Ever observant of each and every member of their misfit crew they've accumulated at the hotel, the one thing Alastor had immediately noted of Vaggie was her hot-headedness. The girl had quite the temper! If only she knew what a vulnerable position it put her in. People like her were a source of amusement—if you make yourself fun to rile up, how is he meant to resist, really? It's like dangling a piece of meat in front of a dog.
❝ Why, Vaggie! Quite bold of you to assume I wanted anything at all! As the hotelier I find I should be able to go where I please, should I not? The bar is technically mine, as is the man who runs it! ❞ And so he sits. He could sit a seat away, but he finds he'd much rather sit right next to her.
❝ Fancy a talk? It surely seems something is on your mind. Could it be the literal fire, or the metaphorical one you'd unleashed on your partner's father? ❞ Fairs fair, she had greeted him with hostility after all. Though not a note of it can be found in his voice, instead obnoxious cheer slathered over each and every word.
He leans forward, ever closer.
❝ Ah! And before I forget. Just because you haven't seen me drink, doesn't mean I don't partake every now and again. I simply have other vices that don't include trying to solve my problems with intoxication. ❞ And then..he reaches out and pokes the tip of her nose.