Blæc’s table, supplied with food, quieted as they ate with the occasional word here and there about the cuisine or other business, kept in code in case of bugs. Normally, they were alerted to such warrants and they regularly checked everywhere, even in the dining area, but they still dealt with vigilance. Mother’s arrogance sometimes got the better of her, but Blæc would not stand for it, his fear becoming of good use. Isidoro, too, assisted, though on the side of caution as a form of aggressive fight rather than anxious flight. Njáll chatted more than the rest with Iudicael as a close second, instigating talk from Blæc and failing on part of Isidoro, but his attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere.

Iudicael’s pale eyes pulled slowly around the room, a gradual glance similar to Isidoro’s, but more casual and comfortable in his own wellbeing. They held upon their two newest visitors, and scrolled back towards Njáll and Blæc, watching as Njáll’s eyes go from that rich hue to an icier gray. Njáll’s head came up knowingly and locked his orbs on Iudicael. It was not any surprise that Njáll listened in on their thoughts; he was a psychic and, of course, Mother was fully aware of his mind by their link. He smiled pleasantly, nothing like any expression he normally portrayed, and, as he spoke, Blæc straightened in his seat. “Iudicael, be a dear and invite…Alexa and Vincent to our table.”

“Mother?” Blæc asked suspiciously as he turned toward the Swede, a hand gripping the back of the seat hard enough to turns his fingers whiter. There had not been any in-person interaction between them for a couple of months and several weeks before their last conversation. Absence had not made the heart grow fonder and it was far too soon to break this record. “What happened to Njáll’s eight hours?” he questioned daringly, a frown edging its way onto his face. Hell, he was not even to the point of asking her what she planned.

The other smiled at him with twinkling eyes and she replied, “He is on-call. Now I believe that they are on a date, so please come closer to me.” Blæc narrowed his eyes to show opposition, but Mother dismissed him as she turned to Isidoro. The Spaniard nodded and scooted to the edge for her to bring Njáll’s bottom over. “Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” she stated politely as she moved their blond delicately over. “Oh, and, Iudicael,” she paused, glancing at him, “I want the girl across from me, so that I can see her better.”

“Just made sure they are at least on the end, so that they can escape, if need be,” Blæc added and they certainly would need it. “What are you up to?” he interrogated firmly, still in his spot. A corner of Njáll’s mouth rose a little more and she patted the seat next to her. Blæc stuck out his chin in final defiance, but thought about it in that brief moment before sighing and making his way. “Now, what is it?” he reiterated, turning on her again. He would not let her avoid answering or she would try again in the future more assertively.

Mother nodded and cleared her throat as she placed a napkin on her lap, “Of course you want them on the periphery.” Pleased with the fold and encouraged to answer by Blæc’s intense gaze, she exhaled, “You always ask for more interface. Well, here it is. Mommy concedes. You have Iudicael, those twins and now these two.”

“Yeah, but what do you get out of this?” he spied incisively.

“A son’s smile and love is not satisfactory?”

Blæc’s face fell flat in doubt, and their redhead shook that colorful head with a small, laughing smile as he stood and then nodded, “Be back shortly.” He straightened his clothing, despite its very lackadaisical qualities, and moseyed over to their table at an angle and pace preventive of surprising them. “Madam, mister,” he greeted professionally and with a big ol’ smile that lit up the very air about his face, “the owners of our restaurant has noticed that you are not one of our regulars and would like to invite you as guests of honor to their table. Your presence is appreciated and food is on the house, if you will just follow me.” He gestured with a swing of his arm toward his group, backing up to place his other hand atop Alexa’s chair. Regardless of not wearing a uniform, it could be overlooked by such an inauguration.