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[jackdriscoll]

The dinner, provided by Jack’s friend, smells delicious and looks questionable. That’s what one must expect with gourmet food, though Jack, knowing this, can’t help but make a face at it as he glances from the door to the table.

He’s not pacing the living room. He’s not anxious. Not at all.

But where’s Mary Anne?

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[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne is headed up the steps to the front door, humming to herself.

She knocks twice and resists the urge to rock back on her heels; wouldn't do to ruin such comfortable shoes, after all.

[jackdriscoll]

Jack does not run to the door. It’s a light jog, really.

“Mary Anne!” he says, opening the door. It’s almost a sigh of relief.

[song_tra_bong]

"Jack," she replies, arching an eyebrow.

"A little nervous, are we?" She steps inside, shrugging out of her coat. Her dress, courtesy of Bar, is blue again, though a little more formal than last time. And she even remembered to leave the knives at home.

[jackdriscoll]

He flashes a sharp smile. "Of course not. You remember where the dining room is, yes?"