“well, what can i say? i’m nice and charitable an’ the sun is givin’ me a headache,” he said, holding his palm to his head as he walked through the tent towards her. “mads, no, i’m here to find out how much longer it’ll be before you stop bein’ a brat,” he quipped back. and when she pointed out that he had a type, he went to object but stopped as soon as he figured that maybe she did have a point, since his whole decade of relationships really had been pretty green eyed brunettes. “alright, maybe i do. always was punchin’ high with both harry and dani, never knew quite what either saw in me,” he said, tone joking and self aware, and maybe all too cynical. he sat himself down on the chair, shuffling it in. “well, just fair warning that i don’t believe in none of this shite. so do your worst, darlin’.”
“okay it is super nice in here compared to outside, so i can’t blame you for that. not my fault our booth is literally the best. except it is. my fault, i mean.” madison laughed, clearly being super humble about it. “the limit does not exist!” she flung the out of context mean girls quote his way to let him know the odds of her stopping her bratty antics were slim to none. she couldn’t help laughing some more when she saw him try to start to deny what she’d said about him having a type, only to see pure realization and acknowledgement cross his features instead. “oh shut up! as if. harry and her are both very much in your league and you know it.” she told him, playfully kicking his shin under the (thankfully not very wide, given both their short legs) table. “c’mon, everyone believes in it at least a little. same as people who say they don’t believe in ghosts and shit.” madison protested, shuffling the cards before spreading them out face down. “pick four, and i’ll turn them up.”
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