All cheek and charm, and dressed to kill, this fellow certainly had a way about him that pulled Poe right in with a little swoon to boot. She grinned her unburdened pixie grin and shook her head slowly as he excused himself from her charges, putting her hands on her hips and sticking one foot out with a tapping toe in an overexaggerated play of disapproval while he spoke on.
"To my great dismay, I have to say that these pretty little eyes certainly do not," she admitted, shifting her weight back and then forward to take a bold step towards him, openly browsing his body and wear. It was very unusual to see anyone without a European accent dressing as frivolously as these two did. Truly, it shed all of the feral practicality that remained the primary stream in the North American populations, for the sake of flaunting the mark of a cultural shift from brute strength and unequivocal loyalties towards tools and broadened philosophies. Petty as these clothes may seem, they spoke of values and lifestyles, those that Poe was so naturally inclined towards. "And perhaps with a small bribe, I'll even let you off with a warning for all of this," she purred, abruptly reaching a hand out towards him, palm up and waiting for a split second before her grin erupted with a throaty laugh, and her palm flipped inwards for a handshake, instead.
"Poe D'Angelo," she introduced herself with a tilt of her head to move her bangs away from clouding half of her view. She might have continued with the classic "Pleased to meet you," but she wasn't entirely sure she hadn't met him before. In passing through Europe or Africa, she considered. He definitely looked like the travelling type.
