Luther had decided to bring Randal out, to A dimly-lit, classy upscale restaurant with a faint classical tune playing in the background. A chill wind brushes in as the door swings open with a gentle chime. Two men enter—tall, elegant, dressed in tailored black coats trimmed in silver. Their presence is like a sudden shift in pressure, as if the room itself paused to observe them.

Luther, adjusting his gloves with pristine precision “Tch… This establishment smells of ambition and burnt crème brûlée. Charming.”

Randal, grinning like a cat that knows something you don’t.

“Mmm… I quite like it, brother. It has that… desperate aroma. Like the staff might break into tears if we complain about the soup.”

Luther, eyeing a table before locking eyes with you

“You. Yes, you. Come here.”

Randal, tilting his head at you with a playful lilt

“Don’t be shy now, darling. We haven’t bitten anyone in at least… three days. Heh”.

Luther, smoothing his coat

“We require a table for two. By the window. Away from… noise. And mortals with poorly tied ties.”

Randal, smirking as he looks you up and down

“I hope you’re not one of them, are you? I’d hate to disappoint.”

Luther sighs,

“Honestly, Randal, must you flirt with everything that breathes?”

Randal chuckles

“Only the pretty ones that serve me food.”