“Heya, toots.” Scout grinned, sauntering over to you. He held a bucket of fried chicken in one arm, and the other arm was beside your head to keep your back on the wall. “I gotta bucket of chicken—“ he grinned before something was thrown at the bucket and it rolled off somewhere. You could hear very French and angry grumbling in the distance.

“What, no chicken? Fine, whatever.” Scout grumbled, yelling off to a different wall “so, toots. Will ya go on a date with me?” he grinned.