a half-smile at that, and at her calling him chef, always an amusement when it comes from someone outside the kitchen.

It's not until he's been beckoned onwards to the wall of tea that something occurs to him. "Though maybe it's because I'm hungry and annoyed about it that my day goes south. Self-fulfilling prophecy, like."

He comes to stand in front of the tea selection, and true to what he's said, there are quite a few so far that he's sampled. "The chamomile's sound, especially on rough days. But you can't go wrong with an English breakfast, yeah? But what do you like, black tea or something herbal, fruity maybe?" Cedric points to several of that variety, the chamomile included, to indicate the options Mags has at her disposal. From what he's tried so far and liked, at least. The hibiscus is still an unknown.

There he goes, just being charming, much like with his cat story and Mags shoots him a look that verges on fond, with a healthy amount of amusement in her eyes. “Nooooo,” Mags says, drawing the word out unconvincingly. Just a case of Chef Williams getting hangry? Perish the thought. “Clearly there’s magic afoot in that, isn’t there? Else a cheese toastie is a mighty fine placebo.” She goes on once they’re at the tea, letting her fingers dance along over the labels as she peruses. “Plenty of superstitions in the dance world. Got to get ready the right way, tie your shoes, do your hair, keep to the rituals,” she says, and there’s a breath of a laugh in her voice when she adds, “We tell each other merde rather than good luck. Should you slip up, there’s tricks to dispel the bad luck.” All this, so interwoven into every day life, perhaps it makes accepting Spellbound a little easier.

She’s thoughtful, biting her lip, as he points out the teas he particularly favors, and reaches for the available paper bags to start gathering some choices. “Mmm. Generally I drink a black tea,” she muses, “but I suppose I ought to experiment.” To that end, she’ll get a little of some, a little of another, each looking to his recommendations. The chamomile, a something fruity, a fair helping of black loose leaf because you can’t go wrong with the classics. “So, you’re in break just now, Cedric? There, would you get me some of that rose leaf tea?” she tacks on with a gesture for the jar.

Cedric makes a musingly wordless noise, at mention of cheese toasties. Or maybe that was just a hungry noise, it's sort of hard to tell. Either way, he says, "Maybe it's the cheese toastie that's magic, isn't it?" and with that suggestion he taps the side of his nose. Awfully circumspect for someone who has no magic of their own yet. He looks on with interest as Mags shares her own experience with superstitions, ones that are a far sight better than his own eat otherwise you'll be hungry and mad about it later. "Most I do otherwise is touch wood when I don't want to risk bad luck."

"I like herbal teas on days I don't have to be up and about," he says, and what days are those, Cedric? He flashes a guilty smile. "When they come around, at least." He dutifully doles out the rose tea when it's requested, and then makes a second bag for himself. "Suppose I'll try this one too. Smells nice, at least. And yeah, just stepped away for a bit. They don't really need me back until dinner service starts, but there's always work to do, isn't there?" As he sets the jar back down in its place, Cedric looks down at his new stash of tea, which is starting to become slightly unwieldy to just be holding. Really should have invested in a basket, there.

When they come around. Well, it begs the question, doesn't it? So Morag asks it, leaning a hip against the counter while he gets her her tea. "And how often would that be?" It's a little arch, with that smile paired with it as she reaches to take the bag from him. She lifts it to take a sniff, and it is lovely - the black tea, intermingled with sweetly floral petals. Pretty in the bag too, with pops of pink, and she nods approvingly when he gets his own sampling of it, even if it does leave him with rather a lot to handle.

Really, he's lucky he ran into her. Her bags? She tucks those neatly under one arm, and without asking she reaches to gather up a few of his as well, keeping them in her hands to be separate from hers. "So, you'll be needed back soon...but not yet?" She shrugs a slender shoulder, turning away with his goods in hand, to start towards the cashier who has been, all this while, boredly flipping through some arcane tome while customers browse. "Suppose I can keep delaying you awhile, then?"

"Less frequently than they should," Cedric says, an admission that he accompanies with that same smile on his face, the one that reads a little less than pleased with his lot in life and a lot guilty. But he only shrugs. "Tuesdays, supposed to be, but here I am anyway." He slyly checks his watch to make sure it is, in fact, Tuesday. Something about that flash of uncertainty on his face suggests he's not always keeping proper track.

He doesn't quite squawk when Mags takes some of his things from him, but he does open his mouth to let out a quiet noise, before he subsides with a shake of his head. "Not yet, no--," he begins, but then she's walking away and Cedric hastens to follow, on account of how she has his tea. Amongst other things, certainly. As he catches up, he aims a familiar smile and an, "Alright," at the cashier at the counter, who nods in return. Then Cedric's attention snaps back to Morag, head turning towards her, and he continues with, "--so I have some free time. Fancy a walk about outside? Afraid that's the best I can offer unless you'd like to have tea with me in the cramped back office of the restaurant."

Morag doesn't miss much. Quick eyes, an oh, she's paying attention - all those little quirks of expression. She just nods. "We'll have to do something about that." You go and feed a woman a decadent meal, and look what happens. She goes and takes his tea, and forms intentions on his free time (or at least that he should have some for her to form intentions on).

At the counter, she sets everything down to be rung up, separating out her own purchases with her own smile at the cashier. "Just these for me," she says, before turning her attention back Cedric, brow arching expectantly when he admits to having some free time. He doesn't disappoint, and she doesn't disguise her pleasure at having been asked. Puts the shadow of a dimple at her cheek, head cocked up at him -- breath taken to accept the offer, but she falters, just a little, at his closing it out on the cramped office. As though, perhaps, that merits some consideration. The cashier tells her total, her gaze drops away for her to pull out her card. "That does sound very cozy," she says mildly, some subtle amusement in her tone. "I suppose we'll start with a walk and see where it takes us."

Cedric sets his own purchases down, that smooth stone included, and like Mags does, makes sure that they stay separate, his and hers. He leans against the counter after, eyebrows lifted at the cheek of her, but there's something pleased in the way he looks Morag up and down, considering. "Oh, will we?" he asks, without any expectation of an answer.

Her pause at the mention of the back office is met with a sly smile. "Weren't a serious offer, that. I can barely fit myself back there on the best days." As Mags pays, Cedric finds himself intrigued by one of the displays near the cash register, herb starter kits sold in wee little terracotta pots that surely can't grow more than a sprig of anything. He shakes his head at it, then turns back. "Did mean it about that walk, though. Even with the crowds, I've been enjoying taking in the sights." Cedric's head tilts to the side. "Guess that makes me a tourist like anyone else, yeah?"

Even if the offer wasn't meant, his clarification does nothing to take that speculative look off Mags' face when she glances up at him, the smile gone more subtle on her face. "Very cozy," she amends with emphasis that certainly doesn't rule it out as an option, though she follows it with a breath of laughter as she takes her bag from the cashier. She murmurs her thanks, steps back to let Cedric take her place, and lingers there to wait for him.

"There's so much of the park to see, I'd be impressed if you'd had more than a quick glance at most of it. Especially given your work proclivities," she adds in that gently teasing tone. "I've been here a bit now, and there's still things I haven't gotten to," she agrees. They all start out as tourists to a certain degree -- maybe they all stay that way, to a certain degree. "Never tire of seeing the guests seeing things for the first time, either." All that adds up to a yes, naturally, of course she's going to want to take a stroll with him.

Head shaking, Cedric has nothing else to say to Morag about whether or not they'll be taking their tea in the back office. He's not sure he'd be able to turn her down if she insisted, is the thing. When it's his turn to pay, he taps his watch against the reader and then accepts his bag after, immediately pulling the amethyst free to pocket it. The tea, though, that stays in the bag.

It's near about time to commence that stroll, so Cedric tips his head towards the front door as indication and heads that way, pace sedate. "Aside for visiting the speakeasy I haven't really explored, much as I'd like to," he agrees. "I do a bit of people-watching though, when I can. And you're right, half the fun's just seeing them react to everything the park can do. I've heard some people end up being long-term visitors because of it. Wild, isn't it?" Then he opens the door for Mags, to let her exit the shop first.

Mags is both persuasive and persistent, it’s true. When she knows what she wants.

In this instance? It’s enough, his opening the door for her to step through ahead of him, with the golden afternoon light outside starting to give ground to twilight - it will make for beautiful contrast, strolling the Booedwalk, between light and dramatic shadow. And when he joins her, she is perfectly content to slip her hand in against his arm, like when he offered the other night, walking her to the ferry. “Wild,” she agrees. “But I can understand. First couple of times I came was as a guest, while I was still at school. Suppose it got under my skin.” She considers that a moment and then tacks on airily, with a little of that cheek. “Some things tend to do that.” She couldn’t possibly have anything else in mind, though there’s that smile and a little nudge against his arm.

The crisp chill of the late afternoon air sweeps up towards them as they step out into it, and Cedric takes in a deep breath, slowly, letting it expand his lungs until he feels them ache slightly. "They recruit you straight out of school, then?" he asks, head tilted to look down at Mags just so. When her hand touches his arm he obligingly lifts it just a touch. Then they're on the move together, and Cedric looks around with renewed interest at the various sights and sounds.

But Morag had been right, the real delight is in watching how the various guests take everything in, the wonder on their faces as they peer into shops through their front windows or rush by towards their next destination. "What was it like for you, being a guest here? Any unusual encounters? Something must have hooked you, to draw you back in."

“That’s right,” Mags agrees, tone light as they stroll. “Finished school. Had a choice, to go back home or…” She waves a hand, a gesture to all of this. Who could pass it up? Particularly given the quaint, charming, bordering on eerie shops they pass by with all their Victorian sensibility.

There the tattoo shop, a little further along the entrance to the Monster Maze, costumed performers beckoning in tourists to get scared amidst the twists and turns — and there’s a perfect example, one of the employees boasting scales and claws, and the way the guests look on in wonder. Such good makeup. Amazing special effects. But what if.

That might be enough all on its own, a reason to come to the park to stay. But she gives his question consideration, for a moment walking along with with her head tilted to watch him. “Unusual, I suppose,” she finally agrees. “The shadows didn’t find me until I’d been here some time, but I made a…friend, I guess, when I was here as a guest. Left an impression.” She shrugs a little - there are plenty of reasons to have come here, that just covers a couple of them. “And you? What was your impression when you showed up to this madhouse?”

It's the Monster Maze for Cedric, the place that catches his eye the most. Or rather its performers do, and in the moment he is truly a tourist, wide-eyed and mystified by what is either very convincing special effects makeup or real, actual scales. Which Cedric is aware it could very well be.

Realizing he's gawping, he closes his mouth and looks away, only for his natural curiosity to draw his gaze back. He tries to be more subtle about it this time, but there's real interest there reflected in his eyes. But it'd be rude to ask, even employee to employee.

"A friend?" Cedric asks, and he can sense there's something more there so he tilts his head to the side, looking at Mags consideringly through slightly narrowed eyes. Then, as she turns the question around on him, Cedric looks forward. He's got his thinking face on, though, brow scrunched as he considers his own answer. "Hard to believe, at first? Like, this is everything I could have ever dreamed of, as a lad. The job was honestly secondary," and he laughs at that, though he aims a sly glance towards Morag. "Probably shouldn't say that. But I'm fascinated, by the whole thing."

Mags catches that look on his face, paying attention as she does, and ducks her head to hide the smile that follows. It's that funny mix in him, that charming confidence and yet those glimpses of boyish wonder - there's something delightful in it, and though she certainly wouldn't say anything to draw attention to that, her fingers tighten against his arm again for that moment. "We'll go through sometime. There are stranger things yet to see," she promises.

When he inquires after her very vague friend, at first she only nods. "If that. He's a pain in the ass, really," she amends, but with a tone that suggests tolerant affection rather than any actual animosity. "I'll introduce you sometime. He's what they call a familiar, and isn't that properly witchy sounding?" That part has rather a wry tone, because so many of the strange oddities of the park sound a little absurd when said aloud, without the evidence of proof.

There's no censure that the magic of the park trumps the work he does, even if he does it so exceptionally well. She just laughs, soft under her breath. "Well, it makes sense. We could do our work any number of places, ones that would likely offer more prestige, there's a reason we're doing it here. Has any oddness made itself known to you yet?" A pause. "Present company excluded."

For a brief moment Cedric allows himself to just feel positively gleeful at that, the offer to go through the Maze that Mags makes. His pace is tempered by her hand on his arm but there's no stopping the satisfied smile that settles on his face, one that he doesn't make any attempts to hide. "Yeah?" His head bobs up and down a couple of times, as much agreement as one person could possibly show.

He's still riding that high when his curiosity is further sated about Morag's mysterious friend, to some degree. "A familiar? That's mint, that! What sort of creature is he? Did you summon him or did he come along on his own?" The couple of questions come rapid-fire, but he's just as quick to offer up a "Sorry. You don't have to answer. That's just... yeah, proper mystic, like!"

It's a struggle, to temper his enthusiasm. Like a kid in a candy store, really, but Cedric knows he ought to reel it back in, so he turns his head away and exhales a quick breath. "Prestige isn't worth it," he says, his tone shifting to something a bit more somber, or maybe just more serious. And then he gives a shake of his head. "No magic for me yet, if that's what you mean," he answers. Some of the excitement comes back to his voice then, as if he's not disappointed, just... expectant. Impatient, even.

Mags laughs, just for a moment leaning her head in against his arm, at that ready acceptance of the weirdness that comes hand in hand with the park. “Tch,” she says, a little cluck of the tongue after that hasty apology coming so quick after his questions. “I don't mind.” If anything she's pleased with the enthusiasm of his reaction. “He’s a damn crow-“ Of all the occultish possibilities. “-started following me about each time I came, though he was after my chips. Took some time to realize…especially since you forget, you know. When you leave.”

Does make one rather more inclined to stick around. Long, and longer, and maybe just forever, because who could give this up?

That little comment about prestige, that piques her interest. Gets her watching him sidelong, a little speculatively - there were some years between her knowing him then and having discovered him now, and that somber tone begs some questions. She’ll hold her curiosity, for the moment at least, other than a soft sound of interest, and when he answers her question with that restrained eagerness it puts a smile back on her face. “Well, suppose there’s plenty of magic to dabble in, ’til it finds you itself. And you never know when you might read your tea leaves,” she adds, with a little shake of the bag hanging from her free hand. “Find some truth in it.”

"A crow," Cedric repeats, then he bites his lip, because that is positively witchy, and he's well-pleased with it. The way he looks at Mags with a cant of his head suggests this information has settled into his brain, changed the way he looks at her. Neither for good nor ill, just different. "A shade witch with a crow familiar." Something about that tickles him, and he meets Morag's curious sidelong look with one of his own, more considering.

Especially once, a little bit later, she talks of magic dabbling and reading tea leaves. That makes Cedric contemplate his own bag with intent, as if he might indeed divine something within a good cup of tea here in the near future.

But something she said earlier comes back to him, and Morag gets a glance, eyes narrow and brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? You forget when you leave?" His gaze lifts to the crowd around them, the mix of curiosity and wonder on so many faces young and old. "That's tragic. Really?"

It is quite the combo, and Morag knows - the shadows, the raven hair, the crow familiar, and there’s a sparkle of amusement in her eyes when she meets his gaze. “Hence the dark fairy of it all.” The character she plays. Might as well lean in to the vibe, own it, have a little fun. So she is, when she throws in, mild as milk, “Granting wishes, weaving nightmares, capturing the souls of men. Best watch out, Cedric.” Taking such chances, here.

In that it’s tragic, the forgetting, she can’t argue. Especially when you see joy and wonder in the guests. It’s regretful, the way she nods. “Lose my powers when I go to the mainland,” she offers. “The fun of the park stays, I suppose, but the magic of it fades… we go back to thinking how clever the effects are, and it all goes back to being a fairy tale.” She lets their trail off, biting at her lip as they wander past all these little shops with their magic. “But I suppose it burrowed in deep enough, I knew I wanted to come when I had the chance at a job. Now I can’t imagine ever going elsewhere.”

Cedric makes a noise of agreement, because it is quite fae in a way too, especially how Mags describes it. Her warning earns a soft bout of laughter, and then a cheekily admitted, "I think it might be too late for me already." He winks at her, then steers them down a side street that he knows will eventually loop them back around to the Boo'edwalk, back in the direction of the restaurant. Not yet, but soon. The inevitable can be delayed for only so long, after all.

"That is..." he begins, but after a moment Cedric has no follow-up, no answer to how much that seems to affect him, the realization that the magic is only for here and nowhere else. Even the knowledge of it can't be kept safe, and he sighs. "Well, I suppose that just means I can't leave then. Spellbound has me for as long as it's willing to have me." Putting on a more cheerful façade, he adds, "Besides, why would I want to leave? Not when I have so many reasons to stay." The way his eyes linger on Morag for a long moment leaves nothing to the imagination regarding his meaning, and he looks away after, cheeks heating up.

"Well, that's promising," Mags answers his cheeky comment with a pleasure in her voice. "I am very good at what I do." Really, he never stood a chance. She's easily turned, following his direction down that side street. There's delight at getting him to laugh, a proper laugh, and it shows in the depth of her smile as she's led, even if it means that this lovely little interlude is drawing to its inevitable end.

Even if he doesn't finish that sentence, she understands. She gets it, the sense of loss at the very idea of not knowing the things they now know, and the squeeze she gives his arm has some intent at comfort in it. She doesn't comment, not exactly, other than her own lightly cheeky, "Lucky Spellbound." Certainly she's not going to argue his intent to stay where he is, quite the opposite. She probably doesn't help much in that last moment, with even Cedric getting hot in the face, because she meets that lingering look levelly and gives just a little quirk of the eyebrow to acknowledge, lips pressed in a smile. "Don't you worry," she says, when he looks away, "I'll keep finding more for you." Reasons, that is.

The confidence from Mags only makes Cedric laugh more, not unkindly. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" He doesn't sound at all worried about it, though. On the contrary, his voice is filled with warmth, and while he's still giving Morag a bit of a side-eye, there's fondness to it. When he looks ahead, he is regretful to see how little distance, and thus how little time, they have left on their walk.

Her squeezing his arm is comforting, for certain. And the façade becomes less of one, both from that point of contact and from his own determination, to enjoy everything the park has to offer for as long as he's able. "If you really want to, that's fine. But I have plenty to keep me here already," he says, and he tucks his bag of tea into the crook of his arm so that he can reach with his now-free hand over and lay it atop hers, on his arm. Long enough to give it a reciprocal squeeze, before he withdraws. "Besides, I've just finally finished unpacking, and I hate moving."

"From the moment I saw you at the bar," Morag agrees easily, the words light and the tone teasing, but there's something of truth in it - as she said earlier of the park, some things just get in under your skin, and he did so effortlessly. Now here they are, and her steps slow as they draw to that destination, no more eager to actually get there than he, even knowing these were moments stolen by pure chance. It's enough to make her sigh - but Mags is an optimistic sort, and so it's with a smile that she looks up at him.

"Oh, I really want to," she assures him, when he's drawn away, their steps paused. She gives the restaurant a thoughtful look, then angles her body in towards his. She'll just have to give him an example of what she means. "If you're sure you're not going to invite me in to your wee cozy little office..." Well. In that case, she'll lean on bold once again, letting one hand fall against his chest to balance her when she stands up on tiptoes to place a lingering kiss, just there at the corner of his mouth. "Then I guess you'd better call me, so we can plan a tea party."

Cedric's expression dims as they come to the restaurant, but then his shoulders shift back, that moment of taking on professional responsibility that comes with a slight change in personality that he'd showed before, after joining her during her meal. It's sort of like masking, putting away some of himself so that he's more presentable. But he's still here with Morag, and he turns to her, just in time for her hand to touch his chest. He's not expecting what comes next, but he leans into the kiss, and when she pulls away to speak he smiles.

It's only a second or two before he's chasing her for another, a hand alighting on her hip to hold steady as he tips his head down. After, he pulls back, because he knows if he doesn't he'll be tempted for more. "It'll be what gets me through the rest of the evening," he assures Mags, eyes bright. "Looking forward to it. Then he reaches out to close the distance between them again, this time to snag Morag's hand and give it a gentle squeeze. No more than that, he allows himself, knowing that temptation is far too great to resist if he even takes the smallest of liberties. So he pulls away, with a sigh, and says, "I'll text you, yeah?" before he turns towards the restaurant.

Prudent fellow, because Mags is more than willing to be a pleasant, inconvenient distraction. She makes a soft little sound of approval when he leans in to chase another kiss, her hand slipping upwards to curl around his neck so she can keep him for a moment. He's got to go. Doesn't mean she'll make it easy for him. When he does pull away, her cheeks are flushed and that little self-satisfied smile has the dimples on display.

When he takes her hand, she squeezes his fingers back, with a quick nod. "Good. You'd better," she says lightly, humor in her voice. "Now go be clever, chef." She'll watch him go (appreciatively) until he's through the door, before she turns to walk back the other way, bag swinging from her fingertips and smiling to herself all the while.